Lady Jane's Ribbons (27 page)

Betsy stepped back to admire her. ‘You look lovely, Lady Jane.’

‘I wish I felt as brave now as I did when I first embarked on all this.’

‘We’re going to win, my lady. Will’s a good coachman; he’ll bring the Swan in first.’ But the words were spoken with less than full conviction, for the girl, no matter how loyally she praised her lover, knew in her heart that he didn’t have his father’s talent and didn’t really stand much of a chance, even with Lewis’s prime bloodstock and a fine new coach. She went to the window,
peeping
down into the courtyard where the horses were being harnessed now and Arthur was instructing Will about the new brakes. ‘I wish I was going to be following the race,’ she said wistfully. ‘I’d love to be there to cheer my Will on.’

‘Put on your best mantle then. I’m sure you’d be welcome to travel with Lady Agatha and Miss Lyndon.’

Betsy’s eyes shone. ‘Could I really?’

‘Be quick now, for they might arrive at any moment.’

The girl was gone in a flash, and from the window Jane watched her hurry down the gallery steps and vanish in the direction of her own room.

In the courtyard, the Swan was looking splendid now, its polished panels reflecting like mirrors, the letters on them so proud and defiant that they seemed ready to taunt the two other coaches:
Swan. London and Brighton. Reigate. Handcross. J. E. Wheddle & Co. License No. 3224.
Lewis’s horses had had their manes plaited and ribboned as fashionably as any carriage team, and were stamping and snorting now, impatient to be off as they became infected with the growing excitement from the crowd in the street.

More hooves sounded suddenly and a little curricle drove into the yard. For a breathless moment she thought it might be Lewis, but then realized that it was Charles. Why had he come? Had something happened to Aunt Derwent or Blanche? Anxiously, she hurried out onto the gallery to call down to him as he alighted from the little vehicle and handed the reins to a waiting boy. ‘Charles? Is something wrong?’

He looked quickly up and smiled. ‘No, nothing’s wrong, I’ve just come to wish you
bon chance.’
He came up the steps toward her, the spurs on his boots jingling lightly. He wore a pale green coat and dark gray trousers, and the sunlight caught his light brown, wavy hair as he removed his top hat to bow over her hand. ‘Forgive me, Jane, I didn’t think I’d alarm you.’

‘I’m the one who should be asking forgiveness, but I’m so edgy at the moment that I think the worst at every turn.’

His hazel eyes were very clear as he looked down into her pale face. ‘I didn’t just come to wish you
bon chance,
I came because I heard about the fire and wanted to be certain you were all right.’

‘As you can see, I’m quite all right.’ It was better not to tell him how close to death she’d come.

‘You look very lovely.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I still wish you wouldn’t go on the Swan in the race.’

‘Charles….’

‘It’s all right, I’m not going to be difficult.’ He smiled. ‘Not very long ago I asked you to marry me and you turned me down, but I said that I
wouldn’t
give up. So, here I am, asking you for your hand again.’

She looked at him in puzzlement, for now was rather an odd time to choose. ‘Charles, are you sure nothing’s wrong?’

‘Must there be something wrong for a man to propose to the woman he loves?’

‘No, of course not, it’s just that … well, nothing really.’

‘What is your answer, Jane?’

She lowered her eyes then. ‘I can’t marry you, Charles, because I don’t love you enough.’

He turned away a little, gazing down at the coach in the yard below. ‘Is that your last word?’

‘It has to be. You deserve so much more than I could give you, Charles, and I know that in time you’ll find the right woman for you.’

‘You are that woman, Jane.’

‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m not, and if you’re honest with yourself, and with me, you’ll admit that you know it too.’

He was silent for a moment, his cane tapping thoughtfully against his boot, then he faced her again. ‘Maybe I do know it, but that doesn’t stop me from loving you with all my heart. Nor does it stop me from telling you something which will dash my chances forever but which will no doubt gladden your foolish heart more than anything else in the world.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Alicia has returned to her husband.’

Jane was stunned. ‘I – I beg your pardon?’

‘The Duke and Duchess of Brantingham are reconciled.’

‘But I thought the duke wanted a divorce.’

‘He did, and the thought apparently galvanized Alicia into action.’

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘I had it from someone who spoke with Alicia herself this morning.’ He smiled a little. ‘She isn’t generally out and about at such an unearthly hour, but it seems that she and the duke are going to follow the race to London. I encountered them as they were on their way to the Monument, where I understand they intend to join the mill when it passes.’

Jane was staring at him. ‘When did she return to her husband?’

‘Several days ago, I believe. It seems that at dinner at Grillion’s Lewis persuaded her of her true feelings.’

Jane looked away then. At Grillion’s? That must have been after Alicia had so brazenly entered the house in South Audley Street. But why hadn’t Lewis mentioned anything about it?

‘Jane, I confess to being taken aback by your reaction. I expected you to be over the moon because your way to Lewis is now surely clear.’

‘Is it? I don’t think the way will ever be entirely clear. Charles. He must
have known that Alicia had gone back to the duke, but he hasn’t said anything to me.’

‘I see. Well, I’ve done the honorable thing, and now I can only hope that one day you’ll forget Ardenley and see me for the fine upright fellow I am.’ He smiled, putting a gloved hand to her cheek. ‘Good luck, Jane. I wish you every happiness, and if that happiness means winning Lewis Ardenley, then so be it.’

She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘You’re far too good for me, Charles.’

‘I know,’ he replied lightly. ‘By the way, I trust Henry is feeling buoyant this morning.’

‘Why?’

‘Because not only is Blanche going to be following the race but I
understand
from one of Dursley’s less loyal cronies that the infernal duke is too. No doubt he’s hoping to see Henry come unstuck so that he can rush
gleefully
back to tell Blanche – except that if he did but know it, she’s going to be following as well. Anyway, I’ve sent a note to Henry warning him about Dursley’s presence. Forwarned is forearmed, and it wouldn’t do for the shock of Dursley’s foxy face to overturn the Iron Duke at the first ditch!’

‘I wish
Dursley
would overturn at the first ditch,’ she replied with feeling.

‘Tut, tut, that’s not the Christian thing, my dear.’

‘I know.’

Down in the courtyard, Will appeared ready for the off. He wore the fine new clothes Arthur had ordered for the race, but he looked utterly
miserable
as he listened to his father’s last-minute instructions. He wore a white top hat like Sewell’s, and there was a nosegay of fresh flowers in the lapel of his brown coat. He carried a fine new whip and had somehow squeezed his rather large feet into his father’s new boots, but they pinched his toes and made him shift uncomfortably from time to time as he listened to what Arthur was saying about the brakes.

Charles waited a moment more and then tapped on his top hat. ‘Well, I’ll toddle along now. I hope to find someone at Brooks’s to give me a game of billiards.’

‘Aren’t you following the race?’

‘No, I think not. I don’t think I could bear to see you perched up on that wretched box in all sorts of danger. Besides, if I follow you to Brighton, I’ll only be tempted to propose to you again, and that wouldn’t do at all, would it?’ He leaned over to kiss her lightly on the cheek. ‘Good-bye, Jane, and good luck.’

‘Good-bye, Charles.’

He descended the steps, pausing to wish Will good luck as well before climbing into the curricle and leaving again. Will gazed after him, not
knowing
who he was beyond the fact that he was obviously a fine gentleman, one of Lord Ardenley’s friends, no doubt. Then the coachman returned his attention to the Swan. His expression was almost sickly, for he was wishing with all his heart that he was asleep and only dreaming all this.

Betsy came into the courtyard to join him. She wore a white-ribboned straw bonnet and a new cream linen mantle, and she took his hand,
stretching
up to whisper that she’d be following the race.

Blanche’s landau arrived at last, its hoods up because of the dust which would undoubtedly be churned up on the road. Blanche alighted, looking very lovely indeed in a pink pelisse over a white lawn gown, a matching pink hat resting on her chestnut hair. Aunt Derwent stepped down next, looking particularly splendid in white-dotted turquoise, her hair almost entirely concealed beneath a dignified turban from which sprang tiny white aigrettes.

Jane went down to greet them and saw immediately that they’d heard about Alicia. ‘Jane,’ said Blanche urgently, drawing her aside, ‘have you heard…?’

‘That Alicia has gone back to the duke? Yes, Charles told me.’

‘Are you glad about it?’

‘I don’t know what to think. No, if I’m honest I’m not glad, because it hasn’t made any difference. Lewis knew about it but he didn’t tell me, which can only mean that he’s indifferent to me.’

‘That’s one thing he’ll never be,’ declared her aunt, coming to join them.

‘What else am I to think?’

‘That he probably thinks you’re going to marry Charles,’ replied her aunt candidly. ‘Think about it, my dear – we
did
come in and find you entwined in each other’s arms the other night.’

‘It wasn’t what it seemed.’

‘No doubt, but how is Lewis to know that?’

Jane looked away, for she knew that Lewis
did
think there was something between her and Charles, and she knew that she hadn’t said anything to disillusion him.

Aunt Derwent was still eyeing her. ‘Jane, I suggest that the first moment you have, you tell Lewis what’s what.’

Jane didn’t answer.

Blanche had been looking curiously at Will and Arthur. ‘Jane, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that
Will
dressed in race finery?’

‘Yes. Arthur’s, er, indisposed.’

Then Blanche noticed the fire damage. ‘Oh, no! What on earth has been happening here?’

‘It’s a long story, Blanche, and Betsy will be able to tell you all about it on the way to Brighton.’

‘Betsy?’

‘She wants to be there to cheer Will on. You won’t mind taking her with you, will you?’

‘Of course not.’

Betsy heard and smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you, Miss Lyndon.’

It was time to go, for Will climbed up onto the box and took up the reins. Jane’s nerve almost failed her then. ‘Oh, Aunt Derwent, I feel positively ill!’

Her aunt put a concerned hand to her cheek. ‘Now then, my girl, if
you’re likely to have the vapors, it will be better if you travel with us instead of going on the Swan.’

‘I’m determined to be on the Swan,’ declared Jane.

‘Then take a grip on yourself. You can’t let womankind down by being seen in a flap.’

Jane couldn’t help smiling. ‘Womankind?’

‘You carry a great responsibility, Jane. You are the only woman in a
positive
army of men, and you have to flick your petticoats scornfully at them all. So, take a deep breath and tell yourself that you’re as cool as the
proverbial
cucumber. Do as you’re told, Jane.’

Jane obeyed, still smiling. ‘I’m as cool as the proverbial cucumber,’ she said.

Her aunt hugged her then. ‘Good luck, my dear, we’ll be willing you on.’

Blanche hugged her too. ‘Be lucky, Jane. Show Henry what you’re made of.’

‘At that moment it would undoubtedly be jelly.’

She went to the coach then and Jacob assisted her up onto the box beside Will. She felt almost light-headed, gazing down at the four splendid horses stretching away from the coach before her. Then, she took another deep breath – she was as cool as a cucumber! She put up her parasol and twirled it gaily above her head.

Arthur was hovering anxiously beside the coach, calling up to his
apprehensive
son. ‘Confidence now, Will; you can do it if you set your mind to it. You’ve got excellent eyes, strong arms, light hands, and an even temper, and with cattle like these to do your bidding, you have it all going for you. Don’t pull or haul like you might need to with lesser animals; let every horse get on with its work, and always handle their mouths gently, like they were made of silk. They’ll fly for you if you treat them right.’

Will nodded, the beads of perspiration clearly visible on his forehead. He waited until the three ladies had entered Blanche’s landau, then he gently touched the team into action. Jane’s heart began to thunder so wildly that she was sure everyone must be able to hear it. The coach rolled slowly toward the archway, and as the leaders appeared in the sunlight beyond, a great cheer rose from the waiting crowd.

The chestnuts made a splendid sight, stepping high and proud as they drew the gleaming blue carriage out into the street. Approval was shouted from all sides, but there was astonishment mixed with it, for all eyes were drawn to Jane’s yellow-clad figure, seated so prominently beside the coachman.

Most of those who saw her didn’t know who she was, nor did they know who the ladies were in the following landau, but there were a number of ladies and gentlemen in the watching carriages who recognized them all straightaway.

A dandy in green satin stood up in his curricle, his quizzing glass raised incredulously to his astonished eyes. ‘’Pon me soul,’ he murmured to himself. ‘’Pon me soul.’

The whole of London, both fashionable and unfashionable, seemed to have gathered on the hill where William the Conqueror built his great fortress. Overlooking the city and the river, the immense square tower presided over an impressive assemblage of castellated buildings, and the whole was surrounded by an impregnable wall and a large moat. It was one of the most formidable strongholds in the world, and today it seemed to be under siege from the huge crowds that had come together to watch the start of the race.

On the green slopes outside the medieval defenses, the grass was almost completely concealed by thousands of people, their numbers swollen by the arrival of the queen and her multitude of supporters. The queen was in her element, acknowledging the huge gathering as if it was there to see her and not the race.

Every sporting gentleman worth his salt had turned out for the event, and the air was full of their knowing slang and loud laughter. The younger bucks swaggered among the crowds, conducting themselves as if they were every one the equal of professional coachmen like Sewell. Many of them were the friends of Lord Sefton, and intended to accompany him all the way to Brighton in their curricles and cabriolets. These light vehicles were to be seen everywhere, as were the more elegant and comfortable carriages which choked the roads leading to the hill, and all intended to pursue the three competitors the fifty-five miles to Brighton.

At their posts in the Tower, the Beefeaters tried to maintain an air of indifference to the excitement all around. Their scarlet and gold Tudor uniforms made vivid splashes of color against the brooding Norman stonework, and for a long time those specks of color didn’t move from their posts, but in the end it was too much, and they came to the battlements to gaze down at the seething crowds below. The famous ravens wheeled and dipped excitedly in the clear sky, their raucous cries echoing all around. Deep within the tower, their roars muffled by the thick walls but still
audible
, the lions and tigers in the royal menagerie paced restlessly up and down, agitated by the sheer numbers of people they sensed to be close by.

The Swan’s two rivals had already arrived, the amazing new Nonpareil having caused a tremendous stir when it appeared, drawn by a team of extremely eye-catching skewbalds. The coach’s scarlet livery was familiar enough, as were the black horse emblems on its shining panels, but the novelty of the revolutionary design made it the object of a great deal of astonished attention. It was exactly as Aunt Derwent had described it – low and wide, with an open compartment behind the box for outside passengers, only today, of course, Sewell was to be the only person on board.

He looked as smart as ever, in a coat to match the color of the coach and trousers as fashionable and white as any gentleman’s. He sat elegantly on the box. the ribbons held almost nonchalantly in his kid-gloved hand as he leaned down to talk confidentially to Chapman. The coachmaster himself was dressed in peacock blue with a yellow cravat, and the satisfied smile on his lips told of his confidence that the Swan had been eliminated and the Iron Duke was easy prey.

Nearby, Henry’s gleaming green coach stood at the ready, its team of
mettlesome
strawberry roans stamping and tossing their splendid heads. The Iron Duke exuded an air of excellence and style, everything about it proclaiming it to be the product of Powell of Bond Street. Its lacquerwork was glossy, its metal-work the finest silver, and its rich appointments were worthy of a royal carriage; it was a very elegant and stylish vehicle, as aristocratic as its owner.

A group of gentlemen stood in its shadow, discussing the burning topic of brakes. Among them were Henry himself and the marshal of the race, Lord Sefton. The marshal was a large, bluff man, much given to wearing his favorite sporting pink, and possessed of such a commanding manner that he was the natural leader of the sporting fraternity and therefore the obvious choice to see that all was as it should be on an occasion like this. A stickler for the rules, he intended to pursue the contestants in his yellow curricle, and that splendid vehicle waited behind the Iron Duke, a smart groom attending to the spirited pair of bays, Lord Sefton being famous for his predilection for horses of that color.

Behind the curricle there was another dashing sporting vehicle, this one a purple cabriolet drawn by a single gray. It was the property of the Duke of Dursley, who wore purple to match and who was lounging on the seat with a secret, knowing smile on his lips, for alone among the huge gathering he knew that Blanche was going to follow the race. He had happened upon the
information
because he’d overheard her maid discussing the matter with her
footman
beau, and he intended to use it to the best advantage. With luck, Henry wouldn’t show up well against the Nonpareil, and that would surely lower his stock in Blanche’s eyes – if indeed his stock could fall much more anyway. The duke’s lips curved into a smile more sleek than ever. The Lyndon fortune was falling neatly into his hands after all. It had been a tiresome business, especially as the lady wasn’t exactly to his taste anyway, lacking the full-bosomed figure of the actresses he much preferred, but her fortune was sufficient to make it all worthwhile, and once she was safely married, he could ignore her. His eyes glittered as he pondered the delights of spending his way through such wealth. Ah, sweet delight, he’d be able to indulge his many vices, and pursue a certain young creature who’d caught his eye at the opera house the other night. What a divinity, absolute perfection; but disagreeably expensive. That would change when he had old Lyndon’s pennies in his ducal pocket.

Next to the Iron Duke, Henry was attempting to concentrate on his friends’ conversation. He wore a double-breasted beige coat with a high collar and large
brass buttons, and his cream cord trousers were tucked into particularly elegant Hessian boots. His brown silk neckcloth was adorned with a fine diamond pin, and his top hat was tall and shining. He was in the very tippy of fashion,
looking
very handsome and dashing, but although he smiled and laughed with apparent unconcern, he was wishing with all his heart that he’d gone to make his peace with Blanche as Jane had wanted the previous day. It would be so good to have Blanche with him now, cheering him on as he tooled the Iron Duke down the hill toward Eastcheap and London Bridge. Goddammit, how he missed her. His cane tapped impatiently. How much longer did they have to wait for Ardenley’s wretched Swan to put in an appearance? And how much more of Dursley’s smirking stares did he have to endure? Charles’s note had been appreciated, for at least he’d had advance warning.

Lord Sefton took out his fob watch and flicked it open. Was the Swan’s late arrival due to a sense of the theatrical, or had the events of the previous evening proved too much, even for Ardenley? Mulling over the latter thought for a moment, his lordship swiftly rejected it, for Lewis Ardenley wasn’t a man to be put off by the scurrilous activities of someone like Chapman. Lord Sefton glanced at the Nonpareil’s proprietor for a moment. Chapman had been sailing close to the wind for too long now, but everything he’d done had been impossible to prove. The day of reckoning was surely at hand, and if he tried anything during this race, anything at all, then he’d have the might of Sefton to contend with and he’d pay dearly for his many past sins.

Distant cheers from Eastcheap heralded the approach at last of the third and final competitor, and everyone strained to look down the hill. Chapman’s smile faded for a moment. So, they’d decided to start even
without
Huggett, had they? Who had they found to take his place? What if they’d managed to get Lord Ardenley back from Maywood in time? Fleeting alarm seized him then and he scrambled quickly up on the box beside Sewell.

It was the women among the crowds in Eastcheap who first alerted those on the hill that there was something of more than mild interest about the Swan, for their mixed cries of delight and disbelief were clearly audible. The fashionable ladies at the start stood up in their open carriages the better to see what was causing such female fuss, and soon their gasps of astonishment were to be heard as well.

The Swan drew nearer, its blue panels very bright and its fine chestnuts stepping high as they effortlessly pulled the coach up the hill. The dainty figure beside the coachman was the cause of all the attention, as the ladies soon whispered to their male companions.

A great stir began to pass through the crowd as Jane acknowledged the cheers, her parasol twirling and her bonnet ribbons fluttering in the light breeze. Chapman stared, knowing her immediately. Felbridge’s sister! So that was the real reason for Ardenley’s interest in the Swan! But the
coachmaster
wasn’t really interested in Jane; he was relieved to see Will with the ribbons. Ardenley was evidently still tucked safely away at Maywood, and
long may he remain there! Chapman’s sharp eyes were thoughtful, though. Maywood was too handily placed and Ardenley might get on the box yet. He leaned closer to Sewell. ‘You’ve got a passenger, George; I think it might be wise if I’m on the spot, so to speak.’

‘You’re expecting trouble?’

‘Only what I’ve laid in store for the others.’ Chapman’s expression was still thoughtful. ‘There’s too many nobs in this for my liking. That bit of muslin isn’t only Felbridge’s sister – she was betrothed to Ardenley.’

‘Do you reckon we’d do better to stick fast to the rules then?’

‘Hardly, not if the Nonpareil’s to get into Brighton first!’ snapped Chapman irritably. ‘I need that
£
50,000 and intend to get my hands on it, so we’ll do it like we planned, only I’ll come with you now instead of
staying
back here in London.’ His glance moved beyond the Swan then to the landau which had drawn up behind it. ‘God above!’ he exclaimed, seeing Aunt Derwent’s face grinning out at him.

Sewell saw her too and recognized her as the widow who had been wined and dined. So, for once Chapman had been duped instead of doing the duping! The coachman had to grin, nudging the furious coachmaster. ‘Here, isn’t that—?’

‘No!’ came the snappish reply. ‘It just happens to look like her!’ Chapman scowled at the landau.

Henry had been so stunned to see Jane on the box that he didn’t notice that Will had the ribbons instead of Arthur. Seeing his sister perched up there so conspicuously was a galling experience, and Henry’s blue eyes had
darkened
with fury. So, she thought to make a fool of him, did she? What a gull he’d been, not realizing what a viper she was in his trusting bosom! Far from being really interested in his coaching, she’d been pumping him and telling Ardenley and Wheddle everything he said! He rounded on Lord Sefton, suspecting him of complicity. ‘Sir, I don’t find this trick at all amusing!’

Lord Sefton didn’t like the tone. ‘Steady on now, Felbridge, there’s no need for that. I didn’t know Lady Jane was involved. I only knew about Ardenley, and I told you about
that
. You’ve been asking for a poke on your handsome snout for some time now. That business of the Lyndon ball was evidently the final straw for your sister.’ He chuckled a little. ‘What spirit, eh?’

‘That’s not what I’d call it,’ grumbled Henry, giving Jane another dark look. He hadn’t noticed the landau behind yet.

Lord Sefton was looking thoughtfully at Will Huggett and then at Chapman, who hadn’t exactly seemed all that surprised to see the son on the Swan’s box instead of the father. ‘Felbridge, there appears to be
something
you’ve overlooked in your apoplectic rage with your lovely sister, and that is the howling fact that Arthur Huggett is nowhere to be seen.’

Henry stared at Will, forgetting Jane for a moment. ‘I wonder what’s happened? He was hail and hearty enough when I saw him yesterday.’

‘Look at Chapman. He’s been up to slightly more than that fire last night,
you mark my words. With Will on the box, the Swan doesn’t stand an earthly. It’s going to be between you and the Nonpareil after all.’ Lord Sefton glanced at the landau then and saw Blanche. He pursed his lips. ‘Felbridge, I’m afraid that I’ve got some bad news for you.’

‘Eh?’

‘Miss Lyndon is evidently in on the Swan as well. She’s in the carriage behind.’

Henry stared at Blanche, his eyes hurt and accusing. It was bad enough that Jane had stabbed him in the back, but that Blanche should do it as well…. Then he saw his aunt and he turned away. So Charles had only seen fit to warn him about Dursley and had kept the rest to himself. Sworn to secrecy, no doubt! He’d show them! He’d show them that they couldn’t make a fool of him!

Lord Sefton pursed his lips. ‘Well, my boy, I’ll warrant you wish now you’d behaved yourself the night of the Lyndon ball, eh?’ He chuckled again. ‘Your womenfolk are tweaking your nose, and doing it publicly.’

Henry didn’t reply. He didn’t find anything amusing in the situation,
especially
as he now understood the knowing smirk on Dursley’s odious face. Even Dursley had been in on the plot, his archrival and the man he loathed most in all the world! He’d never forgive Jane for this, or Blanche, or his aunt! Never! He vaulted lightly up onto the box of the Iron Duke, making the roans toss their heads in anticipation as he picked up the reins. He sat stiffly, ignoring the Swan and keeping his back toward the occupants of the landau.

Blanche had watched his every reaction and now she lowered her eyes sadly. If he’d given her the chance, she’d have smiled at him and shown him she still loved him, but he hadn’t, and now he seemed more angry than ever before.

Aunt Derwent sniffed. ‘Tiresome boy,’ she muttered. ‘When will he ever learn? Don’t pay any attention to him, Blanche, he’s being extremely disagreeable.’

‘But I love him.’

‘I know.’ Aunt Derwent patted her hand, and then smiled at Betsy. ‘Come on now, ladies, we’re off to Brighton and it’s going to be very exciting. Smile at the world, we’ve a stagecoach to cheer for and it certainly isn’t the Iron Duke! Or that horrid Mr Chapman’s Nonpareil. Did you see the look on his face when he spotted me? Oh, it was a sweet moment.’