Miss Westlake's Windfall

by Barbara Metzger

  “Oh, do not get up, brother!” she exclaimed, rushing to his side, as if she had not waited to finish the dance set before coming to welcome him home. Bending over to kiss Emery’s cheek, she almost smothered him in pink flesh.

  Wedged between his sisters. Emery could only blush and nod as Jane and her uncle went on about his fearlessness and fortitude.

  Jane was still pouring the butter boat over poor Emery when Chas and Leo returned from the viscount’s office, where they’d caught up on the news.

  “Here now,” Chas said, “you ladies cannot monopolize our returning warrior all evening, you know. The rest of the company is eager to view the celebrities, too. Leo and the lieutenant are quite the lions of the night, Epps tells me.” He turned to the young officer. “Are you up to greeting my mother yet, Emery?”

  Emery grinned, having known Lady Ashmead for most of his life. “Of course. Greeting your mother cannot be worse than facing the French cannonade, not by much, anyway. She is certain to blame me for getting injured, for signing up in the first place, for old Rodney sticking his spoon in the wall.”

  Showing unusual diplomacy, Tess took Leo off in the opposite direction from Lady Ashmead when they reached the ballroom. Showing unusual acumen about such matters, she held tightly to his bare, muscle-corded arm. The ladies might stare at Leo’s nearly naked chest, covered only by a black leather vest. They might even grow short of breath at the sight of his narrow waist cinched with a scarlet sash, his skin-tight pants tucked into high boots, the sword at his side and the gold hoop in his ear. Let them look, Miss Westlake’s possessive stance said; he was hers. The other ladies could look their fill when the book came out—if they paid for the privilege.

  Ada and the viscount flanked Emery as they walked toward Lady Ashmead’s throne, greeting old friends and neighbors on the way, accepting felicitations and welcome homes. Ada kept wanting to touch Emery, to cling to his scarlet regimental coat, to make sure he really was home, relatively healthy, ready to take over some of the family burdens. Champagne was not nearly as exhilarating as seeing her brother. In fact, walking with these two men, Ada could not recall being so happy, so at peace with the world. Emery was home, and Chas was not engaged.

  Emery was correct about Lady Ashmead trotting out all his faults as a form of affection. He’d simply not considered that she could blame him for Tess’s outfit, Ada’s unmarried state, or Cupid’s misplaced arrows.

  “My sisters’ waywardness you might be able to lay at my door, Lady Ashmead, but I refuse to take responsibility for Love’s vagaries. If Tess and Leo love each other, that’s enough for me.”

  “I am not speaking of those two,” the viscountess said with a toss of her turbaned head. “I might never speak to those two either. I was referring to Lady Esther’s stuffed sheep that got skewered.”

  Emery declared he was still all asea, and he’d been on dry land for hours. Lady Esther, sitting beside her hostess between dances, giggled, so Lady Ashmead recalled her duty and introduced the handsome wounded soldier to the beautiful blond heiress. No one needed a poet or novelist to predict what would happen next; it was inevitable. Emery fell at Lady Esther’s feet. Literally.

  One of the servants had located a shepherd’s crook to replace the missing mutton, lest anyone be confused about the lady’s costume and mistake her for a spun-sugar statuette. Lambikin’s ribbons had been transferred to the rounded staff, which rested alongside Lady Esther’s chair.

  Overtaken by the loveliest sight he’d seen since leaving for the Peninsula, deciding on the instant that this was what he’d been fighting for in the first place, Emery was not watching his feet. He fell over the decorated crook, skidded forward, and landed half in the little beauty’s lap.

  Never one to refuse a gift, Lady Esther murmured, “Oh, my,” and he was. Hers, that is.

  They got Emery back to his feet, uninjured, then onto a chair with a glass of wine in his hand to restore the color to his cheeks. Lady Esther waved away her next partner, declaring that she would sit by the hero instead. That was the least she could do, since she had almost broken his head.

  “Oh, dear,” Ada whispered to Chas as he led her out for a dance. “I fear she’ll break his heart next.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Even widgeons fall in love, I suppose.” Chas shook his head at Emery, who was leaning toward the golden ringlets as if pulled by a magnet, hanging on every word that lisped through perfectly bowed lips. “They must, there are so many around.”

  “But nothing can come of it,” Ada fretted. “Her father is an earl.”

  Chas shrugged. “Not everyone puts pounds and pence ahead of happiness.”

  If that was a gentle rebuke it missed its mark. “Her father is a wealthy earl,” Ada repeated. “He will never give his blessings to a half-pay officer.”

  “Devil take it, Ada, they just met. The lad set foot on English soil mere hours ago after years abroad. Why not let him catch his breath before landing him in parson’s mousetrap?”

  “You are right, of course. I am simply concerned about him and his future.”

  “I know you are, puss, but Emery is a man grown, so let him do some of the worrying from now on. The whole world need not rest on your shoulders. Your lovely shoulders, with your hair hanging down. Tonight is a masquerade, remember? It’s meant for flirting and folly and forgetting who you are. Tonight you are Princess Pretty, and I your gallant knight. No banks or brothers or bothersome house guests should intrude on our pleasure, only music and magic and champagne. Come, my love, dance with me.”

  His love? Ada floated into his arms.

  The dance was a waltz.

  The dance was not intended to be a waltz, Lady Ashmead predictably frowning on the licentious touching. Still, the orchestra definitely began the strains of a waltz, setting the young misses into a dither. Did the Almack’s rules apply here? Were they supposed to keep the same partners who’d been promised the scheduled quadrille? Were they proficient enough at the new dance to dare it in public?

  Ada looked about her at the confusion. “How did you convince your mother to permit a waltz?”

  “Easily. I pay the orchestra, remember?”

  Then he swung her into the lilting tempo, and Ada stopped wondering about anything. They danced together like well-practiced partners, for hadn’t Chas been the one to teach the Westlake girls, after a trip to London? They turned and twirled, glided and flowed, without the need for words. Whatever they needed to say, they said with their bodies, nearly touching in the movements, and their eyes, never leaving each other’s. Flirting, aye. Folly, perhaps. Forgetting who they were with? Never.

  Magic, indeed.

  * * * *

  While Viscount Ashmead waltzed with the lady who had turned him down so often and so openly, tongues wagged. Goodness, those two were not marking time to the music, they were making love! Lady Esther took note, and took another look at the handsome officer at her side. Lady Ashmead watched in disgust as her son and Ada Westlake made a spectacle of themselves, without one official step toward making her a grandmother. There was no hope whatsoever of Charles ever offering for Lady Esther, the viscountess was forced to admit, and there was nothing Lady Ashmead liked less than being forced to admit her errors. Besides, now she was stuck with the little ninny for another fortnight at least. To her additional aggravation, the other topic of conversation at her ball was her husband’s bastard. Look at him, flaunting himself and his chest hair at her party. It was enough to make a body bilious.

  The sight of Sebastian’s strong torso had quite another effect on the ladies at the masquerade, who suddenly found themselves wishing to be marooned on a desert island with the pirate. Their gentlemen were equally as entranced with Tess, in her flowing, not quite transparent, costume. Talk swirled around the pair as they, too, danced.

  Leo did not know the steps of the waltz, but that made no difference to Tess. She drifted around him like waves to the shore, eddying, ebbing, her lithe form w
eaving trailing fronds of green and blue gauze about his swaying figure, choreographing a ballet—or a seduction.

  “It’s part of the play,” the chaperones whispered among themselves, to stave off being scandalized.

  “It’s only the lunatic Westlake chit following her Muse,” others said knowingly. “Means nothing by it.”

  “No, I tell you, they are going to put on a production called Sebastian and the Sea Goddess. This is by way of being an introduction to the drama.”

  “Where can I purchase tickets?”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t be in public. The gel’s a lady, after all. I heard they are doing it here.”

  “You don’t say!”

  * * * *

  “I say no,” Lady Ashmead swore, when sweetly approached by her now de trop heiress, not even if the prattlebox had a starring role in the amateur theatrics.

  She said no when the vicar, of all people, mentioned that the neighbors were anxious to view the play, an allegory of good and evil, he believed. She said no yet again when Ada offered to see to the arrangements.

  “You could announce it tonight, for ten days’ hence, say, and not even have to send invitations.”

  Lady Ashmead even denied her son’s request, knowing full well that he needed no permission, no payments, and no patronage of his mother’s to hold a bacchanal orgy in his house, if he so wished. He might forget what was owed his lady mother for a waltz or two, she hoped, but not for flinging open the doors to the Meadows to the raff and scaff. Not twice.

  Ada went off for her promised dance with the riding officer, and Chas left to lead another of the house party beauties in the boulanger. Claiming the headache, Lady Esther declined her next partner, to sit by Sir Emery, who was sympathetic to her great disappointment. Why, on top of her lost lamb, such a blow might be too, too much for her tender sensibilities.

  Emery turned beseeching eyes to Lady Ashmead, who only turned her back.

  Having been pirated away by Jane, who insisted on having at least one dance with the most dashing man in the ballroom, Leo reluctantly took his place in the set.

  Tess approached her hostess and bluntly said, “I suppose they all asked and you turned them down.”

  “Hmph.” Lady Ashmead pretended to be watching the dancers.

  To Lady Ashmead’s regret, Tess spread her trailing skirt panels over the adjacent chair and made herself comfortable. “You might as well give in, you know.”

  “Why? Why should I permit my home to be used for such a shocking spectacle? Tell me that, missy.”

  Tess waved her arm around, catching Lady Ashmead’s lorgnette in one of her fronds. “The place is big enough, for one.”

  “Rot. The cow barn is big enough, too. Hold it there.”

  “And everyone wants to come,” Tess went on as though the older woman had not spoken. “They are all talking about it, you know.”

  Lady Ashmead did know, and it stuck in her craw. “Ladies,”—she repeated the word for emphasis—“ladies do not make a byword of themselves.”

  “Now who is talking fustian? Every hostess in London would leap at the chance to hold such an entertainment.”

  Lady Ashmead knew that, too, and was doubly irate.

  “You could even make it a charitable act, asking for donations for the orphanage from those who attend.”

  Triply troubled, reminded of the children her neglect had made suffer.

  “We don’t intend to produce the whole thing, you know, just the bits and pieces an audience will most appreciate. I doubt we could successfully enact the fire-dragon scene here anyway.”

  “Fire? I should hope not!”

  “Mostly, though, you should give your permission for your son’s sake, so poor Chas does not have to choose between you and Ada.”

  “That minx already made her own choice. And your sister has nothing to do with my decision whatsoever.”

  “She should, ma’am. You see, if we stage Sebastian here, it will be talked about among the London producers. We might even be able to get one or two to attend, or perhaps a journalist reviewer. I do intend my play to get to London, make no doubt, to earn us a fortune. Well, mayhaps not a fortune,” Tess amended, “but enough to give my sister back her dowry. With her portion restored, her pride will be too. She would be good enough for any man, even a viscount.”

  “Botheration, she could have had a viscount anytime these past three years.”

  “Five, I believe. She does love him, you know.”

  “Of course I know. Any fool can see that. Why do you think I filled my house with ninnyhammers, if not to make the simpleton see that for herself? Your sister is stupid, stubborn, soft in the head.”

  “And Chas loves her.”

  Lady Ashmead sighed.

  “There is another benefit to putting on the play here, you know.” Tess pressed her advantage. “If the play is produced in London, Mr. Tobin and I are likely to move there. You won’t have to worry about acknowledging my husband.”

  “Bosh. You get my son hitched to that addlepated Ada and I will be back in Bath before that scapegrace Sebastian puts on a shirt like a decent smuggler. Then I won’t care what the two of you gudgeons get up to.”

  Tess was not finished yet. She nodded to where Emery and Lady Esther had their heads together like bosom bows. “Your little house guest will likely throw a tantrum if she can’t be in the play, you know. I’ve lived with Jane Johnstone for years, and I can tell you a tantrum is not a pretty sight. Then too, the earl’s darling just might set her sights on something even more ineligible if she is denied, such as a hero in scarlet regimentals. She’s already lost a chance at Chas; losing her part just might be the last straw.”

  “The chit has the sense of a camel, too. She might very well throw her cap over the windmill for a handsome face, if it’s not too late. Lud, how would I explain that to Ravenshaw? I near broke his heart once, when I accepted Ashmead instead. This could be worse.”

  Tess laughed, loudly enough that heads turned in their direction. “Are we agreed, then?”

  Lady Ashmead hesitated.

  “I suppose I could go cry on Ashmead’s shoulder. He’s been like a brother to me all these years. It is his house, isn’t it?”

  “Blackmail don’t become you, missy.”

  “Oh, that’s not blackmail. Blackmail is if I threaten to perform the dance of the severed sea serpent’s head in your supper room. On the supper table. You were serving eels in aspic, weren’t you?”

  * * * *

  The announcement was made during the supper break. It was not the announcement Lady Ashmead had been hoping to make, not by half. It was not the announcement the guests had expected before seeing Lord Ashmead dance with Miss Ada Westlake, nor even the one they expected after that memorable waltz. The viscount’s invitation to another gathering in a fortnight, however, was greeted with loud cheers, due as much to the flowing champagne punch, perhaps, as the opportunity to view a new play at his lordship’s expense. The ladies wouldn’t mind a closer view of the pirate, either, nor the men another glance at that sea goddess.

  “The musical drama will be written, produced, directed, and choreographed by our own resident bard, Miss Tess Westlake, and will be held to benefit the Lillington-Folkestone Foundling Home. Your generous donations will make the lives of those unfortunates brighter, as I am certain our efforts will enliven your evening. A toast. To Miss Westlake.”

  Someone, likely Uncle Filbert who never missed an opportunity to lift his glass, then proposed a toast to their most generous host and gracious hostess. A toast to welcome the return of Lieutenant Westlake. A toast to the health of everyone present. A toast to good friends who were absent. The King. Wellington. Lady Arbuthnot’s birthday.

  The toasts went on for so long the orchestra members were tuning their instruments for the next interval well before the last cream tart was consumed. Finally the guests returned to the ballroom or the card room or the parlor. Some of those who had to travel long distances called fo
r their wraps and made their farewells, promising to return for the play.

  Ada was yawning, not used to such late hours or lavish suppers. Besides, she had already had her second dance of the evening with Chas, and was not going to get another, not without setting the whole neighborhood on its collective ear. She would have gone home, citing Emery’s injury as reason enough, but Jane would not hear of it, not until the last unmarried gentleman with hair, teeth, and money had left. The hair and the teeth were mere options.

  “What, leave before the unmasking?” She might have missed a potential parti under an ass’s head.

  “But you are not wearing a mask,” Ada pointed out. “What can it matter?”

  “A great deal. And what would you do?” Jane hissed, knowing Ada’s weak spots. “Drag your brother away from the best opportunity he is likely to have to meet young women of means? Look at him, top over tails for Lady Esther. Nothing can come of it, of course, but the peagoose helped cut his meat at supper. She’s also dismissed her other beaux, the fool, to sit out with him again.”

  Emery did not look tired to Ada. In fact, he looked eager, excited, entranced. Egads, he’d stay as long as Jane. Meanwhile, Tess and Leo were strolling about the perimeters of the dance floor, answering questions about the drama. That is, Tess was answering the technical inquiries; Leo was looking piratical. If any of the gentlemen looked too closely at Tess’s fish scales, Leo’s hand reached for his sword. They were obviously not ready to leave, not while there was a potential backer in the ballroom.

  Ada yawned behind her hand and looked around for Chas. He was standing beside his mother’s chair, saying good-bye to the departing guests, still the handsomest, most chivalrous of knights in her eyes. She thought she might go see if Lady Ashmead needed anything: a shawl, a glass of lemonade, a grandson. Ada thought she might have had one too many champagne toasts, too. She’d do better in a chair. Next to Chas.

  Chapter Twenty-four