"I have also sent her countless bouquets of flowers," Dubarry defended himself.
Hugh, who had taken the same course of action as his cousin, gave a silent cheer. What did Montague know about women?
"Take it from a man who knows everything there is to know about women," the marquess said, interrupting Hugh's thoughts, "A bouquet of flowers is nothing. Any man with funds might send flowers if he so wishes."
The brief congratulations that Hugh had allowed himself quickly vanished; Montague was right. A bouquet of roses, no matter how fragrant or beautiful, was--in the end--just a bunch of flowers. Any man could send one; Lud, an enterprising child might even pick one, if they were so inclined.
Hugh's overtures of love had been rather lacking in imagination.
"What you need," Montague advised Dubarry, unaware that Hugh too was hanging on his every word, "Is a grand gesture."
"A grand gesture," Dubarry nodded along enthusiastically, until his face fell into a worried frown. "What type of grand gesture would you recommend?"
"Gemini," Montague rolled his eyes, "Do you want me to court the girl myself while I'm at it? How should I know what your grand gesture should be? Think on your strengths. When I was attempting to catch the eye of Rosaline, I entered into a curricle-race along the row, because I knew she favoured sportive men and I am quite the whip."
"Did that race not end with you taking an unexpected dip into the Serpentine?" Orsino queried, but Montague waved him away with an irritable shake of his hand.
"Pah! That is no matter. What matters is that Rosaline could not help but notice me. If your Miss Bianca is refusing to answer your calls, then you must do something that can't fail to capture her attention."
"A grand gesture," Dubarry was again nodding, this time with more certainty, "Perhaps a sonnet?"
Montague banged his fist on the table, causing the glass-wear and cutlery to jump, and every member of White's to turn and look at them.
"A sonnet," he cried gaily, "That's perfect. What light through yonder window breaks, eh, my good man? Is it the east, or your fair sun, Miss Bianca?"
"That's not quite how the quote goes," Orsino looked pained.
"Nor am I certain that singing a ballad at Miss Bianca's window is the brightest of ideas," Hugh added, worried that his cousin might disgrace himself in the name of love.
Montague raised an eyebrow at Hugh's words and cast him the smuggest of smiles. His know-it-all air was quite insufferable, Hugh thought darkly, before his friend spoke again.
"Alas, my dear Penrith," the marquess gave a shrug, "If one truly wanted forgiveness, one would be willing to cast their pride aside in order to attain it."
Pride.
There it was again, that word which had haunted Hugh his entire life. He was proud, aloof, and unwilling to bend. He was the author of his own downfall.
Hugh frowned as he recalled the feeling of loneliness which had assailed him, that day in Hyde Park when he had spotted Charlotte frolicking with her friends. He remembered wishing that he could change, to be a man whom Charlotte might love.
But he had changed, he reminded himself sternly, he had become a man she admired. It was only when she had scorned him, that he had retreated to being the aloof and cold Duke of Penrith.
Pah, he cursed himself, what had he been thinking writing pointless letters? He should have knocked down her door and done battle for her heart. He needed a grand gesture of his own, and he had the feeling that it would involve a grovelling apology.
"I had best be off," Dubarry said abruptly, pushing back his chair so hastily that it fell to the floor with a clatter. "I have a sonnet to compose and perform."
"Wonderful," Montague cried, clearly enjoying his role as the Wise Oracle of White's, "Though if I might make one more suggestion, Mr Dubarry?"
Dubarry paused and gave a nod.
"Leave any performing of grand gestures until tomorrow, when you have sobered up somewhat. Women never seem to appreciate when a drunken man sings under their balcony--they see it more as a public nuisance. And I know that from experience."
Montague gave the baffled Dubarry a wink, before returning to his brandy with a self-satisfied smile. Orsino, seated across from him, looked half torn between exasperation and admiration.
"A drunken sonnet?" he queried, once Dubarry had left.
"Miss Prunella Harrod," Montague replied, sheepishly, "Her abigail threatened to pour a chamber-pot over my head if I did not cease my caterwauling."
"One cannot put a price on hiring good staff," Orsino replied, and the two men fell into another one of their bickerings.
Hugh ignored them, mulling over just when and how he might entreat Miss Drew to grant him a moment of her time to apologise. He could not corner her in her house, for it would be unsporting of him to ambush her at home. Not to mention, that he was certain Charlotte's Valkryie would not hesitate to throw a chamber-pot over him, if her mistress so demanded.
So lost was Hugh in his thoughts, that he did not realise his two friends were preparing to leave, until they both rose to a stand.
"Adieu, Penrith," Montague called cheerfully, bounding toward the door with a whistle on his lips.
Orsino hesitated, and waited until the marquess had cleared the floor of the morning room, before he leaned down and whispered in Hugh's ear.
"Miss Drew will be attending a boat-race at Miller's pond in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon, with Miss Havisham and Lady Julia," he imparted with a whisper, before a brief pained look crossed his face, "But for heaven's sake, please don't ask me why I know that."
Without waiting for a response, Orsino turned on his heel, following Montague out the door. Hugh beckoned for the footman to fetch him another brandy, and as he waited, he contemplated how he would approach matters the next day.
An apology was in order, this he knew, but would he be able to swallow his pride and deliver one so publicly? Only time would tell, but Hugh hoped that when the hour struck, he would be brave enough to do battle for his bride.
Chapter Fifteen
The sky above Charlotte's head was grey and dull, but there had been nothing dull about her morning. As the barouche carrying the three wallflowers made its way toward Hyde Park, Charlotte hastily explained to her two friends the drama which had unfolded at Ashfield House, just after breakfast.
"Papa had just put down the paper," Charlotte told her friends, "When we heard the sound of pebbles being thrown against the window."
"Gracious, you must have been frightened," Violet offered, thinking that perhaps some ne'er-do-well, or mischief maker had sought to upset the Drews.
"Not at all," Charlotte assured her friend, "For then we heard the sound of the lute."
"A lute?" it was Julia's turn to speak, her upturned nose wrinkled in confusion, "That would frighten me even more than the pebbles. For who would play a lute in Grosvenor Square, except a mad-man?"
"Mr Augustus Dubarry, that's who," Charlotte supplied, not telling her friends that her father now thought of Mr Dubarry and a mad-man as beings which were equally interchangeable. "He came to perform a sonnet for Bianca and beg her forgiveness."
"Oh, my," Violet sighed, looking momentarily wistful.
"In broad daylight?" Julia looked pained.
"Yes," Charlotte confirmed, "In broad daylight, with the whole square watching, Mr Dubarry performed a sonnet he had written for my sister, before begging her to forgive him."
"How utterly sweet," Violet sighed.
"How utterly silly," Julia added, "Gemini. I should hate for a man to perform such a grand gesture for me. I am all for a gentleman who understands subtly and a stiff upper-lip."
"Well, it seemed to win Bianca over," Charlotte shrugged, failing to keep hold of the happy smile which crossed her face. "She has declared--much to my grandmama's horror--that no other man than Augustus Dubarry will do as her husband."
"They are to be wed?"
"In time," Charlotte nodded her head, "Bianca still has to make h
er come-out, but her heart is set on Mr Dubarry. Poor Grandmama; Bianca was her only hope for one of us to make a triumphant match, and now she has set her cap at a lowly second son."
There was silence, as Charlotte's fellow wallflowers digested this morsel of news. Violet seemed cheered by the romantic tale, but Julia looked troubled.
"Is there no hope?" she queried, as the barouche turned off Piccadilly and into the park, "Have you cut Penrith off completely?"
Charlotte stiffened in her seat. Julia knew full well the tale of Penrith's betrayal; why was she all of a sudden expecting Charlotte to change her mind about the man?
"He lied to me," Charlotte pursed her lips together in a mulish pout.
"You lied to him," Julia gently ventured.
"But I told him," aggrieved now, Charlotte felt hot tears sting her eyes, but she valiantly blinked them back. "I told him of my deceit and he did not reciprocate. He allowed me to confess and beg forgiveness, and he did not do the same."
"Did something prevent him from revealing the truth?" Julia asked, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Charlotte flushed; she could not tell her two friends about Mr Deveraux's untimely interruption. Nor could she tell them about Penrith's admirable--if misplaced--offer to take little Molly on as his own.
And she really could not tell them of this morning's letter from Agnes, which had detailed that Penrith had kept to his word to look after them, for that would be the icing on the cake.
They would think Charlotte the most ridiculous, stubborn girl who had ever lived--for Charlotte was beginning to think the very same herself.
"Perhaps I am being a bit stubborn," she conceded.
"Perhaps," Julia agreed lightly.
"He called me a shrew," Charlotte grumbled, allowing herself to feel a momentary stab of indignation.
"Er. I seem to recall you calling him many colourful things," Violet replied, her eyes dancing with mirth, "All before you had decided to fall in love with him, of course. Do you think it is possible that Penrith might have done the very same thing as you?"
Charlotte nodded silently; she realised that her friends were quite correct, and she rued her obstinate nature which had refused to see matters in a more neutral light.
Oh, she thought sadly, you are as stubborn as they say. Charlotte thought on all the letters Penrith had written, which she had dutifully torn to pieces without reading. She thought on the bouquets of flowers which she had sent away without even bothering to read the card attached. And she thought on poor Doyle, who had told her that he could not bear to look the duke in the eye once more and tell him that she was not at home.
Penrith had been trying to apologise, and Charlotte had been too stubborn to let him.
"Perhaps," she said, as the carriage drew into a copse near Miller's pond, "I might write the duke a note and see if I can make repairs to our friendship."
"Perhaps?" Julia raised an eyebrow, before allowing the footman to assist her from the carriage.
"Definitely," Charlotte called, as she clambered out after her unassisted, "I am definite that I will write to him. I just hope I'm not too late."
Any more talk of Charlotte's love life soon came to an end. There were dozens of carriages parked near the pond, and horses tethered to nearby tress. As the trio approached the small body of water, they saw that a large crowd had gathered to witness the race.
"Men," Julia said, as she rolled her eyes. She was referring to Lord Horace and Lord Lucas--two of the ton's most notorious reprobates--who had both placed indecently large wagers on whose toy-boat would be first to reach the far side of the pond.
It was a ridiculous bet--no doubt concocted while both men were sipping brandy in White's--but word of it had travelled fast, and now half of London seemed to be here to witness it.
"I can't say I would mind if both of them somehow end up losing," Julia said with a sniff, as she led the way toward the front of the crowd, "It would be all that they deserve."
"If you disapprove so much," Violet replied, with a cheeky smile to Charlotte, "Then pray tell, why did you arrange for us to come?"
"So we might act as a moral compass," Julia said piously, before her beatific expression dissolved into mirth, "And so that we might witness the fun, of course."
The three girls, after much pushing, had reached the front of the crowd. They stood, shoulder to shoulder with aristocrats and the common folk who had come for a gander, at the edge of the pond. Charlotte's kid-boots already felt slightly damp from the marshy ground beneath her feet, but she did not mind.
It was good to be out and about, she thought, after a week of moping about Ashfield House thinking about the duke. Though despite all the distractions, her mind still felt it pertinent to wander towards Penrith.
She had, she realised, been a complete fool. And perhaps a grand gesture along the lines of Mr Dubarry might be in order, if Penrith was to consider taking her back.
Charlotte idly watched as Lord Horace and Lord Lucas arrived, with wooden sail-boats under their arms, to much applause from the crowd. A race-master accompanied them, wearing a very serious expression for a man who was--at the end of it all--only overseeing a toy-boat race.
Charlotte had just begun to ponder on the silliness of men, when a sharp elbow to the ribs brought her back to the present.
"Is that?" Violet gave a confused glance at the far side of the pond, "Is that the Duke of Penrith?"
Charlotte stifled a gasp, as her eyes followed the line of Violet's gaze. On the far side of the pond stood Penrith, waving frantically in her direction.
Lud, she thought nervously, she had wanted to apologise to the duke, but she did not think the opportunity would come so soon. Like a coward, she wondered fleetingly if she could safely flee before she had to confront him and own up to her mistake.
She glanced about, but by now the crowd was too dense for her to make an escape. Luckily, it seemed that the far side of the pond was similarly crowded, preventing Penrith from getting to her.
"Miss Drew! Miss Drew!"
A ripple of whispers swept through the crowd, as Penrith began to shout Charlotte's name in an effort to grab her attention.
Charlotte's cheeks reddened, as people began to glance about, trying to discern just who it was the duke was hailing.
"Pretend it's not me," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth to Violet and Julia.
"Oh, believe me, we are," Julia replied, with a fixed smile upon her face. "What is the man thinking, causing such a scene?"
"How should I know?" Charlotte snipped back, "He is usually so aloof. So proud. He is not the type of man to cause any kind of scene, he thinks scenes beneath him."
"Perhaps he has changed his outlook," Violet interjected, with a nervous glance across the pond, "For if I am not mistaken, the Duke of Penrith appears to be thinking to swim across to you."
What? Charlotte--who had been straining to avoid looking in Penrith's direction--turned her head sharply. The duke was, she realised with alarm, contemplating a dive into the pond. Which was, she reasoned, ridiculous, for the water surely would not even come up to his knee.
Sadly, Penrith did not seem to make the same assessment as Charlotte and she--and everyone else--watched in horrified fascination as the duke removed his coat, before diving headfirst into the water.
"Goodness, that must have hurt," Violet observed, as Penrith landed with a loud splash in the low water.
"And not just his body," Julia closed her eyes against the reputational affront unfolding before her.
Penrith, now completely soaked, clambered to his feet, brushing off pond weeds from his shoulders as he gathered his wits about him. The crowd around them began to guffaw with laughter and a few crueller souls called out jeers to the sodden duke. Charlotte, who was rooted to the spot, felt her heart ache as she realised how embarrassed the duke must be.
But Penrith, despite undoubted injury to his pride, gathered himself together and continued his trek across the pond, thi
s time on foot.
"Charlotte," he called as he waded through the water, "I beg you, just a moment of your time."
By this stage, the whole crowd had realised that it was Charlotte whom the duke was calling to. Heads turned in her direction, and Charlotte wished that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.
But she also wished that time would stop still, so that she could commit to memory the ludicrous, heart-warming image of Penrith battling to get to her. True, he was battling through water which did not quite meet the knee of his Hessians, but he was battling none the less.
And for some strange reason, tears were falling down her cheeks.
"Just one moment of your time," Penrith called again, as he finally reached her, "On bended knee, I beg you."
""No need to ruin your trousers, your Grace. What would Mr Weston say?" Charlotte whispered, smiling through her tears at the ridiculous duke before her.
"I fear my trousers are past ruined," Penrith offered, "And if I am to beg your forgiveness, I must do it on my knees. And whilst I'm down there, I might also beg for your hand and save myself a second journey."
"Gemini," Charlotte heard Violet whisper, as Penrith--still in the pond--sank to his knee.
Charlotte moved closer to the edge of the pond, her eyes fixed on the duke. He looked completely and utterly ridiculous, but her heart felt fit to burst with joy.
"Miss Drew," the duke said lightly, his eyes holding Charlotte's, "Can I ever prevail on you to forgive me? And if forgiveness is possible, might I beg for the honour of your hand in marriage?"
The crowd, which had been tittering and jeering, fell to a hush as they realised what was happening before them. There were calls of "Say yes!" from several corners, and one lady gallantly offered to take Charlotte's place, should she refuse, but Charlotte paid no mind to anyone but Penrith.
He was, she realised, completely sincere in his proposal. And he had, at great injury to his pride, sought to demonstrate to her just how much she meant to him.
What girl in her right mind could refuse such a man?
Wilful Wallflowers Collection: Books 1 - 3 Page 16
