The Frog Earl (15 page)

Appealed to to cover Mimi's story, Lady Thompson recalled a fan of silver lace she had carried in her youth. Her butler, to no one's surprise, knew in exactly which trunk in the attic it had been put away. To the ladies' dismay, age had tarnished it completely black.

“I shall clean it, my lady,” Baird promised. “After all,” he added caustically, “one of the most important duties of a butler is taking care of the silver.”

  “Then you shall spruce up my moonstone necklace, too,” her ladyship retorted. “It is set in silver, my dears, and will be quite perfect with Harriet's gown as you have described it. I simply cannot wait to see the pair of you.”

Chapter 13

It was fortunate indeed that Lady Thompson simply couldn't wait to see Mimi and Harriet in their ball gowns, for Simon insisted on arriving in Chester a good half hour before the assembly began.

He explained to his cousin as the carriage carried them toward the city. “I know you think she was lying when she said...”

“My dear fellow!” Gerald interrupted, shocked. “I would never accuse a lady of lying. `Prevaricating' is the word I used.”

“...when she said their cards were nearly full, but suppose she meant it? She owes me a dance and I'm determined to stand up with her tonight.”

Lady Thompson fanned the flames. “Recalling the difficulty you had in dining with the Lassiters, Simon, I suspect Mimi may have deliberately filled her card beforehand.”

“She's quite capable of it,” he admitted. “But I did sit down to dinner at her side, remember. I mean to stay one jump ahead of her even if I have to pay the musicians to play an extra set.”

“As a frog, you should have no difficulty staying one jump ahead,” murmured Gerald. “What a pity the saltarello is no longer fashionable.”

“The saltarello? I don't recall a dance of that name,” said Lady Thompson, puzzled.

“You are by far too young, Aunt Georgina. It was popular, I believe, in the sixteenth century. It involved a good deal of leaping and hopping.” He sighed at the thought. “An undignified age.”

“You'd have looked elegant in doublet and hose,” said Simon, “and I'd have been strangled by the ruff.”

He looked down in some dissatisfaction at his evening clothes. His dove-colored pantaloons were spotless, his dancing shoes as glossy as Henry could make them, his coat the correct shade of blue. But they were all old and worn—almost as outdated as the saltarello. As soon as his masquerade was over, he would buy new clothes. There must be some middle ground between fashionable discomfort and shabby comfort.

Aunt Georgina had said that Mimi was going to dress up in all her finery. No wonder she wanted to avoid dancing with him.

When they reached the Derby Arms, he combed his sandy hair into compliance, then stared long and hard at his cravat in a looking glass. He had allowed Henry to tie it for him, in the style known as the Oriental, and he willed it not to wilt.

He went through to the ballroom. Gerald was talking to a local landowner, and Aunt Georgina had found a pair of old acquaintances to gossip with. Simon's arrival went unnoticed. He joined a group of young men already waiting near the door to spot likely-looking partners to whom they could beg an introduction of the master of ceremonies. And the young ladies started to drift in—pink, pale blue, primrose, lilac, and white, plump and skinny, pretty and plain.

The Marburys arrived. Dutiful if unenthusiastic, Simon asked Sophia for a country dance. Condescending, she deigned to grant him one despite his lowly status. He prayed as he signed her card that he hadn't picked the one set Mimi still had free.

He was bowing his thanks when Colonel Lassiter and Mrs. Cooper entered. They stepped aside to give their names to the master of ceremonies. Framed in the double doorway, each with her arm about other's waist, stood an ethereal vision in silver and white and a dazzling figure in scarlet and gold.

Simon stared. Mimi's fiery silk gown, embroidered in gold thread, opened over a petticoat of cloth of gold. At her throat, wrists, and ears carnelians gleamed, and gold was woven into the black braids piled on her proudly held head. She was magnificent, every inch a princess.

Simon realized that everyone else was staring too. All conversation at that end of the room had ceased.

He stepped forward, grinning as he noted Mimi's pleased smile and Harriet's blush. Their finery had no more changed them than his had changed him, despite Gerald's and Henry's efforts in town.

“Spectacular!” Simon assured the young ladies. “The effect is all you could possibly have hoped for, Princess. But I trust you don't mean to remain inseparable all evening. Miss Cooper, pray say you will stand up with me.”

“I shall be delighted, sir.” Unaccustomed to being the cynosure of strangers, she seemed relieved to find a familiar face emerging from the crowd.

While she fumbled in her reticule for her dance card, he greeted her mother and the colonel and they all moved into the ballroom. Taking the card, he saw that only the supper dance and a waltz remained unspoken for. All the other spaces were filled with the names of local gentlemen, in her own writing. He suspected that her modesty had prevented her filling in those two lines if no one had specifically requested them.

It was baconbrained of him, however irresistible, to tease Mimi by asking Harriet first. He had hoped for either a waltz or the supper dance with Mimi—but he was fairly sure now that she thought she had outfoxed him by filling her card.

“May I have both, Miss Cooper?” he requested. She blushed again, and nodded. She really was very pretty, in silver net over white satin, with Aunt Georgina's moonstones glimmering at her throat. Mimi had an eye for effect, he thought, turning to her. “Miss Lassiter, you will not be less kind than your friend?”

“Alas, sir, I cannot oblige.” Triumphantly she handed him her card.

Being forewarned, he perused it with more consideration than disappointment. His cousin was written down for the quadrille and a waltz, the same waltz that Simon had claimed from Harriet. Perhaps he wouldn't have to bribe the musicians. Gerald had appeared only once on Harriet's card. Given that he had been inveigled into the second dance with Mimi, no doubt he would be willing to exchange partners, if it could be done without the appearance of insult to Harriet.

He gave Mimi her card back. “It seems I'm too late,” he admitted, trying to look mournful.

The best method of attack, he decided, was to consult Harriet first. That wasn't going to be easy, not because of the difficulty of separating the girls but because both were now engulfed in a swarm of partners and would-be partners. Fortunately the waltz was after supper, so he could speak to Harriet during their first dance.

Satisfied with his plan, he went off to inscribe his name on the cards of a number of unhappy damsels who already looked like wallflowers though the music had not yet started.

Dancing had been one of the things he enjoyed most in London, and he enjoyed it no less in the assembly room of the Derby Arms in Chester. The young ladies he stood up with were touchingly grateful. He did his best not to watch Mimi, though it was impossible not to be conscious of the whereabouts of that eye-catching scarlet gown. His was not the only gaze constantly drawn to her, he noticed. She seemed to be the focus of everyone's attention, as much for her gaiety as for her exotic beauty.

Once or twice he caught her glancing at him with a speculative look. It made him the more determined to win.

He found no opportunity to talk with Harriet before his dance with her came at last. Fortunately it was a country dance that allowed them periods of leisure for conversation while the other couples took their turns.

“Is this your first ball, Miss Cooper?” he asked.

“No, sir, I came to the Chester assembly last year, but it was not half so much fun without Mimi. She was at the Daumiers' ball in August, not long after she came to England, and that was much more enjoyable. Somehow she makes everything sparkle.”

He glanced at the next set, where Mimi was curtseying to Mr. Blake. Judging by his bemused expression, the lawyer had got over his pique at being deprived of the quadrille.

“I was sorry to be too late to stand up with Miss Lassiter,” he said, “though I was lucky enough to be just in time to sign your card.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Hurst, but I believe... Oh!”

It was their turn to bow and curtsy, and then he had to wait for the rest of her words while first the ladies and then the gentlemen twirled in the center of the square.

“You were saying, ma'am?”

“I believe that in a sense Mimi owes you a dance?”

“She does indeed.”

“I confess I do not understand why she is so unwilling to grant it, but it seems to me she is being a trifle unfair.”

Simon knew perfectly well that it was Mimi's third obligation that hindered her performance of the second. She hadn't told even her best friend about the promised kiss, then, as he hadn't told Gerald and Aunt Georgina.

“Shockingly unfair,” he said blandly as they finished the next figure.

“The Lassiters' evening gatherings were used to turn into informal hops quite often, but not since your arrival. It is not that she dislikes you, sir,” Harriet added hastily.

“I'm glad to hear it. She has simply taken some maggot into her head. Perhaps she fears I'd tread on her toes?”

Harriet chuckled. “You are far less likely to do so than is Albert Pell. It is two hours since I danced with him and I still feel the bruises.”

They were separated again. He wondered whether she herself might suggest that he exchange dances with Gerald. She had probably seen Mimi's card. But no, she was too sensitive to risk hurting him by appearing to reject him, and too modest to risk appearing to claim a second dance with his lordship.

“Mimi is given to odd notions,” she said at the next opportunity, “but I have never known her to be unkind.”

“It's particularly unfair since my cousin has contrived to appropriate two dances with her.”

That brought forth another chuckle. “Oh no, sir, he was forced into it.”

“Then you think he wouldn't object to giving up the second? No, it's impossible, for then I'd lose my waltz with you.”

“But once you have danced with Mimi, I daresay there will be dancing at the Lassiters' again, so we shall be able to stand up together there. If you truly wish it,” she added, blushing.

“Of course I wish it,” Simon said truthfully. The vicar's daughter was a sweet-natured girl and he regretted manipulating her. She was by no means stupid, though, and he hoped she realized what he was about and appreciated his efforts to avoid insulting her. “Well, if you're willing, Gerald can have nothing to complain of since he'll gain the prettiest and most agreeable girl in the room as his partner.” And that was true, too, for neither adjective fitted Mimi.

She was a bewitching and beautiful minx.

Simon had chosen the set he and Harriet were members of because it was close to where Lady Thompson sat chatting with her cronies. He knew Gerald, who had danced with no one but Harriet and Mimi, was taking their aunt in to supper. As the music ended, Gerald emerged from the card room and together the four went through to the supper room.

To Simon's relief, the room was crowded with small tables set for four. The last thing he wanted at present was to share a table with Mimi. She was at the far side of the room, near the buffet, with Albert Pell as her partner. The colonel and Mrs. Cooper were with them, so doubtless she would survive the experience.

When he and Gerald went to fill plates for their companions, Simon saw that Pell had already provided Mimi with a huge slice of egg and ham pie. She was looking at it in dismay.

“Whatever a young lady's appetite, she does not care to be seen overindulging in public,” said Gerald, and proceeded to pile sweetmeats on Aunt Georgina's plate.

For Harriet, Simon chose a crabmeat vol-au-vent, salad, thin bread and butter, and a Bakewell tartlet. It looked too little for a young lady who had been dancing all evening. He was going to take some more bread and butter, then he bethought himself that the vicarage budget probably didn't run to crab or almonds, so he snabbled the last vol-au-vent and added another tart. He could always eat them himself if she didn't want them.

She was delighted with his selections. “Last year,” she said, “I had supper with Mr. Pell and he brought me nothing but a slice of pie.”

Laughing, he told her, “That's just what he's given Miss Lassiter now. Gerald, I want to waltz with Miss Lassiter.”

“I wish you the best of luck, my dear fellow.”

“You'll let me take your place?”

“On the contrary, I should not dream of insulting a lady by tamely surrendering a dance with her...”

“You didn't even ask her for the second dance,” Simon pointed out.

“Let me finish. I was about to say... unless you have some irresistible inducement to offer?”

“That I have. Miss Cooper has graciously agreed to take her friend's place.”

“Then there is no more to be said. Miss Cooper, allow me to congratulate you on your good taste in abjuring a dance with my cousin.”

Harriet flushed. Lady Thompson leaned across the table and patted her hand.

“Don't let these odious wretches discompose you, my dear. They are just teasing each other.”

With a warm smile for Harriet, Gerald said, “It was indeed odious of Simon to put you in such a position. However, as I am to profit by his rudeness, I must beg you to forgive him.”

“I do, my lord. How could I not forgive someone who provided me with such a delicious supper?”

The gentlemen both laughed and her ladyship nodded approvingly.

“Let me fetch you a dish of syllabub, Miss Cooper,” offered Simon, standing up, “just in case I need your forgiveness at some time in the future.”

“I don't care for the sound of that,” Gerald drawled. “Offend Miss Cooper again and you may find yourself facing a pistol at dawn.”

“Nonetheless,” Harriet said, “I should love a dish of syllabub.”

“So should I,” said Aunt Georgina.