Gayle Buck (13 page)

Lydia did not quite believe her cousin’s excuse, but it was true that Michele had looked pale all that day. Following her thoughts, Lydia asked, “Did you not sleep well after we got in from the ball, Michele?”

“I spent an indifferent night, actually. Why do you ask?”

Lydia shrugged. “You do not act yourself today. Even Papa noticed how listless you were at luncheon. He asked me later if you were feeling off-color. I assured him that I did not think that you were falling ill.”

Michele made an effort to smile. “I trust not, for Aunt Beatrice would insist that I was malingering only to spite her plans for me,” she said offhandedly. Her attempt at humor raised a small laugh from Lydia, and Michele was able to turn the conversation into other channels.

However, she could not so easily shake her own oppressed spirits. She had been preoccupied with Lord Randol’s shocking behavior the night before, and she had yet to reconcile herself. That he had shown her such complete lack of tender feeling had gone far in shaking those hopes she had cherished of breaking through his cold exterior and finding inside the man she had once known and dearly loved.

A message was brought up to Lydia’s sitting room, where she and Michele were seated, that Captain Becher was below. “Oh, do you think that the captain has actually gotten your carriage for you?” Lydia asked, excitement entering her eyes.

“We shall see soon enough,” Michele said, rising. As she and Lydia went downstairs, she felt anticipation give a much-needed lift to her spirits.

Captain Becher was in the drawing room. He bowed to the ladies, and once the pleasantries were done with, he invited them to step outside the front door in order to inspect the phaeton and team that he had found for the mademoiselle.

Michele and Lydia accompanied him outside, where he gestured expansively at the carriage at the curb. “There it is, mademoiselle.”

Lydia drew in her breath.
“Oh, it is beautiful.”

Michele walked down the front steps, never taking her eyes from the phaeton. It was a perch phaeton, painted a bright yellow with black trim on the wheels, and to the front was hitched a perfectly matched team of blacks. Michele went to the leaders and delicately scratched their smooth noses, beginning the process of getting acquainted.

Captain Becher came to stand beside her. He was smiling. “Will it do, mademoiselle?”

“Oh, Captain Becher, very much so,” Michele said, her dark eyes shining.

“I have taken the liberty of setting up a stable for your cattle in the next block. And if you wish it, I will recommend a couple of good lads, either of whom would make a decent groom,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. I shall be glad to employ a groom of your recommendation. Your thoughtfulness has exceeded all my expectations.”

“I was happy to oblige. You shall cut a dashing figure, mademoiselle,” Captain Becher said. He gestured up at the driving seat. “Shall we tool about the block so that you may test their paces?”

“Only let me collect my bonnet, sir, and I shall be with you directly,” said Michele, flashing an eager smile.

Lydia followed Michele back indoors and up the stairs to her bedroom, exclaiming enthusiastically all the while. She watched Michele put on her bonnet, and she sighed. “I do wish that I was accompanying you,” she said wistfully.

“But of course you must, if you do not mind the rear seat,” Michele said, picking up her driving gloves.

Lydia shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, I do not care two sticks for that! Wait for me. I shan’t be a moment!” She dashed off to get her own bonnet.

The expedition was a successful one. Michele pronounced herself eminently satisfied with the team’s smooth action. Captain Becher bowed his gratification. Once they were returned to the town house, he gave a hand to each of the ladies so that they could descend to the sidewalk. “In the morning I shall send round the two grooms for your inspection.”

Michele gave her hand to him. Her smile was warm. “Thank you again. Captain Becher. I cannot begin to tell you how very much it means to me to be able to drive myself about.”

During the drive, Michele’s spirits had totally lifted. She thought that despite Lord Randol’s horrid behavior, she would still like to try to reach him, and she could think of nothing more certain to capture his attention than driving her own equipage.

Captain Becher took his leave and drove away in the phaeton. Michele and Lydia walked into the town house to be met in the hall by Lady Basinberry. She nodded toward the closing door. “I glimpsed a phaeton. I take it that it was yours, Michele?”

“Indeed it was,” said Michele cheerfully, drawing off her kid driving gloves.

“Aunt, it is the most beautiful carriage. So well-sprung, and the team are such smooth goers! I am positively green with envy that I do not know how to handle the ribbons as well as Michele, or I should order a phaeton for myself,” Lydia said.

“I am certain your dear father would instantly grant such a whim,” Lady Basinberry said dryly. At Lydia’s grimace and quick shake of the head, she laughed. “Go along and rid yourselves of your bonnets. We have but an hour before dinner, you know.”

The younger ladies exclaimed that they had had no notion that it was so late. “We have hardly left ourselves time to change,” Michele remarked to Lydia, who matched her stair for stair.

Lady Basinberry heard her and called up, “Pray do not think that I shall ask Cook to hold back dinner, for I shall not. Punctuality is a virtue, unless one is as old as I. And then one may do as one pleases, of course.” She went with firm step into the drawing room to wait for the rest of the family to assemble for dinner, completely recovered from her lapse of weakness of the day before.

Chapter Twelve

Michele did not immediately set herself into the habit of driving. She wanted to make a certain impression with her phaeton, and to that end she visited the modiste to be measured for a new habit. It was a week before the habit was to be completed and she used the time to hire one of the grooms that Captain Becher had recommended. She also made herself known at the stables and became more familiar with her horses.

On the afternoon that Michele had chosen for her driving debut, she inquired whether Lydia would care to accompany her. “Oh, yes, I should like it above all things,” Lydia promptly said. She dimpled at her cousin. “It is my duty, besides, for you expressed yourself unwilling to excite much interest this Season, and so I must save you from yourself.”

Michele laughed and her eyes twinkled. “I shall be in your debt, then. I shall meet you in the front hall in a few minutes.” She went upstairs to change into her new habit. When she returned downstairs, she was amused by Lydia’s awed expression. As she drew on her driving gloves, she inquired, “Do I meet with your approval, cousin?”

Lydia let out her breath. “That is positively the most divine habit that I have ever seen,” she said sincerely. “Somehow I do not think that I shall outshine you, Michele, for most definitely you are what Toppy Murray calls in all admiration a dasher!”

Michele inclined her head and suggested with a smile that they get on with their drive to the park. Lydia followed her out the front door of the town house and down the steps to the phaeton, where Michele’s groom gave a supporting hand to each lady as she climbed up into the high carriage.

When Michele was seated in the yellow-and-black phaeton, attired in her stunning dove-gray habit, she knew that she presented a striking picture. She requested the groom to let go the leaders’ heads and flicked her whip. With a flourish, she guided the horses into the traffic and set out for the park.

Lydia held on to the seat rail, made apprehensive by the heavy traffic that Michele was negotiating through, but she quickly realized that her cousin was an excellent whip. “I do wish that I could drive to an inch, just as you do,” she said wistfully.

Michele glanced at her cousin. “If you wish it, I shall endeavor to teach you, Lydia. Once you have the technique down, it is not so very difficult.”

“I think one must have a knack for it, actually. But perhaps with practice I might improve to the point that I do not tangle the ribbons,” Lydia said. “I should like that, because a soldier’s wife should know how to handle a team if she should ever need to.”

“Quite true,” Michele said as she turned the horses into the park.

“Oh, there is Aunt Beatrice’s good friend Mrs. Angleton. She is an awful woman, but very clever for all that, and she did give us the name of that excellent bootier,” Lydia said, smiling and waving to a grand-dame who stared at them from a slow-moving landau.

Michele gave a throaty laugh. “Then most assuredly we must do the polite. Shall we stop?”

Lydia stared at her in alarm. “Most certainly not! We should never get away from her. And you do not want your horses standing about forever.” Michele allowed the truth of this observation and so she merely nodded to the good lady without slowing the phaeton.

Michele knew almost at once that her equipage was sparking a good deal of interest, from the stares of pedestrians and other drivers alike. She smiled and nodded to those who were known to her. Hats were reverently tipped in her direction by the gentlemen, and the ladies looked after her smart passing with varying degrees of awe and envy.

Lydia was not behind in noticing these reactions, and she giggled. “I think that we are making a definite impression, Michele. I have seen at least five dagger glances from ladies who puff themselves off as the height of fashion. Oh, I am enjoying myself!” She made an exaggerated bow to another lady and received a startled glance of recognition from the haughty woman.

There was only one individual that Michele actually hoped to make an impression upon, and she did not immediately see his phaeton. She was beginning to think that Lord Randol had chosen not to drive in the park that day when she suddenly met his astonished gaze. Automatically she slowed the pace other team. She nodded in a cool fashion. “Good day, my lord.” She would have breezed past him then, but he pulled on his reins to bring his team to a stand, and she did likewise. Her heart was beating incredibly fast, but nothing of her inner tension appeared in her serene expression.

“Lord Randol! I did not realize that you would be driving in the park this afternoon,” Lydia said, a trifle dismayed.

“Miss Davenport, mademoiselle. I am usually found here, as most of my acquaintances know,” Lord Randol said.

“How stupid of me not to expect it, when Michele has mentioned that you are a whip,” Lydia said.

Michele flushed under his lordship’s considering gaze. “Lydia is always most curious regarding anything to do with my life at home. She wished to know who had taught me to drive,” she said quietly.

“Yes, and I was surprised to learn that it was you, my lord. I had not known before that you had such an interest in driving. We have never talked of such things,” Lydia said.

The viscount did not appear to be listening to Lydia’s chatter. Lord Randol allowed his gaze to travel slowly over the phaeton and the perfectly matched blacks before he again looked at the young woman in the dove-gray habit who sat on the phaeton’s seat with such competent ease. “I see that you have set up a phaeton in your own style. My congratulations to your friends for their excellent choice of horseflesh,” he said.

“It is my phaeton-and-four, actually. I found that I missed driving myself about and I commissioned the purchase of this rig,” Michele said calmly.

Lord Randol raised his brows in a surprised manner. “I see. That was a considerable expense to go to for a short visit, surely. Unless, of course, you mean to ship the equipage and team back with you. I assume that you will be returning to Brussels with the end of the Season?”

“I am not certain what my plans might be in a few months’ time,” Michele said. Lydia shot her a quick, speculative glance that she did not notice. She did not care for the direction of the conversation and attempted to lighten it. “I have noticed your own team, my lord. Your cattle look to be perfectly matched in their paces. Pray tell me, do you still wager your driving skills against all comers?”

Lord Randol smiled and a tiny spark of amusement lit the depths of his gray eyes. He was oddly relieved that she appeared to have forgotten the incident of a few evenings before. Each time he had recalled his behavior it had filled him with a sense of shame and disgust that he had not wanted to analyze. “I am no longer so imprudent. The war taught me that I am mortal and therefore I have learned a measure of humility in my abilities. And you, mademoiselle, do you still go about town setting all the other ladies to shame with your driving skill? I even seem to recall a race between yourself and another lady, an Englishwoman, who was quite put out at losing with such a broad margin.”

Michele laughed shakily. “I had hoped that particular incident to have been long forgotten, my lord. It did not reflect well upon my reputation, as you may also recall,” she said. Her hands trembled ever so slightly and the agitation was thus communicated to her sensitive horses, which stamped restlessly in place.

“It appears that your horses are still fresh. I will not keep them standing about any longer,” Lord Randol said. He inclined his head to both ladies and gave the signal to his own horses.

Michele watched the viscount’s phaeton bowl away, keeping her own team firmly under control. She could not believe how well their exchange had gone. Lord Randol had almost been his old self with her. Hope unfurled with frightening rapidity in her breast and she shook her head quickly in denial. It was too much to harbor that particular hope, especially when Lord Randol was courting her cousin, but oh, how pleasant it would be just to have his friendship again, she thought. With a flick of her whip, Michele put her horses in motion.

Lydia had been an interested spectator at the meeting between Lord Randol and her cousin. She had watched their faces closely and now she sat back against the seat with a contented sigh. She rather thought that her half-formed desire to throw her cousin back into Lord Randol’s arms had made progress. “I do believe that is the most affable that I have ever seen his lordship. I was not at all as nervous as I usually am, and certainly you deal with him very well indeed,” she said, sliding a glance from under her lashes at her cousin’s profile.