Cynthia Bailey Pratt (20 page)

“Really, Sir Carleton, I begin to think this is all an elaborate joke.”

“Very well. The story is, or at any rate the most virulent story is, that you are not a schoolmistress, nor did you come from a ladies’ hotel before your arrival in Bath.”

“Then what am I and where did I come from?” she asked with a chuckle. The whole idea of her having some secret past was enough to make her laugh.

“What you are is my good fortune. But what they claim you to be is what the duke and his friends thought you were at the card party. It is said you came from an establishment of such females.” The wry Irish voice made light of the matter, but the way Carleton’s eyes fixed upon her told her just how serious he found it.

* * * *

The tired feet of a middle-aged maid had no chance to keep up with Berenice in a temper. The girl, hustling furiously toward the Gardens, knew she left Simmins far behind and rejoiced in it. If only Danita did not so often find herself laid low with the headache! Not having her cousin beside her for the last week took Berenice back to the evil days before Danita had come, when Berenice’s idea of purgatory was being seen in public with her grandmother’s hoary old abigail.

Berenice went at once to the room she kept at the Sydney Hotel and changed into her riding dress. Tilting the cork hat at a rakish angle, she went down to wait for the groom to bring out her horse. Mr. Newland found her waiting beneath a large oak, the shifting shadows doing nothing to conceal her impatience.

“I did not know you rode. Miss Clively,” he said.

“Oh, yes. That is why I am wearing this, you see,” she said, swishing her crop to land with a muffled whack against her skirts, just at the level of her boot-tops.

“Has something disturbed your peace of mind, Miss Clively? You seem troubled.”

“Troubled, Mr. Newland? Certainly not.” But again the riding crop rose and fell with violence. The arm of her habit was tight and the muscle, developed through years of hard riding, could be seen as her grip tightened.

“Come now, it must be something. A person with your depth of soul could not be so perturbed by an ordinary occurrence. Tell me...is it your cousin?” He looked down into the lovely face as though he would read it like a book. “I can see that it is.”

Mr. Newland held up one beautifully shaped hand. “No, don’t tell me. Permit me, I beg you, to believe you to be innocent of all knowledge of the scandal. I ... I should address myself first to your grandmother, I know. I shrink from it, only because of her recent sorrow and this terrible business of Miss Wingrove. I do not wish to burden the lady further, but, Miss Clively, my dear Berenice, will you accept me, once your mourning period is done? I will devote myself to protecting you from all harm for the rest of your life.”

Though a small boy had once asked her to be his, this was her first grown-up proposal. She couldn’t but be a little disappointed that all nature did not silence itself awaiting her answer. A bee buzzed as though rehearsing a speech in the poppies at her feet and she was nervous lest it fly toward her. A fat-cheeked stable boy walked past, whistling a vulgar tune, while overhead two birds squabbled in the branches of the tree.

Nevertheless, she knew just how to behave from the novels she had read. She dropped her eyes so that her lashes shaded her cheeks and her hand trembled as she held it out. “Dear Mr. Newland,” she said in a voice soft and low. “I hardly know what to say. You have taken me entirely by surprise. I had no notion I had encouraged your affections to this extent.”

She glanced up at him to see how he was reacting to this. He looked at her so tenderly she nearly said yes. But she knew better. No lady ever said yes the first time the hero asked her for the honor of bestowing half his kingdom on her.

Berenice went on flutteringly. “I am so confused. Pray, give me a little time to think.”

Mr. Newland bowed. “All the time you desire. But, you do give me leave to hope? That is, so many pursue you for your beauty. Can you reassure me that there is no one else nigh your heart?”

She was about to answer him positively when Lord Framstead, mounted on a bay, came up leading another horse behind him. “Miss Clively?” he said, saluting her with his own riding crop. “Mr. Carter asked me to bring this animal to you. He’s busy.”

“Intolerable impertinence!” Mr. Newland exclaimed. “Miss Clively cannot ride without a groom, such a thing is unthinkable.”

“Oh, I never have one, Mr. Newland. Grooms only slow one down. Like maids.”

Berenice took the leading rein and mounted the horse from a stump, left there for the purpose. Mr. Newland stepped over to help her arrange her skirt modestly. Strangely enough, Berenice did not blush until she met the other rider’s eye. But that was only because she’d seen into his heart that morning, and knew his secret. Lord Framstead was in love with Danita. “Will you join me in a gallop?” she asked. “I’ve always wanted to ride that stallion, but Mr. Carter says he’s too big for me.”

“If you are certain I won’t slow you down. Or is it that you only outrace those who would make you wait?”

“After your gallant defense of my cousin today, sir, I cannot find it in me to lose you.”

From the ground, looking rather short to those mounted, Mr. Newland asked, “Gallant defense? Of Miss Wingrove? What do you mean, Miss Clively?”

Berenice deferred to the earl, who said, “I merely said what any gentleman would say under the circumstances. A lady’s honor is not to be spoken about lightly. Are you coming, Miss Clively?” Lord Framstead asked, wheeling his horse.

“In a moment. I have something of importance to say to Mr. Newland.”

“Very well.” Lord Framstead withdrew to a nearby knoll, where he waited, looking back with a frown as she leaned on her horse’s neck to be closer to Mr. Newland.

“We met this morning at Mrs. Rivington’s  breakfast,” she imparted softly. “Some... persons passed comments on my cousin’s virtue.

I was so angry, but I didn’t know what to say. They laughed at me whenever I said anything. Nasty sniggerers! Lord Framstead came to her defense so prettily. I wish you had been there to help him.”

“I agree that such matters are not for public dissemination, Miss Clively, but I could not have, in all conscience, defended your cousin. Are you aware that several prominent gentlemen swear to have seen her in the most disgusting of circumstances?”

Berenice shook her head and sat upright. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“You may take it from me that it is true. What do you know of your cousin? Could she not merely be playing the part of a virtuous woman?”

“She has always been kind to me,” Berenice said.

Mr. Newland relented in his hard tone and reached up to touch the girl’s hand. “Forgive me, my dearest. I cannot bear the thought of any contamination coming near to you. If you accept me, I will keep you safe from such horrors. You need never see your cousin again.” He forestalled the protest that rose to her lips. “Then, there will be no more doubts shadowing your sweet heart. Trust in me. Say you will be mine.”

Berenice wanted to speak. A proposal was certainly exciting and he looked so Byronic, though not dark, with the breeze ruffling his hair. However, it seemed as though some unease in the rider communicated itself to the horse, for it shifted its feet, bringing one down, with commendable timing, on Mr. New-land’s highly polished boot. Pain transformed the handsome face into a tragic mask as he gasped, “Get off, you great—” He bit back an epithet as the rider pulled the horse’s head around.

“Oh, Mr. Newland! I’m so sorry. He must be restless.” Her apology lost something when echoed with stifled laughter from the knoll. Berenice’s own lips required biting lest a smile show.

It was not until she’d ridden some little way with Lord Framstead, well beyond the earshot of Mr. Newland still hopping painfully beside the oak, that she allowed her laughter to bubble forth. Lord Framstead joined her and then, with the air of one striving to be scrupulously fair, “I don’t suppose a future barrister has much chance around horses. What was he looking so very serious about, anyway?”

“He ... he was proposing.” She modestly veiled her eyes.

“Well, he’s a dashed fool if he thinks a horse will stand still for such mush. Did you accept him?”

Berenice looked at him quickly, thinking she heard something flattering in the tone of his voice. But he was leaning forward to pat the long neck before him and she could not see his face. “I asked him for time.”

“Ah, well, a proper sort of action for a girl. How many times will you make him ask you, do you think?”

Was three too many times? She’d have to think on it. “I assure you. Lord Framstead, I am not a flirt.”

“Oh, but you are, Miss Clively. A charming and accomplished flirt. Now, do you think you could beat me to that hurdle down there?”

Berenice not only beat him, she took the hurdle in a flying leap that had Lord Framstead rising up in the saddle, his heart bounding into his mouth in a fashion that itself would have won praise on any field. But when Berenice was safe on the far side, he applauded.

“Brava, brava! By God, I’d like to see you hunt.”

“Grandmamma won’t let me. She’s afraid I’ll get hurt.”

“What? You? Not a bit of it, not a bit of it. Born to the saddle, that’s what you are.” The rest of their ride was taken up by Lord Framstead’s describing various dashing escapades in the field and his certainty that Miss Clively could best any of them.

Miss Clively permitted Lord Framstead to escort her home, once she’d resumed her mourning costume. They found Simmins, still heavily out of breath, awaiting them on the doorstep of the hotel. After finding her some water, the young people set out, trailed by the panting Simmins.

As they arrived at New Bond Street Buildings, several ladies were bidding Mrs. Clively adieu. What had begun as a condolence call had rapidly degenerated, as had so many others, into a session of gossiping. Danita, Berenice noted, stood against the wall in one corner, looking, to her romantic heart, like a victim of a firing squad. She rushed over and embraced her cousin, without even troubling to remove her bonnet. Then, she turned and gave a scornful glance to the ladies.

The ladies revolved in a body and walked out of Number 12, nearly running down Lord Framstead. As they bid a sympathetic farewell to Mrs. Clively, a pair of chairs came to a stop before the door. The chairman opened the door of the first with a low bow as a stringent voice said, “You needn’t think by these pretty manners, sir, that I shall forgive a vile ride. I am shaken almost to pieces. Lucy, are you intact?”

A head, whose tall, broad-brimmed bonnet of moss silk was shoved far back from her face, emerged from the window of the second chair. “I have been better, sister. Oh, my, but it’s a good thing I remembered to bring a cushion. What? Oh, yes.” She withdrew into the interior of the box, incidentally brushing her bonnet against the window frame so that it resumed its normal position, allowing the chairman to open her door. She stepped out, carrying a large red cushion of the circular variety.

Miss Millicent Massingham stepped forward and addressed the ladies, who had stopped in amazement on the pavement. “Is this Number 12, New Bond Street Buildings? These men assured me at two other locations that I had reached my destination but were quite wrong.” She turned upon them a look of such scorn it was a wonder they did not vanish in puffs of greasy smoke.

Mrs. Clively said, “Yes,” even as another lady said wonderingly, “Aren’t you Miss Massingham?”

“Of course. And you are Amelia Fitz-Water who stayed with us two years ago. How do you do? Can you tell me if Mrs. Clively is in residence here?”

“I am Mrs. Clively,” that lady said, drawing herself upright.

“Excellent. Lucy, pay these fellows but add nothing to their exorbitant fees. Mrs. Clively, my sister and I are just arrived in Bath and we came at once to visit our dear friend Miss Wingrove. I trust you will not refuse us entrance despite our not sending a card?”

“You
know Miss Wingrove?” Miss Fitz-Water exclaimed.

“How should we not? She was our guest, nay, our friend for many weeks this winter.”

Berenice, who had followed the ladies to make a last defiant gesture, clapped her hands and rushed inside to gather Danita.

“Look, look!” she said, almost dragging her cousin to the window. “Who, looking at them, can say anything against you now?”

“Looking at who?” With a weary hand, Danita lifted the curtain. Berenice watched her cousin’s face eagerly and was rewarded. A twinkle came into the gray eyes and a faint smile pulled at the corners of Danita’s mouth. “Did you do this?” she asked, touched.

“Oh, no,” Berenice said. “I never thought about it. Of course, they can clear your name.”

From behind them. Lord Framstead, forgotten until now, said, “Why don’t you go out and greet your saviors, Miss Wingrove? If you’ll pardon me, I shall take myself away, reserving, however, the pleasure of calling on you later to meet those enchanting women. Where on earth did she find that bonnet?’’

“I made it,” Danita said. She ran her hand over her gown to remove any wrinkles and, when she straightened her shoulders, felt quite herself again.

Chapter Eleven

Though her attention was on welcoming the Massingham sisters, Danita saw young Framstead knock on the door of Number 15. As Millicent preceded them into the house, Miss Lucy asked Danita, “Who was that attractive young gentleman?”

When informed that he was a bona fide earl, Lucy’s rapture knew no bounds. She stopped on the topmost step to press her hands together. “And he actually touched his hat to me! What elegant manners he must have. Does he call often?” And she looked at Mrs. Clively’s rented town house with more respect.

“He has been kind enough to call on Berenice sometimes, but his true interest lies with his friend, who has a residence across the street.”

Miss Lucy was usually quick to follow up the scent of romance, but now she asked, “A friend?”

“Yes, Sir Carleton Blacklock. I’m sure you must remember him. He came to call late one rainy evening in Damingford, the night before the great horse-race. Tell me, is the town still buzzing over the Regent’s visit?” Danita stopped in the shaded portico before the front door to let Miss Lucy enter first, but the other woman still regarded Number 15 with undue interest.