Cupid's Choice: She's a shy beauty in distress. He's a chivalric gentleman.

by Buck, Gayle

  Guin choked on a swallow of wine. At her mother’s disapproving glance, she apologized profusely. “I am sorry, Mama! A-a crumb caught in my throat, and I was trying to wash it down.”

  “Well, see that you do it more discreetly, Guin,” said Mrs. Holland.

  Chapter Three

  Beginning with that first evening in London, Colonel Caldar did his duty by introducing his nephew into the elite membership of several clubs, to which he was himself admitted to by right of birth and profession. The colonel’s return to London was hailed with friendly acceptance by many old acquaintances.

  Lord Holybrooke was initially admitted into male circles because of his uncle’s sponsorship. However, his lordship was modest and possessed an innate dignity despite his youth, and this engendered him swift acceptance on his own account.

  The young earl was generally well received and was soon at home among his peers. For the first time in his life, Lord Holybrooke knew what it was to be sought out by gentlemen of similar birth and temperament. It was heady to his lordship, and he threw himself enthusiastically into enjoying what society had to offer. He listened politely and with deference to his uncle’s sage advice, and steered clear of certain unsavory characters whose primary goal in life was to clean out the pockets of unwary young gentlemen. He boxed at Jackson’s Saloon, shot out the pips at Manton’s Saloon, attended his first cockfight, and was initiated into the intricacies of whist. After two weeks, Lord Holybrooke could not imagine anything more gratifying than to continue living in London.

  His lordship recounted his adventures in the most open way to his mother and sister. Guin was very interested in all that her brother had to say, and told him wistfully that she wished she could accompany him. “For it sounds very jolly, Percy.”

  Lord Holybrooke laughed, his eyes gleaming at the picture his imagination summoned up. “Somehow, Guin, I don’t think you would be comfortable at Jackson’s Saloon,” he said.

  “No, I suppose not,” said Guin, also laughing as she was struck by the absurdity of what she had said.

  Naturally enough, Guin had not expressed her wish within her mother’s hearing. That would have called down on her head a sharp rebuke for foolishness, which indeed, once she had thought about it, Guin realized would have been entirely deserved. However, she still wished that she could be more in her brother’s company. She missed him terribly during that first fortnight, the more so because her own life was shifting beyond recognition since coming to London.

  Mrs. Holland was naturally gratified that her son was being accepted so readily by gentlemen of the ton. However, after seeing Lord Holybrooke safely away on another of his sprees, she turned to express concern to her brother.

  “Cockfights! And fisticuffs! What next, Arnold?”

  When Mrs. Holland went on to say that she feared for Lord Holybrooke’s moral character, Colonel Caldar burst out laughing. “Come, Aurelia, you wouldn’t want to keep the boy wrapped up in cotton. It is doing him a world of good to learn how to go on in polite society.”

  “Polite society! I scarcely call it that when he is rubbing shoulders with commoners at a cockfight!” exclaimed Mrs. Holland.

  “But it does sound as though Percy is enjoying himself,” said Guin quietly.

  Mrs. Holland glanced swiftly at her daughter, a thoughtful expression entering her eyes. “Indeed, it seems so from all Percy has said.”

  “Aye, and he is making a place for himself amongst the young bloods. You wouldn’t want it said that Percy lacked spirit, Aurelia,” said Colonel Caldar. “Why, it would be the kiss of death to him socially.”

  At once perceiving where Lord Holybrooke’s best interests laid, Mrs. Holland abandoned all of her objections. She nodded her head. “Of course I quite see how it is, Arnold. I haven’t the least desire to hinder either Percy’s pleasure or his social acceptance. He must do what is proper and befitting to his station. I suppose I must thank you for introducing him around, Arnold.”

  Colonel Caldar was stupefied by his sister’s rare expression of gratitude. “Aye, well, I told you that I’d do my best by Percy,” he said gruffly. “He goes on very well. Percy has his head straight on his shoulders. I don’t fear that he’ll run aground.”

  “You have relieved my mind of all care, brother,” said Mrs. Holland with her lovely smile.

  Colonel Caldar bowed, more in charity with his sister than he had been for some time.

  Though Colonel Caldar could provide entree to his nephew to select clubs and generally aid Lord Holybrooke, he could not do the same for his niece. And since Mrs. Holland was at a disadvantage in not having close acquaintances in London, she and Guin did not immediately soar to such heights as had Lord Holybrooke. Their entry into society was accomplished far more slowly and quietly.

  However, the very fact that the Earl of Holybrooke, along with his family, was in residence acted as a spur on the ton. Not wanting to be backward in any attention, and having already heard from their spouses and sons about the young earl, the ladies began to call and to leave their cards.

  Guin’s days became filled with all those things that were necessary to bring a young miss to the notice of the ton. Making calls, taking tea, and walking or driving in the park were all considered proper activities by her mother.

  For nearly any other sheltered young lady, such obligations would have been vastly exciting. However, unlike most of her peers, Guin’s life had been so insulated that to be thrust suddenly into society was torturous to her.

  When she and Lord Holybrooke had a few minutes to themselves, a much rarer occurrence than had once been their custom, Guin expressed something of her feelings. “I-I am just so afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing, Percy,” she said glumly. “I am not like you! I cannot converse easily with strangers or strike up friendships on the basis of a few minutes.”

  “Oh, you’ll soon grow more comfortable with it, Guin. I know it is fairly difficult for you now, but I daresay after a bit of time and adjustment, you’ll go on in famous style,” said Lord Holybrooke reassuringly.

  They were in the front parlor, where Guin had gone to do some embroidering because the light was brighter, and Lord Holybrooke had wandered in a few minutes before to keep her company. He had cast himself down in a wing chair and was flipping through a racing journal, yawning over its pages.

  “But there is Mama, too. She is not at all pleased with me,” said Guin, revealing her most pressing anxiety.

  “Oh, you know how Mama is! She comes on cross as crabs, but all you have to do is turn her up sweet and everything will be fine,” said Lord Holybrooke in a careless fashion.

  Guin dropped the embroidery hoop to her lap and stared over at her brother in astonishment. “Percy! As though I have ever been able to turn Mama up sweet! You know I can’t.”

  Lord Holybrooke looked up quickly. He had the grace to give a sheepish smile. “I suppose that’s true. I’ll tell you what, Guin, I’ll make a point of doing the pretty more often. You won’t be so nervous if I escort you and Mama around, will you?”

  “Oh, no! It would be the very thing, for—”

  The door opened and the butler entered. “My lord, here is Lord Tucker to see you.”

  A brash young gentleman, starting to speak before he was properly inside the room, entered on the butler’s heels. “Percy, old fellow! I was hoping to find you at home! I’ve had word of a famous race taking place within the hour. Can you come?”

  Lord Holybrooke stood up and with a grin shook his companion’s hand. “Of course I can, Chuffy! What’s to keep me from it? Chuffy, you’ve met my sister, haven’t you? Guin, this is Lord Tucker, the best of fellows.”

  Lord Tucker made a belated bow in Guin’s direction. His lordship was an aspiring dandy. His coat was very tight, so it was obvious he had to be helped into it, and it could not be buttoned across the front. His waistcoat and the top of his frilled shirt were thus on display. “Honored, Miss Holland!”

  Guin smiled and made a determined
effort to make a good impression on one of her brother’s new friends. With that laudable ambition, she said brightly, “Good afternoon, Lord Tucker. Pray, what sort of race is it?”

  Lord Tucker cleared his throat and rolled his eyes toward Lord Holybrooke for help. “Not the sort of thing you would be interested in, ma’am, I assure you. It’s to do with geese.”

  “Geese?!” exclaimed Guin in astonishment. She turned her widening eyes toward her brother. “Racing geese?”

  Lord Holybrooke laughed, delighted by this revelation. “Oh, by all that’s famous! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s be off, Chuffy. You’ll not want to keep your team standing, I daresay. There’s a stout wind blowing.”

  “No, indeed. Miss Holland, your most obedient,” said Lord Tucker with another graceful bow.

  The two young gentlemen left the front parlor, animatedly discussing the upcoming treat. Guin stared after them until the door closed, shutting off their cheerful voices. She began plying her needle again, but slowly, rehearsing in her mind what had just transpired. Lord Holybrooke had virtually promised to spend more time with her, but then at the first opportunity, and without giving the least thought to her concerns, he had run off with a friend to a goose race.

  It was lowering to reflect that one did not rate even so high as a goose.

  With a heartfelt sigh, Guin wondered whether things would ever be the same between her and her twin brother. Since coming to town, it seemed they were drifting farther and farther apart. All of a sudden, she recalled with a flash the comment Colonel Caldar had made on their first evening in London, about her having to do without Percy.

  Guin began to have a glimmer of what her uncle had meant, for indeed, she was seeing less and less of her brother. Lord Holybrooke was gone from the town house as often as he was in residence. Simply because he was the Earl of Holybrooke and she was a young lady just coming out, their paths had inevitably begun to diverge. They were no longer living quietly in the country, dependent upon one another for amusement and shared confidences. Lord Holybrooke had a widening circle of friends and acquaintances now, which was serving to push Guin away. She was intelligent enough to realize that there was nothing she could do to arrest their estrangement.

  “I detest London and everything about it!” she exclaimed, thrusting her needle almost viciously through her embroidery hoop.

  The door opened and Mrs. Holland entered with a swish of silken skirts. “There you are, Guin! I have been intending to have a word with you.”

  There was an undercurrent in Mrs. Holland’s voice which instantly banished all thought of Lord Holybrooke’s defection from Guin’s mind. She anxiously regarded her mother’s expression as Mrs. Holland approached. “Yes, Mama?”

  Unlike her daughter, Mrs. Holland was not at all retiring. She was thriving on her growing circle of acquaintances. She was in her element, and if she noticed how backward her daughter was in social situations, she blamed Guin for being so entirely stupid.

  “I do hope you learn to overcome this embarrassing awkwardness, Guin,” she said, seating herself across from her daughter. “I scarcely knew where to look when you simply stared at Lady Beasely in such an idiotic way when she so graciously addressed you during our drive yesterday.”

  “I-I was woolgathering, Mama,” said Guin guiltily, knowing full well the excuse would not be well received. The nervous flutter in her stomach, one she was hardly ever without, intensified.

  “Pray confine your woolgathering to your own bedroom,” said Mrs. Holland with asperity.

  “Yes, Mama. Would you like me to read to you now?” asked Guin quickly and setting aside her embroidery in order to pick up the novel that she had started the evening before.

  Mrs. Holland shrugged, artfully arranging her skirt to her satisfaction. “I don’t know why I should allow you to do so when your voice sets my teeth on edge. But there is nothing else to do until the ball at Lady Smythe’s this evening. I am told that your uncle and dear Percy have gone out again. How I wish Percy was here! He does not fret me like you do.”

  “I wish Percy was here, too,” said Guin quietly, turning to the page where she had left off. Indeed, she thought, at times it was almost more than she could bear to be without her twin’s support. Without his timely interventions, their mother was more wont to chide her. She understood that her mother was feeling Lord Holybrooke’s neglect, just as she was herself dealing with loneliness, but it scarcely made Mrs. Holland’s oft-expressed displeasure more palatable.

  “We are going to tea with Lady Beasely tomorrow, Guin. Pray try to behave with some semblance of intelligence,” said Mrs. Holland. “And I trust you will do the same this evening. Listen to me, Guin! I do not wish to hear that idiotic stammering. It does not make you in the least interesting, which I suspect you believe it does.”

  “Yes, Mama,” whispered Guin, her heart sinking. Her stomach started churning as she thought about the inevitable mess she would make of everything.

  Guin never uttered a word of complaint over her mother’s social plans. Often she was made sick with apprehension at being thrust into social situations for which she was ill-equipped by her upbringing. She had been taught from childhood that her place was to be a silent support to her mother.

  Her lack of polish was the least of it, however. She stammered much of the time in company, despite her best efforts otherwise. She knew she was a dismal failure. No matter how hard she tried, Guin felt that she always fell short of her mother’s expectations.

  Guin began to read aloud a chapter from one of the popular romance novels that her mother favored. Her mind was not on it, however. She was nervous about the engagement that evening. Lady Smythe’s invitation was the most important they had yet received.

  However, Lord Holybrooke would be accompanying them, so she could at least present a show of calm at the prospect of her first dress ball. If Percy meant to stay close by, Guin thought hopefully, she might possibly scrape through the evening without incurring her mother’s wrath.

  However, the visit with Lady Beasely was an entirely different matter. Anxiously, Guin hoped her brother would not have a prior commitment so that he could also accompany her and Mrs. Holland to the Beaseleys. She felt certain that otherwise her genius for gaucherie would undoubtedly draw down on her head another of her mother’s dreaded lectures.

  Guin lacked confidence, and it was pathetically obvious to anyone of the meanest intelligence. It was a crippling handicap to a young miss embarking on her first Season. She had singularly failed to make a favorable impression with any of their new acquaintances. The ladies had tried to coax her into conversation, but when their efforts did not meet with unqualified success, for the most part, they dismissed Miss Holland.

  Never one to exercise patience, Mrs. Holland expressed herself in biting criticisms of her daughter’s manners, her speech, and her appearance. It never occurred to that lady that she was herself at least partially to blame for Guin’s backwardness.

  Unhappily reflecting on all this, Guin came to an inevitable conclusion. She had never been so miserable in her life until they had come up to London for the Season.

  Chapter Four

  The elopement of a certain Russian prince and a young Irish miss at the end of the previous Season had become generally known and set the ton on its ears. Sir Frederick Hawkesworth grinned to himself when he heard it. Since in a sense he had helped the prince prosper in his suit, Sir Frederick congratulated himself on a job well-done.

  He glanced around the large elegant ballroom as he took a chilled glass of champagne from the lavishly outfitted refreshment table. Lobster and cold cuts vied with delicate pastries of all descriptions, but nothing stirred his interest. Nor was he impressed by the sparkling of jewels or the bright glow of candlelight captured in mirrors and crystal chandeliers, or even by the well-bred company which had gathered that evening. During a somewhat colorful career in the diplomatic corps, he had become immur
ed to such ostentatious displays of wealth. As for social connections, Sir Frederick knew the greater half of royalty on two continents. It would take much to impress one so cosmopolitan in experience.

  Sir Frederick was a well-built gentleman of average height, his lean muscular physique showing to great advantage in a finely tailored dark blue evening coat and buff pantaloons. He was generally considered to be a handsome man, though his face was square rather than aquiline. Often the pronounced twinkle in his eyes and his quick smile had led him to be described as engaging in personality.

  Sir Frederick thoughtfully sipped the excellent champagne. Trust Lady Smythe to have nothing but the best served to her guests. However, Sir Frederick was not thinking of wines. There came a somber expression into his brown eyes. In truth, he was at a crossroads. He had been offered a new post in Paris. His good friend Lord John Stokes, who was already stationed in the French capital, had urged him to come. He had declined, but it was not because he was still in love with Lady Sophia Wyndham Stokes. His heart had suffered a terrible blow when the lady had chosen Lord John over him. However, he had recovered. As he had once told Sophia, the experience had tempered him as only fire could do to precious metal.

  Sir Frederick knit his dark brows, reflecting. No, it was nothing to do with the past that had made him hesitate to take the plum of a post in Paris. Rather, it was the dry future that he was beginning to envision. The recent elopement of the prince and Miss O’Connell merely pointed up the reality of his own barren circumstances.

  Simply put, his was an old and honorable name, and he had yet to bestow it on anyone.

  Sir Frederick stared with suspicion at the half-empty wineglass he held with one tanned hand. “Rotten stuff. It’s making me maudlin,” he muttered. He set the glass down decisively, the gold signet on his left hand clicking against the crystal rim.

  “Freddy!” Mr. Henry Duckwood clapped him on a solid well-built shoulder.