by Amanda Scott
Back at Malmesbury House, however, when Amalie mentioned their good fortune in having seen the ambassador, Alicia at once demanded to hear every detail, which brought yet more criticism from Faringdon, who had been paying a call upon the duchess when the riding party returned.
“Tony, please don’t start another row,” Brittany begged.
“A fine thing to say to me,” he grumbled, “when you’ve been out cantering about with Cheriton there, and are still receiving gifts from that dashed secret charlatan of yours …” He gestured brusquely toward a modest little bouquet of spring flowers in a nearby vase. “I suppose I may be forgiven for my uncertain temper.”
“Oh, Tony”—she grinned at him—“don’t tell me you are jealous and that that is the reason you took poor Alicia up so sharply for expressing her curiosity about the ambassador.”
The earl glanced ruefully at Cheriton, who was standing calmly near the doorway of the yellow drawing room. “Just a mean-tempered brute, I suppose, and nothing more. Certainly not jealous, though. No cause to be, dash it. Have a glass of madeira, Cherry, and rest your bones.”
“Not just now,” replied the marquess, affording him a steady look. “Is that a new rig?”
Clearly pleased, Faringdon turned about. “Just had the coat from Weston yesterday. What do you think?”
“Buttons too large, lapels too wide, and that pinched-in waist makes you look like an oversized wasp. Aside from such minor details as that, I am persuaded that it is altogether à la mode and ruinously expensive.”
“Correct on both counts,” the earl told him with a laugh. “Good thing Weston knows better than to dun a man. Thought he might, so I ordered this rig, don’t you know, thinking the dibs would be in tune again when it was done. But needless to say I had a rotten run of luck last night.”
“Well, I like that,” said Alicia with a most unladylike snort. “To think you were lecturing me only because I expressed a desire to add a touch of Naples lace to my gown for our ball Tuesday week, when all the while you have been doing your possible to outrun the constable. I’ve a good mind to sit right down and pen a letter to Gil, informing him just how well you’ve been managing your affairs since he towed you out of River Tick. I’d not be at all surprised to find him on the doorstep by return post, when I should advise him to take you outside straightaway and teach you better management, sir.”
“Oh, would you indeed?” retorted the earl awfully, taking one purposeful step toward her, then halting as though he had forcibly restrained himself. “A talebearer as well, I see, and for no more cause than the fact that I had the temerity to inform you that Naples lace has no place in a young lady’s wardrobe. ’Tis black, for pity’s sake, and not meant to one of your youth and inexperience. You have only to ask your mama if I am not right on this matter, for though I ain’t such a dab as Toby Welshpool at knowing what’s fashionable and what ain’t, I do know that much. Ask her grace, Alicia.”
“Oh,” said the duchess, flustered by the earl’s demands as much as by her daughter’s mutinous silence, “he is quite right, you know, my dear. You cannot really wish to add black lace to that lovely, cream-colored gown. And I cannot think you would really write such an improper letter to Ravenwood, either, Alicia. ’Tis not at all the thing for you to do.”
“Well, of course I should not do so, but ’tis all of a piece that he believes me capable of such a thing,” Alicia replied, putting her small nose in the air and looking away.
Cheriton caught Brittany’s eye, and she stepped nearer to him. “It seems never to cease, sir.”
“No,” he agreed. “I will make my apologies to your mother, I believe, and be off. I have several appointments this evening and must somehow find time before then to write a letter to my mother. She will think I have met with an accident if she does not receive something from me by Monday’s early post. Do I see you at Lady Castlereagh’s ball tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, indeed. It is to be the first really splendid party of the Season, so we will all go, even Papa, though he will not stay above twenty minutes, I fear. He never does.” She looked up at him with anxious eyes. “Do not forget that I have arranged an outing to Richmond Park on Sunday. You will not fail me.”
“No, my lady,” he replied quietly, “I will not fail you.”
Her eyes widened as a sensation of warmth spread rapidly through her body. He had done no more than to echo her own words, yet somehow it was as though he had made her a solemn promise, one that covered a good deal more than a mere drive to Richmond. A moment later, however, she could see no sign of anything the least bit unusual in his expression as he bowed, turned away, and made his adieux to the rest of the company.
The Castlereagh ball, though a sad crush at which the members of the beau monde were present in full force, passed with no further incident than Faringdon’s complaining to Brittany that she ought to make a push to see that Alicia did not encourage so many young gentlemen to stand up with her more than once. Since she herself had danced two dances with Cheriton and had seen Arabella dance two each with Lord Toby and Roger Carrisbrooke, Brittany could see no reason to take Alicia to task. There was nothing particularly scandalous about her actions, after all, though to have danced three or more dances with a single partner would certainly have occasioned remark. Brittany was nearly certain that Faringdon complained only because he had failed in his own bid to secure a dance with her younger sister. Alicia’s card had been full by the time he approached her, and she had informed him of that fact with haughty if unbecoming triumph in her tone.
Since Brittany and both her sisters extended more invitations to join their Richmond outing at the Castlereagh ball, the party that gathered late Sunday morning for the drive to Richmond Park was a large one, including Miss Penelope Waring, Sir Reginald Blakeney and his sister Martha, Philip Wensley-Drew, Sir David and Sally Lynsted, and Roger Carrisbrooke, as well as Lord Toby, Faringdon, Cheriton, and the three Leighton sisters. Several of the gentlemen rode and the others divided themselves among the three carriages. Brittany found herself with Faringdon, Alicia, and Cheriton and was well enough pleased with herself.
They drove out of London by way of the Hyde Park tollgate, and the eight-mile drive took little more than an hour to accomplish, for the horses were fresh and the Portsmouth Road in good repair. Roger Carrisbrooke, designating himself their official guide, pointed out places of interest along the route, and so detailed were his explanations that Brittany, for one, was delighted when he announced at last that they were passing under Richmond Hill.
“That is where Mrs. Fitzherbert was living in 1784 when she attracted the notice and won the affections of the Regent, although he was merely Prince of Wales at the time, of course, and as yet unmarried,” he called out above the noise of the carriages.
They passed next beside the richly wooded grounds of Landsdowne House, then drove past the castellated structure known as Downe House, and on past Queensbury House and an assortment of other proud mansions built along the Thames at Richmond, until they came to Tower House and the graceful, five-arched Richmond Bridge. The river here was three hundred feet wide, and the views were especially pleasing. Despite Carrisbrooke’s insistence upon identifying every villa that could be seen, everyone agreed that it was a splendid panorama. Afterward they drove on into the park itself to indulge themselves in the picnic lunch packed for them in the kitchens at Malmesbury House.
No sooner had they seated themselves than Carrisbrooke was off again, “Did you know …” he began, only to pause with a startled look when a number of his audience groaned audibly.
“Let him natter,” Sir David Lynsted recommended with a tolerant grin.
“Oh, yes, do,” agreed his irrepressible wife, “for I declare, the only time Roger can be serious about anything is when he talks about historical matters.”
“Fusty stuff,” declared Lord Toby, taking an armful of blankets from one of the footmen.
“Oh, pack up your pipes, Toby,” recommended Faringdon. “I�
��ll wager Carrisbrooke even knows the date the first tree was planted here. Who’ll give me odds?”
“Five to one in guineas,” declared Wensley-Drew promptly, “though I daresay you’ll be in the right of it.”
“I’ll take some of that,” Cheriton said with a grin.
“Well,” said Carrisbrooke with a laugh, “of all the hodcocks, Faringdon, you take the prize. No wonder you lose regularly at White’s. No one could possible know the date the first tree was planted here. Like as not it grew all by itself.”
“Well, then, how about the date the park was established?” Faringdon demanded. “Wagers standing, gentlemen?”
The others nodded, and Carrisbrooke grinned. “First enclosed by Charles the First in 1637 to enlarge the grounds of Richmond Palace, which was a royal residence at the time. Indeed, it was the very place where Queen Elizabeth died. Collect your money, lad, and for a bonus I’ll tell you that in 1649 the park was given to the City of London by the commonwealth in return for the City’s support during the Civil War. In 1660 the corporation very properly gave it back to Charles the Second, and pedestrian public rights of way weren’t won from the crown until the reign of George the Second. The herds within the park number over three hundred fallow deer and two hundred fifty red deer. Haunches of venison are presented annually to certain privileged folk such as the archbishops of Canterbury and York, and—”
“Enough!” shouted his listeners in a laughing chorus.
“Help Lord Toby and Mr. Wensley-Drew spread the blankets, if you please, sir,” Brittany requested with a smile.
“Whatever you command, beautiful lady.”
As he leapt to obey her, she turned to Faringdon. “You may be in charge of filling plates, sir, and if the other gentlemen will serve the ladies, we may all be comfortable in a trice.”
They needed no further coaxing and soon were seated in a happy group on a low hill from which they had a splendid view of the River Thames. The gentle breeze was cool but not chilling, the sun was high and golden, and the river sparkled as though someone had sprinkled diamonds upon it. An altogether successful outing, Brittany told herself. The illusion lasted until the remains of their repast had been cleared away and Lord Toby suggested a game of Quotations. Once the usual Shakespeare offerings had been acted out and guessed, the members of each team dug into their imaginations for rather more creative problems to solve. “Childe Harolde,” as presented by Sir Reginald, was easy. After capering about for a moment, he tugged on his curly hair and pretended to walk with a cane until Arabella, dissolving in laughter, managed to shout out the answer.
Martha Blakeney was next. She got to her feet and moved to stand before her team, looking somewhat confused by her assignment. She glanced questioningly at the opposing team. “This phrase is not really appropriate,” she said.
“No talking, no talking!” they shouted in unison.
“She must have got mine,” Alicia said, smiling. “Go ahead, Martha, they’ll get it. It is quite the easiest of the lot.”
Martha did her best, frowning for some moments in thought before she moved across the greensward to stand before her team mates. Brittany watched carefully, listening as others shouted out possible meanings to Martha’s strange gestures and movements. They got “fair” and “circle,” but could not seem to put the words together to make any particular quotation title or source. Only when Martha held her hand across the bridge of her nose and began, flushing deeply, to sway seductively as she walked did Brittany realize what she was trying to relay to them.
“Oh, Alicia,” she said then, exasperated, “Martha was quite right. ’Tis the fair Circassian, everyone, and not an appropriate literary source at all.”
“How do you know?” Alicia demanded. “Kept prisoner as she is, perhaps she writes poetry or even romantic novels for a pastime. In any event, she is far more interesting than Lord Byron or any of the more fusty persons we have quoted today.”
“Has anyone seen her yet?” asked Philip Wensley-Drew with a sidelong look at Faringdon, who was beginning to sputter.
“No,” replied Alicia, turning to him as though to an ally, “and people are beginning to become very suspicious, I can tell you. There was an article in the Post only yesterday, suggesting that there ought to be an investigation by the authorities to discover if she is indeed being held in slavery against her will. I think she ought to be released at once, and I shall be glad to see that fusty old ambassador be made to look no-how.”
“Well, of all the corkbrained things to say!” Faringdon could hold his tongue no longer. “One doesn’t interfere in diplomatic matters, my girl, and it will be as well for you to remember that. Only think what a row there would be if some old biddy marched into Charles Street, demanding to have the gel released. Whatever the customs be in Persia, they are no concern of ours.”
“But they are not in Persia,” Alicia pointed out. “They are in England, where we do not hold with slavery.”
“That has nothing to say to the point,” Faringdon told her. “One simply doesn’t muck about with foreign dignitaries here on state visits.”
Battle was in the air, and it took all the diplomacy at the hands of Lord Toby and Cheriton to smooth things over before the outing was entirely spoiled. They managed the business, however, and while Cheriton demanded Faringdon’s assistance with gathering the debris from the picnic, Lord Toby tactfully drew Alicia away, informing her that she was to have the privilege of riding in his carriage with himself and the Lynsteds on the return journey to London.
Arabella, climbing into the Malmesbury carriage to take her seat beside Brittany, said calmly, “We discussed it between us, Toby and I, and decided you would like nothing so much as a respite from their constant bickering. I cannot think why you were so foolish as to invite Alicia to ride with you, knowing how quickly they start up with each other.”
Brittany sighed. It had not been part of her plan to separate Faringdon and Alicia, but she had to admit that she was tired and had little patience for their squabbles at the moment. She smiled at Arabella. “I daresay you are quite right,” she said. “It was thoughtful of you to change places with her.”
“We agreed that it was the only practical thing to do under the circumstances,” Arabella said placidly.
The gentlemen joined them just then, and Faringdon gave Brittany a rueful glance as he heaved himself into the carriage and took his place beside the marquess on the opposite seat. “Sorry about that row,” he said. “Cherry here flayed me good and proper for my lack of tact, and he was right to do so. No point in playing such scenes before such a dashed great audience, after all.”
“There is little point to playing them at all,” Brittany told him acidly. “Can you not make an effort to get along with Alicia? We should all be a good deal more comfortable, you know.”
But instead of agreeing with her, he promptly launched himself into a dissertation, enumerating the reasons why someone had to curb Alicia’s more outrageous starts. After several attempts to divert him, Brittany gave up, and with a sour look at Cheriton, who like Arabella had kept an annoyingly still tongue in his head, she settled back against the squabs and did her best to ignore the earl’s lecture.
Faringdon lapsed into silence at last as they approached the Hyde Park tollgate on the outskirts of Mayfair, and Brittany had no wish to start any other conversation. When they reached Malmesbury House, Faringdon was the first to disembark from the carriage, followed by Cheriton and Arabella. The marquess stood ready to assist Brittany as she emerged. She scowled at him.
“You might have shut him up,” she muttered.
“I might, I suppose,” he agreed, releasing her once her feet were solidly upon the pavement.
Unable to suppress altogether a surprisingly strong surge of anger, she shot him a darkling look from under her eyebrows. “Why did you not, then?”
A second carriage had drawn up behind theirs and Brittany realized that several of their friends had followed them all the
way home, no doubt expecting further refreshment. Cheriton smiled down at her. “If you wish to discuss this matter further, we shall have to await a more appropriate time. Will you ride with me in the park tomorrow morning?”
She agreed at once, feeling a need for reassurance that she hoped, despite her vexation with him, that Cheriton might provide. Watching Faringdon several moments later, she managed to persuade herself that she was indeed doing the right thing, even if her two puppets were not cooperating. Though Alicia was sublimely unaware of the earl’s glances, he was keeping a sharp eye on her, and Brittany believed his notice had little to do with his self-appointed task of keeping the Lady Alicia out of mischief.
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed quickly, and she awoke the following morning before the sun was up. Ringing for her chocolate, she was scarcely surprised at being made to wait some moments for its arrival, but she was astonished when it was not a chambermaid but Sarah Basehart who came in with the tray.
“Sarah, where is the maid?”
“Where she ought to be,” Sarah informed her in the tart accents of a privileged servant, “doing her floors and carpets and overseeing the footmen polishing the brasses and the woodwork. ’Tis where she is every morning at this hour, when by rights your ladyships ought to be sleeping. What are you doing up so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Brittany confessed. “I’m going riding in the park at eight, and I want to look my best.”
“And which of your poor sisters be ye dragging out at such an ungodly hour, may I ask? Riding at dawn may be your sister Cicely’s notion of a fine thing—though it is to be hoped that that husband of hers knows better than to allow her such exercise in her condition—but if it’s yours or the Lady Arabella’s, ’tis the first I’ve heard of it. I daresay you must be taking the Lady Amalie.”
“Well, none of my sisters is going, if you must know. I am riding out with Lord Cheriton.”
“I’ll send word to the stables, then, for your groom to have your horse and his own ready for eight,” Sarah said with a stiff little nod. “Will ye wish a bath drawn?”
