Ridiculous (22 page)

Shoffer’s fingers tightened, gripping the tablecloth as the Beau examined Mr. North through his quizzing glass. Then to everyone’s surprise, he laughed.

“Why, yes, that is in truth exactly what happened. I commend your perception.” The Beau made a graceful leg. “And who might you be?”

“This,” declared the fop, “is Mister North from Yooooooorkshire.”

He grinned, fully expecting to witness one of the Beau’s famous set downs, but instead North and Beau exchanged nods and smiles.

“My honor, sir,” said North.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. North,” said the Beau, then he wandered away.

After a moment the fop wandered off as well to try, vainly, to report the exchange for in truth he had not understood it. But the Beau had laughed. Surely, if he repeated the tale he would gain laughs as well. He did, but not for the reason he supposed.

“Dear God, I thought my heart would stop,” declared Shoffer coming around the table.

“I as well,” said North. “One of the cups started to tip and I feared I would be wearing lemonade for the rest of the evening. Be a good fellow, Shoffer, and take a couple of these. I cannot manage.”

“North?” Shoffer worked two cups free of the gloves. “You do realize what just happened? Do you know to whom you were speaking?”

North raised his eyes to the duke’s and for a moment there was an expression of genuine puzzlement, but it did not last long. A broad grin overspread North’s face and lit his brown eyes with mischief.

“Oh, yes. Of course, I know. That nit does not have enough wit to realize he’s been insulted.”

“No. The other one. Beau? Beau Brummel. He was not expected or else I should have warned you. He can be quite withering.”

Mr. North shrugged. “He seemed perfectly pleasant to me.”

“Do you have any idea how close you came to social disaster?”

“No.” After another moment of blank staring, he flashed Shoffer a dazzling grin. Turning, North started off across the ballroom, Shoffer trailing in his wake. “Yes, of course I did. I am not so much a fool as I pretend. Fortunately, the Beau has a sense of humor.”

Shoffer grinned at his sister as he handed over a small cup of lemonade. The ladies accepted the refreshments politely, though they had no need of it. The Boarder ladies and Lady Elizabeth were surrounded by young men competing to hold their fans, fetch drinks, and otherwise entertain them.

After examining his sister’s dance card and approving it, Shoffer retreated. Lady Edith and Mrs. Boarder had the situation well in hand. After checking that his cousins were happy, Mr. North rejoined him.

“Well, Shoffer, it appears we are not needed. Come, it is time we did our duty by the wallflowers.”

“Again?” Shoffer paused, then stared at his friend. “I was about to suggest we retreat to the smoking room.”

“Never. Do you tell me you do not like to dance, Shoffer?”

“I like it well enough.”

“Excellent.” North took him by the sleeve and drew him through the crowd. It was turning into a veritable crush, which would please their hostess, but made navigation difficult.

“North, what are you about?” demanded Shoffer.

North cast a grin over his shoulder.

“The truth of the matter is I love to dance. One of the many advantages of being male, Your Grace, is that when I wish to dance I need only ask. But a lady? She must wait to be asked. And wait and wait and wait. Do not imagine that if you grant a wallflower one dance, she will expect to receive an offer. We can dance quite safely.”

With that Mr. North came to a halt before a cluster of stunned wallflowers. There was not a one in the group that Shoffer recognized; although, by their ages it was possible that it was a third or fourth season for some of them.

“Ladies.” Mr. North made a graceful bow. “I come seeking a dance partner. I promise to step on your toes not more than twice. Would anyone care to do me the honor?”

“This is hardly proper, my friend,” said Shoffer. “You have not been introduced.”

“Oh, we know who he is,” said a rather spindly, red-haired girl with a regrettable number of freckles over her face and décolletage, and she waved her fan in a gentle curve like a cat’s tail. “He is Mr. North of the cats.”

The other young ladies giggled and imitated the move.

“My reputation precedes me. And do you know this tall fellow with me?”

There was a chorus of “Your Grace” and another wave of curtsies.

“Well, then, who shall volunteer to be steered about the room?”

Despite the haphazard manner of the invitation, it was accepted with enthusiasm. Shoffer bowed and accepted his fate. It was not until three dances later, as he stood side by side with Mr. North awaiting the beginning of a quadrille that he realized he was enjoying himself.

The wallflowers, one and all, were so grateful to be granted some small portion of his time and consequence that he was almost embarrassed by the thanks he received. Indeed, if not for Mr. North he would have quit the ballroom, but there he remained as one after another young lady promenaded down the dance on his gloved hand.

They were standing side by side waiting for a jig to begin when Shoffer gasped and seized North’s arm in a grip so tight the man cried out.

“Shoffer? What?”

“Do you see?” demanded Shoffer. “Look, that is Brummel heading toward Beth. Damn it, North, what if again she is struck dumb?”

Shoffer was about to commit the extreme social faux pas of leaving a dance in progress and charging across the room to his sister’s side when North gripped his arm and held him back.

“Stop, Shoffer. Think and wait. It will do your sister’s confidence no good to have you embarrass her this way.”

“But…”

“She will think you do not trust her to be able to deal with one overdressed poseur.”

North’s grip was as strong as wilted celery, but the glare he directed toward Shoffer held him pinned in place. Helpless, he watched as the Beau was presented to his sister and her friends by their hostess. There was an exchange of words that they were too far away to hear; then the Beau bowed, and said something to Beth which set her laughing and waving her fan sinuously through the air. The conversation continued for a few moments; the Beau laughed at some comment of Beth’s and all conversation died across the room.

The Boarder sisters made a few observations which were well received by Brummel; then it was over. The Beau, still smiling, bowed over Beth’s hand, nodded to the Boarder family, and took himself away. A corridor opened before him permitting him to leave the room unmolested and then the noise level of the room rose as the gossip resumed. As soon as the Beau had vanished, the crowd of men about Beth doubled in size.

North nudged Shoffer’s arm, directing his attention to his partner and the ongoing dance. Shoffer granted the débutante a dazzling smile and took her arm even as joy bubbled in his heart.

Her rank gave Beth a place in society. Mr. North’s nonsense gave her confidence and conversation, but the Beau’s bow had brought her into fashion.

Beth’s success this season was achieved.

Never in his life had he felt more like dancing. As they passed each other in the dance, Shoffer and Mr. North exchanged matching proud smiles.

* * *

It was midday before Millicent made her way downstairs the next day. Mildred and Maude were before her, for a miracle. Waves of feminine laughter drew Millicent to the formal parlor. Pausing at the door Millicent peered in. Beth was there, which raised her eyebrows, and was helping Mildred and Maude read the notes that accompanied the masses of flowers filling the room.

“Great God,” said Millicent, “What is a forest doing in here? Shall I summon the gardeners to beat back these overgrown shrubs? Do we need a gang of servants to slice a way through the jungle?”

She wandered into the room, picked up a nosegay, and inhaled the fragrance.

“Is not this wonderful?” cried Maude, waving toward the banks of flowers. “All these on this side of the room are mine.”

Mildred paused and selected a few blossoms from one arrangement and placed them into a vase. “These are mine, but they could have been better presented.”

“And to what do we owe the honor of your appearance here this morning, Lady Beth?” asked Millicent.

Beth laughed, her eyes brilliant and dancing. “Oh, I could not sleep and I was awake when my own flowers were delivered. If you can believe it, I have just as many at home as your cousins…”

“And you came over here to crow about your achievement?” Millicent mock scowled at her. “Proud infant. How unkind.”

“No. No. I finished my thank you letters and wanted to come over and advise Mildred and Maude on the phrasing of theirs. That was one thing that Grand’Mere taught me well. How to write exact letters.”

Millicent tried vainly to raise one eyebrow, an exercise that never failed to send her sisters into giggles. “Exact letters?”

“Oh, you know, how to use the exact phrase to suppress pretensions and what to write when you want to encourage someone.”

“Well, be careful in your writing, ladies, for if we have as many dandies as you have flower arrangements come into our parlor, our floor will surely crack under the weight.”

“Do not fuss,” said Mildred calmly. “We shan’t have that many callers. It is not as if anyone knows where we live. We are not exactly well known about town.”

“Mildred, dear,” said Millicent patiently. “They must know in order to send the flowers. Do not worry, your admirers shall find you. As for you, Lady Beth, should you not be on your way home? You do not want your own tribe of poetry writers to be disappointed when they come to worship at your feet and find you gone.”

“Oh, phoo. There was no one last night I wanted to encourage.”

Again, it occurred to Millicent that Beth was a trifle young for the marriage mart. Then she noticed the intent and adoring look on Beth’s face directed toward herself; her heart chilled and she backed out of the room.

“Well, enjoy yourselves, ladies, I shall be out and about doing … things and will not be home until late.”

“Oh, no,” cried Beth, reaching out to Millicent. “You must be here. I shan’t know what to say if you are not.”

Millicent dodged, seizing her hat and gloves from a waiting footman, and backed toward the door.

“Mildred and Maude will be here to aid you. Besides, the gentlemen will be doing much of the talking. I would not be surprised if there were a sonnet or two already composed to your eyes.”

“What shall I say if I do not like it?” Beth reached for Millicent’s sleeve requiring her to dodge again. “I cannot offend a gentleman by saying his work is bad.”

“Say that you find you prefer Shakespeare.”

And with that Millicent fled the house without the benefit of breakfast.

Uncertain what to do with herself since her plans for the day had been to take a leisurely breakfast followed by reading letters from her tenants, Millicent paused at the side of the road and scowled at the footpath.

“What did the sidewalk do to offend you, Mr. North?”

Millicent glanced up, warmth replacing the chill in her chest at the sight of Shoffer astride his favorite grey horse. Following him on a leading rein was the small mare on which Shoffer had taught Mr. North to ride properly.

“My God, I must be in a bad way if I am glad to see you here ready to go riding,” said Millicent.

Shoffer laughed.

 “Poor Mr. North. Have the ladies driven you from your own house? Come on up, fellow. A ride will clear your head.” When Millicent hesitated, Shoffer continued. “In your case, it will not matter that you are not in riding clothes.”

“I am more interested in finding something to eat since I was driven out before breakfast.”

“Well, if that is the case we shall ride to White’s. I intended to introduce you there once your wardrobe was improved, but since you have proven that is a futile hope, I may as well take you now.”

“I do not mind where we go as long as they serve coffee.”

Millicent hauled herself into the saddle and found that she could not return Shoffer’s cheerful grin. After riding for a few minutes, Shoffer turned in his saddle to regard her thoughtfully.

“You are not yourself this morning, North. Is something troubling you?”

Millicent concentrated on persuading her horse to follow its stable mate. She had no idea what to do. Shoffer had asked her to aid Beth in gaining confidence with her conversation all the time believing that Beth was safe from forming an attachment to Mr. North. But from the girl’s behavior this morning, an unrequited attachment was becoming a distinct possibility. Millicent was reluctant to risk her own friendship with Shoffer by revealing her concerns. The only reason Shoffer continued the acquaintance was the belief that conversation with Mr. North was good for Beth. After only one
ton
party, Mildred’s and Maude’s entrée into good society was still dependent on the duke’s good opinion. Were he to withdraw his support, no invitations would arrive.

Some part of Beth’s enthusiasm for Mr. North might come from the fact that he was not the Duc of Attelweir. Once her brother was able to convince her that there was no risk of a marriage Beth might pay attention to other gentlemen.

“North?”

“Forgive me, I am a little fatigued. I had no idea
ton
parties exited so late.”

“Generally, gentlemen do not aspire to dance every dance,” said Shoffer. “Although, I do not say that to criticize. I am certain the young ladies appreciated your labor.”

“My feet may never forgive me,” said Millicent with a tired grin. Indeed, her feet were very sore and she would have to get a new pair of evening shoes, or two or three, if she intended to repeat last night’s performance.

“It was your own doing,” said the duke with complete lack of sympathy. “But I shall not be distracted. You are quiet and solemn. An uncommon enough circumstance that one familiar with your moods would be wise to take note. Come, I have sufficient respect for your intelligence to listen when you speak your mind. Is it about Beth?”

Millicent almost fell off her horse. Did the duke know about Beth’s childish partiality? If the child had repeated that declaration that she would wed only Mr. North, the duke would be well within his rights to run her through and chase Felicity and the girls all the way back to Yorkshire.