by Brenda Hiatt
"His grace, the Duke of Ravenham," he droned in properly bored tones.
The Duke entered as Brie started to her feet in some dismay. "My apologies, Miss Gordon, for taking you by surprise like this," he said smoothly. "I fear Elizabeth was unable to come, so I offer myself as replacement. I hope I do not disappoint you unduly."
"No, ah, not at all, your grace," stammered Brie, caught completely off her guard. "I— I hope your sister is not taken ill?"
"Oh, no, Elizabeth is in perfect health," returned the Duke, suddenly seeming ill-at-ease. He hesitated a moment, then said, "To do her justice, she very much wished to come, but I persuaded her that I might make a better driving teacher than she. Elizabeth has only recently learned to handle the ribbons in public herself, you understand."
He did not quite meet her eye as he spoke, making her wonder if there were more he was not saying. "She will no doubt call upon you this afternoon or tomorrow, at any rate," he finished quickly, after another slight hesitation. "She seemed desirous of speaking with you."
"I shall look forward to that," answered Brie sincerely.
Though disappointed to have her talk with Elizabeth delayed, she could not suppress a surge of excitement at the thought of the Duke himself teaching her to drive, though she tried. After all, she told herself, he doubtless intended it only as one more payment towards clearing his "debt" to Lord Garvey.
As if to bear out this explanation, once they were driving through the Park (with his grace still in possession of the reins) it became obvious that being seen with him so publicly was certainly furthering the plan of bringing her into fashion. No less than a dozen fashionably dressed people, several of whom Brie recognised by this time, stopped them to exchange greetings, seeming not at all surprised to see them together.
"Such a charming couple you make!" exclaimed Lady Billings, an elderly but extremely sharp-eyed matron with a reputation for outspokenness. She had waved them down with a peremptory flick of her handkerchief, and now leaned out of her carriage window to observe them with obvious approval.
"You may suffer some backbiting from the disappointed hopefuls and their mamas, Miss Gordon, but you mustn't mind that. I vow, it's a delight to see some of those cats going green! Don't forget me when the invitations go out!" With a parting flap of the handkerchief, she nodded to her groom and proceeded on her circuit of the Park.
Brie sat open-mouthed in dismay. Fearfully, she glanced at the Duke, certain that he would be furious, but saw with relief that he merely looked amused.
"That old busybody revels in figuring out the latest on dits before they happen," he remarked, chuckling. "The fact that she's usually wrong doesn't seem to deter her in the least. I hope she hasn't upset you with such talk, Miss Gordon," he continued, regarding her with some concern. "I assure you that most people pay very little attention to her maunderings."
"But some undoubtedly do," she said, finally finding her voice. "I hope I haven't put you in an awkward position, your grace." Despite his assurances, Brie still felt ready to die from embarrassment.
"Nothing I can't get out of," he said confidently. "Besides, you can hardly take the blame for any of this. That, I think, can be fairly apportioned between Garvey, myself and Sir Seymour. You might as well simply enjoy yourself."
Brie regarded him suspiciously but, realising that he apparently meant what he said— for the moment, anyway —she decided not to comment. She had been enjoying herself, actually, and would not let that interfering dowager spoil it, she told herself firmly.
The Duke stopped the curricle shortly thereafter and silently offered Brie the reins. Nervously, she took them, more afraid of making a fool of herself in front of her companion than of losing control of the horses. There was a stretch of relatively empty path before them, which at least made it unlikely that anyone would be hurt if she proved inadequate to the task.
"Light, yet firm," he advised in the tone of a practised instructor, which indeed, he was, for many a young buck had prevailed upon him, through favour or wager, to share a small portion of his expertise with the ribbons. "It is really not so very different from guiding a horse which you are riding. The controls are essentially the same, only you must be continually aware of two beasts rather than just the one."
Proceeding, first at a walk and then at a sedate trot, Brie soon realised that he was right. He complimented her on her quickness as a pupil, saying that he had taught thirty-year-old men who were far more hamhanded, and she fairly glowed.
Glancing quickly up at him, she surprised what might almost have been an admiring expression in his eyes, though he quickly looked away. She was conscious that she looked well today, in a pale blue jaconet carriage dress edged in deep turquoise, but the Duke of Ravenham was acquainted with countless women far more fashionable than she. She was still puzzling over the meaning of that look when a greeting was called out to them.
"Ah, Miss Gordon, Ravenham, good morning!"
Turning instinctively at her name, Brie encountered the cold, mocking glance of Sir Frederick More, whom she had not seen since the dreadful incident with the poor kitten. He was on foot, walking with three other fashionable people whom she did not know, two ladies and a gentleman.
The Duke returned the greeting with a noticeable lack of warmth but Brie, almost without thinking, flicked a glance at Sir Frederick, nodded politely to his companions and urged the horses into a trot.
Sir Frederick stared after her in disbelief; the chit had given him the cut direct, and in public!
"I know I warned you against that fellow, but wasn't that a bit extreme?" asked the Duke when they were well out of earshot.
Brie had not yet mentioned Sir Frederick's involvement in the episode with the kitten to anyone but her sister, but she temporarily forgot that. "It was no more than he deserved, and a good deal less," she responded with a frown.
Angry colour suffused the Duke's face, taking Brie by surprise, as did the sudden vehemence of his tone. "Has that blackguard insulted you in some way?" he demanded. "By God, I'll—" He broke off with a convulsive movement of his right hand.
Realisation struck Brie. The Duke had no idea why she had cut the man, but appeared ready to call him out to defend her honour or some such thing! She saw that she would have to correct this misapprehension quickly, for he was already reaching for the reins with the apparent intention of going after Sir Frederick at once.
"Your grace, please! No, he hasn't insulted me, not exactly. He has just shown himself for the brute he is, and I hope never to see him again."
She was about to relate the story of Sir Frederick's vicious attack on the kitten when her attention was drawn away by the sight of a stunning phaeton, apparently lacquered in pure gold, with an equally stunning occupant. Where had she seen that dark-haired beauty before? Sudden colour stained her cheeks as she recognised the duke's companion from the Ruby Crown.
Following her gaze, Ravenham immediately understood the reason for Miss Gordon's blush— but what could he say? Surveying Mademoiselle Monique with a critical eye he realised that despite her dazzling beauty, the Cyprian no longer held the slightest attraction for him. She had obviously found a protector of sufficient means to appeal to her, judging by that phaeton— one of the Royals after all, perhaps? Interestingly, the thought bothered him not at all.
He turned back to Miss Gordon to find her watching him and self-consciously realised how his examination of Mademoiselle Monique might be interpreted, however wrongly.
"Miss Gordon, I—" he began, determined to somehow reassure the girl beside him, but she cut him off.
"Please, your grace," she said in a tight voice as she returned the reins to him, "I should like to go home. It grows late."
They drove back to the Platt residence in silence, the Duke wondering what Miss Gordon had been going to say about Sir Frederick and Brie wondering what sort of explanation he could have been going to offer about his mistress. Both shot occasional furtive glances at the other during the
drive, each trying to think of a casual way to reopen one or both topics, but no word was spoken.
Brie kept remembering the long look he had given the beautiful woman in the golden phaeton, and the more she thought about it the more certain she became that it was a lover's look. She reminded herself that she had no shadow of a right to question him about it, but that thought only depressed her further.
Ravenham, meanwhile, was trying to think of anything Sir Frederick might have done which would merit the comprehensive snub Brie had given him, but that she was unwilling to call an "insult." Could whatever it was have been partly her own fault? She was so innocent— might she have precipitated a flirtation more serious than she had intended?
They parted with cool formality, the Duke of Ravenham promising another lesson in the near future. Brie tried to draw what comfort she could from his words, but as she slowly mounted the broad front steps of the Platt town house she couldn't help feeling that the drive, which had begun so well, had turned out an unmitigated disaster.
* * *
CHAPTER 11
Angela's hopes, meanwhile, seemed in a fair way to being realised. There could be no doubt that her young sister's popularity was spilling over onto herself with gratifying results. While Almack's was still closed to her, she had begun to receive a few flattering invitations to events which she would have been excluded from last Season; Lady Bellerby's ball tonight, for instance. Everyone who was anyone was sure to be there, and she was to be a part of it. She was almost —but not quite— moved to thank Gabriella for such a turn of events. She nodded at her reflection in satisfaction, admiring the effect of her golden curls against the rose silk of her gown, and went to find her husband, who was to escort them this evening.
Sir Seymour's door opened at her tap, and there he stood, looking better than he had in years, though she would still not be so rash as to call him handsome. He also seemed unexpectedly sober.
"Almost ready, my dear?" he drawled pleasantly. He, too, was enjoying their sudden elevation in Society.
"Quite," she replied, still slightly surprised at his almost elegant appearance. True, his waistcoat and cravat still bespoke the dandy, but he was not dishevelled in the least and his coat was of a fairly sober royal blue.
"I'll ring for the carriage, then. Do you make certain Gabriella is ready."
They were to meet the Duke of Ravenham at the Bellerby ball, as the Platts had received an invitation and it would have looked odd if Miss Gordon did not accompany them. No doubt the Duke would still pay a flattering amount of attention to Gabriella, however, as the wager terms were still in effect. Angela rather hoped that attention might extend to a dance with Miss Gordon's sister.
For her own part, Brie was torn between anticipation and dread of the evening ahead. Anticipation, because she was actually beginning to enjoy her busy social schedule, especially when it included Elizabeth, as tonight's event would. She steadfastly refused to think about Elizabeth's brother, whom she had not seen since their awkward drive in the Park two days ago. Her dread, alas, stemmed from the fact that this would be the first such occasion where she would be accompanied by the Platts. She devoutly hoped that her sister might refrain from embarrassing her, though she did not go so far as to depend on it.
She had acceded to Angela's suggestion to wear her rose silk, and felt she looked well enough. Her hair was fresh from Monsieur Philippe's hands and cascaded down her back in a riot of golden brown curls, stopping just short of her waist. Opening the door to the hallway, she nearly walked into her sister, who was coming to fetch her.
Angela, she was startled to see, wore a gown of nearly the same hue as her own, though of a far less modest cut. This could be no accident, given Angela's suggestion. Of course no one would fail to notice Lady Platt's more voluptuous charms and pale blonde beauty and to draw the inevitable comparison between the sisters. Brie suddenly wished there was time to change her gown, but of course there was not. She had been unfavourably compared with Angela all her life (except by her father, of course) and the prospect still had the power to sting.
Still, Brie had to admit that Angela's attitude towards herself had improved markedly since invitations had begun to include her. She supposed that the more pleasant atmosphere in the household might be worth a bit of embarrassment.
"My dear! How charming you look!" gushed Angela after a moment of frowning hesitation upon taking in Brie's appearance. "Ah, Seymour is below with the carriage. Let us hurry," she said then, with a determined-looking smile.
* * *
After her disappointment at the appearance of Almack's, Brie had been careful not to set her expectations for Lady Bellerby's ballroom too high. Thus, she was positively dazzled at the room which greeted them once they were announced. The ballroom was of magnificent proportions, and so brightly lit that it seemed every candle in London must have been purchased for the occasion.
As they were among the last to arrive, the ball was already a decided "crush," although the dancing had not yet begun. Brie wondered how she would ever find Elizabeth—or the Duke—in the jostling throng. The colourful array of dresses, turbans and feathers bewildered her eyes so that it was difficult to focus on the individuals who made up the crowd.
She need not have worried. Only moments after the announcement of, "Sir Seymour, Lady Platt and Miss Gordon," she saw the Duke's imposing figure as he made his way towards her. He was easy to spot, after all, being a good half a head taller than nearly every other gentleman in the room.
"Miss Gordon!" he exclaimed in seeming delight as he drew near. "We only arrived ten minutes ago, and I feared you might have come before us and I would never find you!" Only then did he seem to become aware of her companions and nodded to them with noticeably less warmth. "Lady Platt, Sir Seymour," he greeted them politely.
As he turned back to Brie, his coolness vanished. "The first set is about to form. Would you do me the honour?"
Brie agreed and accompanied him onto the dance floor without a backward glance.
"Well! It will serve him right if I am unavailable later in the evening," declared Angela to her husband. "Oh, no you don't!" she exclaimed, seeing him beginning to edge away. "You will dance with me once at least before you disappear into the card rooms for the night!" So saying, she led the reluctant Sir Seymour after her sister and the Duke, contriving to be part of the same set.
As the dance ended, Lady Elizabeth came up, closely followed by Lord Garvey, who had been partnering her. Lady Platt, staying as near to her sister's side as possible, greeted her effusively.
"My lady, it is such a pleasure to see you again! I declare, you look positively divine tonight!" It was true, for her gown was a confection of white and silver which was especially becoming.
Elizabeth thanked her and returned the compliment politely before turning to Gabriella. "I so wanted to talk to you!" she said eagerly. "I saw you come in, but I was on the other side of the room and could not get to you before the music started. Pray tell me, how is the kitten doing?"
"He scarce has a limp now, and is already very affectionate," Gabriella answered readily. "I've christened him Velvet, by the bye."
"Why, that is perfect," Elizabeth assured her.
At this point, several young men clamouring for the honour of the next dance with either Miss Gordon or the Lady Elizabeth successfully shouldered Lady Platt out of earshot, but she did not much regret it. It was apparently true that the Lady Elizabeth did not find Gabriella's excessive interest in animals vulgar, which was consoling, but that did not mean that she wished to listen to such drivel herself. She noticed that the Duke of Ravenham had not removed himself from her sister's side as of yet, and could not help but conclude, from his expression, that he was not precisely repulsed by the subject, either.
The musi
c started again and Angela actually retired to the sidelines voluntarily (Sir Seymour having made good his escape) to watch the characters in this little play. Both Gabriella and Ravenham had taken different partners for this set, but she could not help but notice how often the Duke's eyes turned towards her sister in spite of the obviously more beautiful young lady he was dancing with.
The stirrings of a faint, outrageous hope began in Lady Platt's unimaginative mind. Could the Duke of Ravenham actually be forming a slight tendre for little Gabriella? It seemed unlikely in the extreme, given the quality of the competition, but she supposed that stranger things had happened. The situation certainly bore watching; what a coup —for Gabriella, of course —if she could actually bring the Duke up to scratch! She fell into a reverie at the thought of the benefits which would accrue to herself as a result of such a match.
* * *
"Need I ask who has claimed you for the supper dance?" Brie asked Elizabeth playfully during a break an hour or so later. "That will be your third with Lord Garvey, will it not?"
Elizabeth flushed prettily to the roots of her dark hair and nodded. "Oh, Brie!" she exclaimed, impulsively clutching her friend's arm. "Do you know, I actually think he may be going to propose!"
"Tonight?" asked Brie in surprise. She was well aware that a budding romance was in progress, but not that it had progressed so far!
"Well, probably not," conceded Elizabeth, "but before the Season is out."
"That shouldn't surprise me a bit," said Brie. "You must tell me right away when he does, so that I don't lose a moment of happiness for you!"
"You don't think I'm imagining things, then?"
"Only in thinking he might wait till the end of the Season!" returned Brie, laughing. The music resumed then, and their partners approached to remind them of the dance.
Brie was enjoying herself enormously. She had actually seen very little of Angela and nothing at all of Sir Seymour, though she noticed her sister out on the floor for most of the sets, partnered by a variety of older gentlemen. Thankfully, Sir Frederick appeared not to be among the guests.
The only thorn in her side, and a small one it was, was Lord Timothy, who was every bit as persistent here as he had been at Almack's last week. She was careful to allow him only two dances, but that did not prevent him from pestering her for more, or from following her about whenever she was not actually on the dance floor. She was glad now that the Duke had engaged her for the supper dance at the start of the evening, for she was beginning to find the role of goddess tiring.
