Escapade (17 page)

“Certainly, and no one has ever been hurt. Badly, I mean. Bertie got a black eye, and Ronnie Maclntyre has had several nose bleeds, but that happens if you look at him too hard, so that's nothing."

“If they do it at Fairmont, I do it,” Clare declared and took up a pole.

“Perhaps you shouldn't,” Ella said, glancing at his mother.

“What, worried about me, Ella? But how flattering!"

“No, I'm worried about your mother."

“You do a very good job of cutting me down to size,” he said, glancing at her sideways. She smiled to think how much better that remark suited the situation than he knew.

He picked up a pole and looked inquiringly at his mother. She shrugged her shoulders, to indicate she was washing her hands of him, and he turned back to Ella. “I shan't kill myself. The way these Johnnie Raws go at it, I see it isn't the lethal sport I imagined. And if we do it at Fairmont, then I must get in some practice.” He gave her one of his warmest smiles, designed, she supposed, to lure her into falling in love with him. But she was on to him now.

“But it is not likely you will ever be at Fairmont, is it, Your Grace?"

“Not by invitation, it seems,” he replied with a frown.

The remark annoyed him, but with the gladiators all eager to be slaying each other, he was diverted from considering it. They had only three poles, so that only two men could tilt at a time, and Peters insisted he deserved a turn before Clare be allowed to replace him. The horn was blown, dreadfully off key, and with his pole firmly lodged against his abdomen, Peters galloped towards Harley, who stuck to his decision of tucking his under his right arm. Harley's tactic gave him more maneuverability, and besides he was the better rider, so that with these two advantages, he unseated Peters on the second tilt. Peters suffered a hard fall, but no broken bones, and Bippy replaced him. They were unanimous in giving Clare last place, as he was the last to agree to enter.

Tredwell tried to do it with both hands on the pole, and his horse shied. With no hands to aid him, he sailed over the horse's head and hit the ground with a thump. The ladies rushed forward to succor him. “Believe I've broken my leg,” he said apologetically. But when he was dragged from the ground, it was discovered he could put some weight on it, so he was provided with a pair of crutches from the lengths cut off the jousting poles and encouraged loudly to refrain from succumbing to a broken leg. Within two minutes he had forgotten all about it and discarded the crutches. Within three, he was jumping up and down as hard as Belle and Sherry.

“Don't try it with both hands on the stick,” he warned Clare as his turn came up.

Clare ignored his advice, and when he went thundering towards Harley, he was tossed from his horse as easily as the others.

“By Jove, this is great sport,” Harley beamed, the victor. “Who wants to do it again? Just beginning to get the hang of it. Tuck ‘er under your right elbow; that's the ticket."

“I'll try it again, your way,” Clare said, picking himself up from the turf, with Belle tugging at one hand and Sara at the other. “And I'll unseat you if we have to joust all afternoon."

It soon began to seem as if they would. Two more times Harley sent Clare flying from his saddle.

“Are you glued to that damned horse?” Clare demanded. He was streaked with grass and dirt from head to toe but picked himself up to go again.

“I've thrown you three times. That's enough,” Harley decided. “There's no competition here.” He hopped down from his mount and went to Miss Fairmont. “Where exactly do you and your brothers live, Miss Fairmont?” he asked.

Clare listened in consternation as she told him, and in pique when she suggested he must come down and have a go at it with her brothers. I believe she's trying to make me jealous, he thought. He did not yet acknowledge that she was succeeding.

“I'll toss Peters once more for practice, then we'll go on to the pistol match,” Harley said, and the arrogant fellow made good his boast. The others were all tired of hitting the ground, so Harley was the winner of the jousting tournament. He seemed to have forgotten he was representing Lady Honor, for he never once looked towards her for commendation. He was too busy congratulating himself, but she had wandered off to examine the weeds in Clare's grass and didn't notice.

“We've missed this round, but the pistol match is a shoe-in for us,” Clare assured his lady. “Can't expect to win ’em all,” he added when she showed no enthusiasm.

“Your face is dirty,” she replied.

“Rub it off, will you?” he said and handed her his handkerchief.

She dabbed at his cheek in exquisite embarrassment, while Belle looked on in envy. The targets were set up, the pistols loaded, and an ear-shattering interlude of pistols going off at no great distance from them was enjoyed by the onlookers. Sherry stuck her fingers in her ears and closed her eyes, and passed the interval in this interesting manner. Clare, who made a fetish of his shooting, was the winner by a wide margin, and the tournament was over. Of all the contenders, it was only he who came to report to his lady at the termination of each event.

“I am expecting something better than a weed for my reward this time,” he told Ella.

“We didn't bother to make up any prizes,” she replied.

Belle, who was never far from their side, told them that the lady's hand was the prize in days of yore.

“It wasn't that kind of contest,” Sherry shouted, thunderstruck at the stupidity of Belle, who thought she was so knowing.

“A pity,” Clare murmured, throwing a teasing look at Sherry.

She said ‘oh', and ran to her Mama to report this latest turn of events.

“But the imaginative Miss Fairmont will think of something,” Clare continued.

The imaginative Miss Prentiss certainly thought of something and wished the lot of bestowing a reward on the winner was hers. Ella turned aside and addressed a remark to Harley.

Refreshments were served under an awning, to preserve the ladies’ complexion from the odd burning rays that might filter through the hazy sky, their bonnets, and parasols. Ella headed for the lemonade, but Clare detained her.

“We victors deserve champagne, don't you think?” He handed her a glass. “To the victor's lady,” he said and drank.

She was aware of everyone watching them, aware too that they all knew he was making sport of her. She swallowed a lump in her throat and sipped a little champagne.

Clare was surprised to see that the more gallant he became, the more she withdrew into herself. He had not much experience with shy ladies. There were so many of the other sort putting themselves in his way, that he had come to believe the breed extinct. In spite of his experience with ladies, he had really very little occasion to court them. They were too busy courting him. It seemed he was actually going to have to pursue the little brown mouse to win her favor. His pride, which he called determination, did not allow him to think of giving it up. He turned to Ella with one of his winsome smiles. “Well, Ella, I hope you enjoyed your contest."

“It has been fine up till now,” she snapped back, her patience becoming exhausted.

This was beginning to sound more like pique than shyness, and he asked bluntly, “Have I inadvertently said—or done—something to offend you? If I have, I beg your pardon."

“No, I don't believe you are doing it inadvertently,” she answered and walked away from him.

He was left standing looking after her, in confusion and some resentment. Belle and Sherry were eager to take her place, and he did not bother Miss Fairmont again that afternoon, but when the refreshments had been partaken of, he walked over and gave Lady Sara his arm for the walk back to the palace.

“Sara, you witch,” he said, with an easy confidence, “have you frightened your niece off from me?"

“Not exactly,” she replied, unoffended.

“But you spoke to her?” She nodded. “May I ask what, exactly, you said?"

“Why, I only told her you are a flirt and a tease, and she must not take your attentions seriously. I felt honor bound to do that much. In spite of her years, she is the veriest greenhead, Clare, and would not understand the way you carry on."

“But I have not been carrying on with her in the least. I thought I had found a friend, and I take it as unkind in you to frighten her away. Friendship is possible between the sexes, don't you think?"

“Very likely. I wouldn't know from experience, and neither would you. But a girl of her age is not looking for friendship in an eligible man. Oh, don't turn white and tremble on me. She isn't setting her cap at you."

“I know. That is why I wonder you found it necessary to speak to her."

“Well, she isn't yet, but if you continue in your quite singular attentions, I can't guarantee she won't get ideas."

“And that's all you said? It doesn't quite account for ... You didn't perhaps in an excess of auntly concern intimate I was a rake, or anything of that sort?"

“Certainly not. I wouldn't say anything to make you more attractive than you are, and besides, it's not true. Only I think you might distribute your charms a little more widely. That's all it will take."

“Ah, but it is dangerous to distribute my charms on the others. They have an eye on the coronet, you see. I don't dare go for a stroll with one of them after dinner, or they'll have the banns announced. Besides, they're bores, and Ella is fun, like you."

Sara's mind was busily at work throughout this conversation. If there was a chance in a million he might become serious about Ella, she wouldn't throw a rub in his way for the world. It seemed an unlikely match, yet he had spurned the beauties for seasons past counting and must surely mean to settle on someone soon. She must not turn him off completely. “I told you she is lively when she is at ease with someone. Don't you remember?"

“I think, if I remember correctly, you said she was lively when she liked someone."

“Well, what's the difference?"

“The difference is that till today she has been at ease with me, ergo liked me, but today I am being held at arm's length, and I'm damned if I know what I've done to make her dislike me."

“It wouldn't take much,” Sara laughed, remembering the large store of malice behind this new friendship, at least on Prattle's side.

“Fraught with revealing obscurities, just like a woman. What do you mean, or have you any idea yourself?"

“Ah, well, you do have that odious reputation to lug around with you, Clare."

“I have Prattle to thank for that."

“
Au contraire
, you have yourself, but that's what I meant in any case."

“She's too sensible to be put off by a vicious gossip columnist, and it don't account for her latest snub."

“Did she snub you? I warrant you deserved it."

“I don't think I did. But I may be spoiled by all my other ladies, who wouldn't say boo to a goose."

“To a dook you mean!"

“We needn't look far to see where she gets her sharp tongue, my dear. Runs in the family."

“So it does. You should hear Theresa—her mother."

“I can't think I am likely to. I have been told it is unlikely I will ever be at Fairmont, when I hinted for an invitation."

This was beginning to sound more and more serious, and Sara was rapid to undo any harm she might have done formerly. “Surely your charms and graces are up to conciliating one very green girl,” she said, making it a challenge.

“Have I your permission to continue in this friendship then?"

“Much difference it would make whether I gave it or not."

“But, my dear, I should haunt her to death if you forbade it."

“Oh, well, in that case, you have my permission to pay your addresses quite openly."

They were at the house and went their separate ways. Sara was dying of curiosity, but the affair was progressing so satisfactorily that she feared to ruin it by intervention and so said nothing.

No extra company had been invited in for the evening, so after the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, the whole party went into the music room for Belle's madrigals. The attic had not yielded Elizabethan garb for all, but the enterprising Miss Prentiss had found one gown for herself and had her woman press it up while she attended the tournament. She regretted having only two inches of hair, for long coils would have been more authentic, but she found a veil that gave a good effect and mounted the platform. She appeared to know a good many madrigals, or she may have repeated some of them several times, for they had a way of all sounding very much alike. When Peters and Bippy, who had taken the precaution of seating themselves near the exit, slipped out, Mrs. Prentiss gave her daughter a sign that meant ‘enough,’ and no one else performed that evening.

“I will take a glass of wine before retiring,” Lady Honor told Clare, so wine was served to all. Before long, eyes began drooping, and it was time to retire.

The Dowager had been very good all day, attending the tournament and sitting through the concert, so felt she had earned the reward of a late night's reading and a good sleep-in in the morning. She said to Ella on her way out, “I read it again,
Pride and Prejudice
. I wish I could get hold of Miss Austen's other books. Such a nice sharp dig as she can slide into the middle of a polite conversation. I adore her. Have you found anything to read in the library?” It sounded on the surface a strange question, considering the thousands of books residing there, but they knew themselves to be discussing novels.

“I haven't had time,” Ella confessed. “We have been very busy."

“Yes, thank goodness you thought up that tournament. Harley was a wonder with the pole, wasn't he? I could see Patrick was ready to slay him. He'll make poor Billy, the groom, practice with him till he can pry Harley off his horse. Well, it's early yet. I plan to read for a couple of hours before bed. I'll see if I can't find something you'd like, if you'd like to come along with me. Shane will be gone, and we'll have the place to ourselves. I always feel I ought to be reading philosophy or something when he's there. A very bookish fellow. Was at Oxford with Patrick, planning a diplomatic career, but he has the nerves and couldn't handle it."