Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (15 page)

Jeannie could only look
away.

“
It’s
cold in the foretop roost, Lady Jersey, and when the sleet runs
down inside your greatcoat, why, there’s no chill quite like it.”
He put his hand over his heart. “The memory of Almack’s sustained
me.” He took Jeannie by the hand. “And here was this lovely lady,
and that waltz! It is a particular favorite of mine. I’ve whistled
it when the guns were run out and the men were ramming home their
charges, just to give the lads heart.”

Jeannie cast down her
eyes, took a deep breath, and held it. If I don’t look at him, we
might brush through this, she thought. But surely Lady Jersey is
not swallowing this Banbury tale. She peeked a look at Almack’s
formidable patroness.

Lady Jersey stood
perfectly still, her large dark eyes filled with tears. “I had no
idea, Captain Summers,” she managed to say finally.

The captain shook his
head as a pitiful smile flickered across his face. “And the lads at
the guns took such pleasure in a simple tune.” He bowed his head.
“For some, that little waltz was their last reminder of home.”

Lady Jersey sobbed out
loud and fumbled for a handkerchief she had tucked in her bosom.
She dabbed at her eyes and held her hand to her mouth until she was
completely in control again.

“
Captain Summers, you are forgiven a thousand times,” she said,
her voice scarcely a whisper. “How easy it is to forget the war
when we are safe and sheltered here.”

The captain shook off
his air of melancholy and squared his shoulders. He bowed to Lady
Jersey and kissed her hand. “You are all kindness,” he said in a
husky voice. “Thank God there is an England.”

Jeannie had to sit down
and cover her face with her hands.

The captain laid a
heavy hand on her shoulder. “These are trying times,” he said
simply. “Surely you understand.”

And it will shortly
become even more trying if you do not shoo that woman out of here,
Jeannie thought.

The captain clapped his
hands together. “And so, my dear Lady Jersey, if I may?” He bowed
again and held out a hand to her. “I ask you, Lady Jersey, to
forgive me.”

Lady Jersey dried her
eyes and said, “You are forgiven.”

“
You
are all kindness, madam,” he managed to say.

Lady Jersey smiled
tremulously. She reached up and patted Captain Summers’ cheek.
“Dear, dear boy,” she whispered. “How proud your mother would be if
she could only see you now.” With those words, she turned and
glided out of the room, her hands clasped in front of her as if she
had just come from the communion rail.

Captain Summers stood
by the door. “My mother would give me such a raking scold that the
chandelier would rattle,” he said as he quietly closed the door. He
reconsidered. “No, she would have looked at me mournfully and
patted her heart like this. It’s no wonder that Agatha is the way
she is.” He shook his head and laughed.

“
Many
nights in a foretop roost, indeed,” Jeannie said indignantly.
“Since when?”

“
Since
twenty years ago, when I was a God-help-us midshipman and puked on
the captain from the lookout. G—gracious, he was so
surprised.”

Jeannie sank into the
chair again. “And whistling a waltz as you went into battle!
Captain Summers, you must be guilty of the basest kind of
perjury.”

“
Profoundly so, madam,” he assured her, “particularly as we
sail into battle. That is generally when I invoke the Lord’s
blessing upon the French.” He took out his watch. “I suggest that
we do not brave the ballroom again until much later. What say we
join this delightful couple in a rubber or two?”

The old lady jabbed her
finger at the chair opposite Jeannie and prodded Lord Hammersmith
under the table. The old gentleman sat up and looked about him, as
if trying to remember what century it was.

“
Lady
Hammersmith, is it?” Captain Summers asked. “Will you deal? I will
partner Mrs. McVinnie, if she has decided that I am not past
redemption.”

“
You
are,” she declared, “but I am more afraid to attempt the ballroom
again.”

“
It
takes a rogue to know a rogue,” he said as he unbuttoned his
uniform coat and loosened his neckcloth slightly.

Jeannie gave him a
speaking look and refused to rise to the bait. She calmly took up
the hand dealt her.

That Captain Summers
was an excellent whist player was soon borne out to her during the
first rubber. By paying careful attention to his discards and
correctly interpreting the meaningful looks he cast her way from
time to time, she was just able to keep up with his skill. Each new
trick laid down in front of her caused Lady Hammersmith to gasp and
sputter and turn an unhealthy shade of red that clashed with the
purple of her gown. They played for shillings at first and then
half-crowns, the captain sliding money across the table to her
without a word and ignoring her when she protested.

The candles were
guttering lower when Lady Hammersmith announced the stakes at five
shillings a trick. The captain did not blink an eye, even though
Jeannie McVinnie’s Scot’s soul experienced the acutest sort of
agony at such a waste of money.

Shillings, crowns, and
pounds changed hands from rubber to rubber. For all that he
appeared asleep or at least remarkably dithered, Lord Hammersmith
put up a stiff competition. Lady Hammersmith talked to herself,
carrying on a fascinating conversation that would have sent Jeannie
into whoops if she had not been dealing in shillings and pounds and
therefore taking herself quite seriously.

And then the game was
over. A trail of tricks stretched in front of Captain Summers, and
Lady Hammersmith threw down her remaining cards in disgust. “Lord
Hammersmith,” she exclaimed to her husband, “you ought to order me
to give up cards.”

Lord Hammersmith
muttered something and closed his eyes again.

Captain Summers swept
up the money in front of him and divided it in two, shoving half
across the table toward Jeannie. “My dear, I think I will abandon
the sea and start a gaming hell with you. Think of the fortune we
will reap.”

She shoved the money
back at him. “We will do no such thing. Why, how could I sleep
nights?”

“
Very
comfortably, and probably upon satin sheets,” he said frankly. “You
certainly have an instinct for whist, at any rate. Please, half of
the earnings are yours.”

When she still looked
mulish, he stared back at her and lowered his voice. “Or I will
drop the coins one at a time down the front of your dress.”

“
You
wouldn’t dare,” she said, but gathered up her share of the money,
her eyes on him.

“
Well,
you never know what a sailor will do,” he told her, and leaned back
in his chair, patting his stomach. “I wish we had a big platter of
currant duff and some jam to spread all over it. And a tot of rum.
My gracious, that would be a fitting conclusion to this
evening!”

She smiled at him.
“Currant duff?” Her smile grew larger. “Tom used to beg me for hard
bread. ‘Just like the quartermaster gets,’ he would say. ‘And mind,
Jeannie, butter so thick that it leaves a mustache when I bite into
it.’ ”

Captain Summers raised
his eyes to hers. “A good memory?” he asked, and his voice was
gentle.

“
A
very good one, sir,” she said.

He nodded, rose to his
feet, and stretched. He opened the door and went into the hall, and
was back in a moment. He motioned to her. “It appears that the Beau
has retired from the lists, at least for the moment. And bless me,
here is my sister, ready to give us a scold. Agatha dear,” he
said.

Agatha snapped her fan
open and plied it vigorously. “A fine pair of chaperones you two
turned out to be,” she declared, biting off each word. “And there
was no one but me to watch over Larinda!”

“
How
fortunate, then, that you decided to come to Almack’s after all,”
was the captain’s bland reply.

Lady Smeath eyed him
suspiciously, but obviously thought better of a reply. Her lips
trembled. “I am tired,” she said, her voice small again. “I will
find Larinda.”

The captain watched her
go. “That is probably more exertion than she had expended on
Larinda’s behalf since my niece had chickenpox at six,” he said,
more to himself than to Jeannie.

“
Captain, you are unjust,” she said.

He only smiled.

They reentered the
ballroom, which was still thick with company despite the late hour.
The air was murky with the odor of mingled perfume, pomade, and
candlewax.

The captain sniffed the
air and cast a glance in her direction. “Correct me if I’m wrong,
Mrs. McVinnie, but does your expression tell me that you wish you
were breathing in a draft of North Irish Sea air?”

“
While
you long for the breeze around Ushant?” she asked, her eyes
twinkling back at him.

He shook his head. “No,
ma’am, not that. It smacks of the blockade. I would settle for some
of that Irish Sea, too, provided there was currant duff, and—”

“
And a
tot of rum,” she finished for him, and they laughed
together.

Larinda hurried toward
them, her eyes bright, her cheeks red from dancing. She took her
uncle by the hand. “Uncle dear,” she said, the wheedling tone
unmistakable, “do tell me that we are engaged for the theater
tomorrow night? Did you not mention the Theatre Royal yesterday? I
am sure that you did.”

“
I
believe that was the course,” he agreed, “but I do not recall that
you considered the matter entirely to your liking.”

“
Oh,
Uncle, how you carry on. Only think! Beau Brummell himself
expressly wanted to make sure that we would be there.” She looked
at Jeannie for the first time. “And he was quite insistent that you
be there, Mrs. McVinnie. Imagine that?”

“
Imagine that,” Jeannie said. She looked carefully at Larinda
and the girl stared back, a smile of triumph in her eyes. “Of
course you told him yes?”

“
Of
course, Mrs. McVinnie. I know what the Beau can mean to the success
of a young girl’s come-out.”

So Jeannie’s great
set-down would likely come at the play, probably during
intermission, when the patrons mingled together in the boxes. There
would be sufficient audience and then some, for a long appraisal
through his quizzing glass and a sharp turn on the heel. Jeannie
patted her heavy reticule and raised her shoulders. It would be
best to take her whist money and engage a seat on the next mail
coach north.

Jeannie observed
Larinda’s proud profile during the silent ride back to Wendover
Square. At least it appears you are in league with the Beau and
that dreadful Sir Peter, she thought, and my misfortune will not
touch upon your own career. If you were to become their target, I
would have a worse regret.

“
My
dear, let us remain at home in the morning,” said Lady Smeath as
they drew up outside 3 Wendover Square and the coachman spoke to
his horses.

“
Aunt,
how tedious,” Larinda said as she yawned.

Lady Smeath patted her
hand. “Larinda, there is every likelihood that you will have
morning callers. Don’t be such a slow-top.” She glanced at Jeannie.
“Perhaps we can send Mrs. McVinnie on our errands.”

“
That
is what I am here for,” Jeannie replied. At least, for now, she
thought.

“
I
have spoken for several articles of clothing at Amalie’s in Bond
Street.”

“
Very
well, madam,” Jeannie said, and then settled herself into a silence
that lasted until she was inside the house and up the stairs, the
captain quiet behind her.

Edward’s door was
closed. On impulse, Jeannie slipped out of her dancing shoes and
tiptoed into his room, holding her candle high. He was sound asleep
in his bed, the guidebook open on his chest. Jeannie picked up the
book. “Look, Captain,” she said, for he had followed her into the
room. “Should I worry? He has opened it to the Admiralty House on
Whitehall.”

The captain peered over
her shoulder. “No, my dear, I should worry. I am certain he has an
expedition planned for me. He will likely renew his plea that he be
allowed to follow my trade and take to the water as a midshipman.”
He closed the book in her hand and set it on the night table. He
stood a moment longer, looking down at Edward. Without a word, he
pulled up the sheet higher around his nephew’s neck and touched his
cheek. “Dreadful child,” he whispered. “No end of trouble.”

Jeannie smiled in the
dark, bent down, and kissed Edward. She wrinkled her nose. “He
still smells a little like elephant,” she whispered back to the
captain, who laughed softly, put a hand on her elbow, and steered
her from the room.

Lady Smeath and Larinda
had already gone to their rooms. “Well, Jeannie McVinnie,” the
captain said, “I thank you for a most entertaining evening.” He
touched his pocket. “I never thought in my wildest imaginings to
make a profit at Almack’s, but then, I never had such an
accomplished partner before.”

Jeannie blushed and
then stood still, listening.

Clare was crying.
Without a word to her escort, Jeannie hurried down the hall. She
could hear no one within except Clare.

The captain joined her
at the door.

She turned to him, her
anger rising. “Captain,” she began, her voice brusque. “It is a
wonder that you tolerate such mismanagement.”

She went inside. The
nursemaid nodded in front of the fireplace, her head leaning far
forward and bobbing up and down as she snored.