The Lady and the Rake_A Scandalous Arrangement

by Penelope Redmont

  "She is, and I am. She and Catherine are waiting for Mr. Bridge." Linton made her uncomfortable. She didn't want to speak with him. He was much older, and he intimidated her. It took all her strength to keep her back straight when he stared at her. "I'm looking for a locket," she explained, and indicated the display case.

  "To contain a miniature of your lover, I suppose," Linton teased, his smile reaching his eyes. In the showroom lamps, his eyes appeared very green.

  "In memory of my father," she said stiffly.

  Abruptly, something occurred to her. She glanced at the door of the small room into which the fashionable lady had disappeared. Her eyes widened. She felt heat moving up her throat, and turned away so that he couldn't see.

  He cleared his throat again. "Shall we choose one for you?" The two words sounded forced, as if he were suppressing laughter.

  He knew what she was thinking, the wretch. He enjoyed discomfiting her.

  Well, if he didn't have the decency to be embarrassed, she wouldn't be, either.

  She turned to the display case, and sighed. "I don't know which to choose. I only need a small locket. Perhaps another shop, not Rundell, Bridge & Rundell."

  He looked over her head, and lifted his hand. Instantly a shop girl was at her side. "Miss Eardley wishes to see the lockets… That one, if you please." Linton's voice was soft, but commanding.

  He pointed at precisely the delicately filigreed, heart-shaped locket that Melly would have chosen, had it not had a small diamond in its center.

  The diamond would make it much too expensive. "No, not that one…" She pointed to a small, very plain locket. "May I see that one, please."

  "Linton!" Suddenly Catherine was beside Melly, frowning up at Linton.

  "Mrs. Grove," he bowed to her. "You are well? And your husband, Major Grove?"

  They continued their pleasantries. Melly turned away, and focused on the small heart. It was tiny, perhaps the smallest in the case, but she loved it.

  "Let me show you, Miss Eardley, it has a truly cunning little hinge. There's plenty of room inside it, even though it's small."

  "Melly, do leave that — you don't need another locket. Anne gave you one for your birthday, did she not?" Catherine scooped the locket from Melly's palm, and handed it back to the shop girl.

  Melly opened her mouth to protest, but she heard the feminine, musical voice again.

  "Linton, what do you think?"

  Linton's lovely friend strolled across the showroom, proudly touching the glittering showers of diamonds which cascaded down her bosom.

  A shop man hovered behind her. A necklace with so many strands of diamonds had to be worth thousands of pounds, Melly thought. But it was lovely.

  She glanced at her sister. The look on Catherine's face was priceless.

  Melly looked back at the shop girl, and shook her head. Catherine wouldn't allow her to buy the locket. What a shame. Perhaps she could visit the shop again, when she next came to London. Without Catherine.

  "Come, Melly," Catherine snapped. "Come at once."

  Catherine grabbed her hand, then shoved her back into the small room where her mother waited. She had no time to protest.

  Slamming the door, Catherine rested against it. "That man," she gasped. "Mother, Linton is lost to all propriety."

  She rounded on Melly. "Perhaps now you see why I'm utterly against you having anything to do with Pierce Ward! He's staying with that man. It's indecent."

  "Linton is here?" Mrs. Eardley asked. "What —?"

  "Linton, with one of his chères amies. He was speaking to Melly — ! Melly, if you please. A disgrace. He should not have acknowledged Melly while he was with one of his tarts."

  "Catherine, you're making too much of it," Melly protested.

  "We're leaving," Catherine picked up her reticule.

  Mrs. Eardley frowned at her eldest daughter. "Sit down, dear, and calm yourself. I'm sure that Lord Linton would never do anything which was not good ton. You're too nice in your attitudes, you always have been."

  She smiled brightly. "Mr. Bridge and I have chosen Melly's pearls, and I want Melly to wear them tonight." She turned to Melly. "The most darling strand of pearls, my pet, so elegant. Smaller pearls for the string, with large Oriental pearls descending. More than I wanted to spend, but they'll be lovely for your season."

  Perhaps because her mother rarely asserted herself, Catherine obeyed and sank into her chair. "I still say pearls won't suit her. My sapphires would be better."

  "You'll lend her your sapphires if you wish. But every young lady needs pearls… My mother bought me pearls for my come-out, and I bought pearls for you, Catherine."

  Why was Catherine so outraged? Melly wondered at her sister.

  Then she realized. She remembered the gossip about Major Grove, who had an expensive chère amie of his own. One didn't speak of such things, or even acknowledge that men had — friends.

  The door opened, and Mr. Bridge entered. He bowed to Melly, and presented her with a jewelry box. "Miss Eardley — your pearls. I wish you all happiness in wearing them."

  Melly opened the box, touched the smooth pearls with delight, and forgot all about Lord Linton and chères amies.

  Later that evening, after dinner in their London house in Grosvenor Square, Melly wrote a letter at a small desk in the library.

  Catherine passed her on her way to ring the bell for the servants, and glanced at the page. "You can't write to Talverne. Give me that." Catherine held her hand out for the letter Melly was composing.

  "But Pierce is my friend. He's in London, and —"

  "No my dear," Mrs. Eardley looked up from the large library table where she was writing her own letters. She smiled at Melly gently. "It would not do at all, for you to write to Lord Talverne."

  "Indeed not, the very idea." Catherine read the letter, which was short, and shook her head.

  "I was just asking Pierce to call…"

  "If he wants he call, he will. No doubt Linton will tell him that we're in London." Catherine tossed the letter into the grate.

  The Oaks

  While Mrs. Eardley accompanied two of her daughters to London, Henrietta, the youngest of Mrs. Eardley's daughters, just 14, spent her time at the stables at The Oaks. Horse-mad Henry was interested in the house party only because she knew that the London guests would fill the stables with prime horseflesh.

  Henry was the stables' secret. Dressed in breeches, boots, short jacket, and a large hat which covered her hair, she made a pretty stable lad. Both Lady Talverne and Mrs. Eardley were aware that Henry frequented the stables. Neither were aware that she did it in boys' breeches.

  Had they known, they would have been horrified, of course. Every stable boy, groom, and the stable master stood to lose his place. But Henry worked so hard, and enjoyed herself so much, that no one ever suggested that perhaps she needed to give up tomboyish habits.

  On Wednesday, two days before the guests arrived at The Oaks, Henry was mucking out stalls, lunge-reining young horses, and cleaning tack, as she always did at the stables.

  She was grooming a filly when she became aware of a buzz of conversation outside the main stable block. She patted the filly, picked up her bucket of brushes, latched the loose box, then hurried to see what the commotion might be.

  The stablemen were gathered around two horses in the center of the yard.

  A liveried groom had just dismounted from a tall hack. A pretty part-Arabian mare pranced at the end of a lead rope, showing off for her audience.

  "Look at that — never seen the like."

  "Now, that's a horse, to be sure, and all," the stable master said.

  "She's lovely," Henry breathed, drinking in the sight of the dappled-grey wonder on four legs.

  Mr. Penrith, the stable master, heard her. "Worth a penny or two, that," he said. "She's just come from London." He raised his voice and asked the mare's groom: "Who's she belong to then? Must be a titled lady?"

  The groom handed the reins of
his hack to a stableboy, and allowed the pretty mare to prance. "I forget her breeding name, Mr. Penrith. Her ladyship calls her Snowdrop."

  "Her ladyship?"

  "Yes, young Lady Burnley's my mistress…" He grinned. "She'll soon be your mistress too. Her's to marry Talverne. Snowdrop'll be staying here. She's a little too hot for Lady Christobel to ride in London… so his lordship said the mare was to be billeted here. After all, it's to be Lady Christobel's home, after the wedding."

  What? Henry shook her head. Lady Burnley to marry Talverne? How could that be?

  Henry knew that Talverne had offered for Melly — everyone at Gostwicke Hall knew it.

  While conversation swirled around her and Mr. Penrith decided where he'd lodge Snowdrop, Henry gaped at the groom.

  "Sir," she said to him, when he'd released Snowdrop to Mr. Penrith. "Did you say that Lord Talverne was engaged?"

  "Here, why are you so interested, boy?"

  Henry wasn't used to people looking down their nose at her, and restrained her temper. She kept her head down, so that he couldn't see her face, and muttered: "It's news sir, that's all. I like to know what's going on."

  "Be off with you, you cheeky imp." He chuckled, and swiped a hand at Henry, who ducked nimbly out of his way. Then he relented. "Yes, it's true. Your Lord Talverne's to marry my Lady Burnley, and it's a secret, so no talking about it off the estate. His lordship's mother's giving a ball, and it'll be announced then."

  It couldn't be true. Henry refused to believe it. She ran to the small room she called her own, next to the tack room, and undressed. A quick wash, then on with her riding habit and hat. She'd find out for herself.

  Although everyone in the family teased Melly about her expectations, they all believed that she'd marry Talverne.

  Henry entered The Oaks' manor house via the the servants' hall. The house had been built in the time of the Tudors and added to since. She skipped up the servants' staircase, her riding habit hooked up above her ankles, heading for the large drawing room where Lady Talverne received guests.

  Taking a deep breath, she entered the long hallway. Two footmen stood at the doors to the drawing room. She knew them well, and shook her head at them, so that they wouldn't open the doors.

  "I just want to listen," she whispered.

  One of them winked at her. "Here, let's make it easier…" obligingly, he opened one of the double doors slightly, so that she could hear what was happening inside.

  "Guests from London," the other footman told her. "His lordship's intended, if you can believe that."

  Henry heard Lady Talverne and another lady, then a male voice she recognized as Pierce's. They were talking about the ball.

  She didn't want to interrupt them, she wanted to speak to Lady Talverne alone. "I'll go up to her ladyship's private sitting room, will you tell her that I'm there?"

  An hour later, Henry rode home. She'd spoked to Lady Talverne, who was very excited. It was true. Pierce was engaged to Lady Burnley; the engagement would be announced at the ball.

  She'd spoken to Pierce too.

  "You're not to say a word, Henrietta — promise me!" Lady Talverne admonished her. "Don't tell your mother, or anyone else. Will you promise?"

  Henry was still shocked, otherwise she wouldn't have given her promise.

  She'd met Pierce in the stable yard when she led her hack, a tall bay gelding, to the mounting block.

  "Henry — is that you? I can't believe it, you're a young lady now. You'll be turning heads in a few years."

  "Pierce." Henry glared at him. "You're getting married — you snake!"

  "What?"

  Henry assessed Pierce with a narrowed gaze. He still resembled the boy she'd known all her life. The same round face, thatch of brown hair, and gentle brown eyes. She sighed, and recognized the truth. Since she'd seen him, Pierce had become an adult.

  A very stupid, unkind adult.

  "You —" Henry pressed her lips tightly together, as she adjusted the skirt of her riding habit, and gathered the reins. "You're a snake. A real snake. I never would have believed it of you."

  "Stay," Pierce made a grab for the gelding's bridle. "Henry, I don't know —"

  "Let go!" She slashed at his arm with her riding crop, managing to hit his bare hand.

  "You're mad!"

  She stared at him. The blow hurt, she saw with satisfaction, because he cradled his left hand in his right. "I'll pay you out for this Pierce Ward, see if I don't."

  With that final threat she rode the gelding right at him, so that he had to jump aside or be trampled.

  Mrs. Eardley, Catherine, and Melly had returned from London while Henry was at The Oaks.

  Now what, Henry wondered, as she groomed the gelding. She couldn't say anything to anyone — not to her mother, nor to Catherine, nor to Anne. And certainly not to Melly.

  Poor Melly.

  2. The ball

  Melly surveyed herself in the glass in Catherine's dressing room.

  "Very nice," Catherine said, meeting Melly's gaze in the mirror, and frowning.

  Melly thought that Catherine would be critical, but Catherine finally smiled. "I like it."

  "I do too." Melly assessed her gown of white crape, over pale blue satin. The bodice was low cut, but the navy blue trimming of ruched ribbon around the neckline saved her modesty, and added a touch of elegance.

  "The ribbon brings out the blue of your eyes. Anne's very clever with her needle."

  Anne had spent hours attaching navy lace to bottom of the bodice, and the gown's hem.

  Melly wished that Anne would attend the ball too, but she wouldn't. Despite Mrs. Eardley's protests, and Catherine's impatience, Anne maintained her mourning.

  Catherine's thoughts seemed to be on Anne too, because she snorted in an unladylike fashion. "Anne relishes her mourning," she said waspishly. "Eighteen months since Kingston died, and him three times her age… Still in her blacks, why? She's making a complete show of herself, and it's not as thought she were attached to him. When all's said and done, Father sold Anne to Kingston."

  "Catherine!"

  "Oh — what? See sense, Melly — realize what the world is like. Kind as he was, our dearest father was greedy and thoughtless. Profligate. If it weren't for Mother, we'd be ruined, ten times over. Grandfather knew the kind of man that Father was."

  "You can't say that Father sold Anne…"

  "I can say it. Kingston was one of his cronies — to sell an innocent girl to him, it was cruel. Mother should have stood up to him." Catherine shook her head, and sighed. "Well, Father is dead. And not missed, either. At least Anne got Kingston's money. She can marry anyone she wishes to, now — stop gazing at yourself in the mirror. I want to finish your hair. Come and sit down."

  Melly sat down at Catherine's dressing table. Catherine's maid had braided her hair, then pinned the heavy braids into place at the top of her head. The braids were partially hidden by clusters of curls. Smaller braids smoothed her hair at the sides, and curls framed her face.

  The style had taken almost two hours to achieve, but she did look quite pretty, Melly thought. Pierce needn't be ashamed to be seen with her. She looked unlike herself, and yet, very much like herself.

  She took a deep breath. Her tummy was filled with flutters.

  "I thought to add your new pearls to your hair, but that might be too much…" Catherine opened a jewel box, and took out a comb with two bands of dark blue sapphires alternated with bands of diamonds. She slid the comb into the front of Melly's braids.

  "There now," Catherine said with satisfaction. "What do you think? Give me your pearls. We want be make sure it's not too much… Always remember Melly, that when your jewelry is remarked on, it's too much. We want the attention to be on you."

  Two hours later, Melly took the hand of a footman, and descended from their carriage at the front door of The Oaks. Her mother and Catherine were already climbing the steps.

  She would see Pierce again within minutes. She couldn't still t
he fluttering in her stomach. She knew that he'd arrived home during their London trip. Why hadn't he come to see them? She was disappointed. Only Catherine's irritated strictures, and Henry's question — "are you throwing yourself at him, then?" prevented her from riding to The Oaks.

  When she asked Henry what Pierce was like now — had he changed? Henry shrugged. "Haven't seen him on a horse, can't say."

  "Never mind the horses! What does he look like?"

  Henry merely shrugged again, and dodged away when Melly tried to pinch her.

  Now she would see for herself.

  "Come Melly," her mother stood at the top of the stairs. "Don't be shy, my dear," she said when Melly hurried to her side.

  Catherine snorted, and took Melly's arm. "I have her, Mother," she chuckled. "You mustn't be missish, Melly. Let's see what your fiancé has to say for himself."

  Then he was there.

  Melly drank him in. Pierce was as she remembered him, although a little fuller in the face, and broader at the shoulders. He looked wonderful, so handsome, as he stood beside his mother, at the top of the staircase leading to the drawing room. The Oaks didn't have a ballroom, so the large and smaller drawing rooms would be used for dancing.

  Pierce bent his head to speak to a pretty young lady clinging tightly to his arm. She had a head full of black ringlets wound with pearls, and a three-strand pearl and diamond choker. Her ballgown was pure elegance, with an overdress of palest green net, lightly embroidered with pink rosebuds, over a forest green under-gown of silk, with a train.

  With a train. Melly's eyes widened. She'd only seen such a thing in fashion plates in La Belle Asemblée.

  Whoever she was, the lady was expensively dressed in the first stare of fashion. For a moment, Melly felt uneasy — the young lady was so pretty, so fashionable, and so familiar with Pierce. One of his cousins, she decided. The lady was a girl, really, and probably it was her first ball; she was young enough not to be out.

  A few minutes later, they reached the top of the staircase.