Second Season (5 page)

The duke was staring at her in fascination. “Yes,” he recollected himself with a start, “Yes, I believe it is. May I accompany you?”

Emily looked uncertainly at Charlotte, who said, “I feel sure it is not at all the thing and mama will give us a scold, but if you are known to papa—he will be here tomorrow to present you, unless,” worriedly, “it should prove he does not wish for the acquaintance—but however, I think we may chance it, Emily.”

The duke extended an arm to each young lady and eyed Charlotte anxiously. “Have you reason to think your papa may object to me?”

“Oh, none whatever,” Charlotte assured him sunnily. “He is thought to be an excellent judge of character, and if you have been hunting together—at Blandford Park, I collect?—but you do understand,” earnestly, “that young females cannot be too careful?”

“Indeed, I do,” the duke agreed cordially. “Why, I might be no more than a groom, yet still entitled to say I have been lately hunting with your father.”

Emily trilled with laughter. “Oh, how nonsensical, your Grace! Grooms do not hunt, they stay in the stables.”

“Why, so they do, although I can’t believe you know much of them, Miss Emily.”

“Oh, no, it is Charlotte who understands all of that. She can make poultices and hot fomentations. Papa absolutely
relies
on her,” Emily said, wide-eyed, “but we shall have our own horses and grooms as soon as he arrives.”

“And then you will ride for your exercise rather than walk?”

“Yes,” Emily nodded, “although the Row looks to be very crowded. I think it will not be at all like riding in the country.”

“No, I’m afraid it is not ... and are you enjoying London, Miss Emily?”

“Oh, very much! Everyone is so kind, there are so many invitations, so much to do, it is quite delightful.”

In such modest conversation, the trio arrived at Park Street, where his Grace bared his head and bowed politely. “Miss Stanwood, you have been remarkably silent. Are you enjoying London?”

“Yes, indeed! Do you go to the opening Assembly, Duke?”

“If you will promise me a dance,” he said promptly. “Whichever you please, but you will need to be beforetimes to get one with my sister,” Charlotte chuckled. “Have you anything left, Emily?”

“Only numbers three and seven. The others are waltzes, and I’m not approved as yet.”

“May I have number three, then?” He bowed gracefully over Emily’s hand, smiled at her blushing agreement, and turned to Charlotte as Emily tripped up the steps to the opened front door. “But you are allowed to waltz, Miss Stanwood? I shall claim them all, and the supper dance as well!”

“With pleasure—but wouldn’t you prefer to sit with Emily during the waltzes?”

“Already I suspect this would be hazardous. I should be crushed to death,” he said dramatically. “No, I hold to it, Miss Stanwood: all the waltzes, and the supper dance.”

“How absurd you are,” Sharlie chuckled, “but as you please—unless,” demurely, “papa does not wish for your acquaintance.”

The duke looked alarmed. “Is he such a high-stickler, then? I had not thought it from the way he was clearing his fences at Melton, but perhaps he is different in London. I shall wait upon him instantly to ascertain his sentiments, Miss Stanwood.”

“Please do,” she breathed fervently, “for if the answer should be ‘no’—what shall I do with those waltzes?”

“The real question is what
I
shall do with them, Miss Stanwood. You, I am persuaded, will have no difficulty in disposing of them, while I,” he sighed, “will be standing in a corner—desolate.”

“Oh, no, you will not,” she prophesied mischievously. “One of the patronesses will present you to a suitable partner.”

The duke laughed, and bent over her hand. “Your servant, Miss Stanwood.”

In high fettle, Charlotte ascended the steps into the house, where Lady Stanwood was standing in the drawing room doorway. “What is this that Emily tells me? You have been escorted by Imbrie?”

“Yes, it was
famous,
mama. Don’t give me a scold! You know Lady Inverclyde said he was unexceptionable, and he has just been hunting with papa at Blandford Park.” Sharlie’s eyes sparkled. “We encountered him as we were about to turn back and he recognized Emily at once. The instant he knew she’d be at the Assembly he begged for a dance, and said he would wait upon papa for a correct introduction. I
told
you he was catched by her, and would want a second glimpse.”

“So you did,” Lady Stanwood murmured, “but I cannot like this, Charlotte. Indeed, you should not! What will Imbrie think? It was altogether too bold, too free.”

“He’ll think that he met the daughters of an unexceptionable Baron known to the Duke of Beaufort,” Sharlie returned confidently. “He’s no poker-backed societarian, mama. His manners were perfectly easy, conversing with Emily on her impressions of London. What did she say?”

“Oh, that he was very distinguished, all that was kind and gracious,” Lady Stanwood shrugged, “and she had promised him a dance. It remains to see whether he will claim it. I wish she may not refine too much upon the possibility.”

“Not she! If he is not there well in advance to set his name on her card, Emily will have a dozen substitutes,” but going up to her chamber to put off bonnet and coat, Sharlie was inwardly chortling with glee.

The climax to the perfect set-down for the odious Mrs. Drummond Burrell would be the sight of Miss Emily Stanwood going down the dance with his Grace, the Duke of Imbrie!

CHAPTER III

The riding horses had reached London. Maria brought the news with the morning chocolate, and had much ado to prevent Miss Stanwood from throwing a coat over her nightdress to make an instant inspection. “Indeed you must not visit the stables unclad, miss! Her ladyship would dismiss me. Besides, you’ll want to be into the saddle as soon as you see your mare, and
that
you can’t do without proper clothing. Please, miss,” artfully, “and I’ll read the news from home.”

Thus coaxed, Sharlie returned to bed and drank her chocolate, while Maria stumbled laboriously through the letter. Emily was only half-listening, but every detail was absorbing to Charlotte, who commented, discussed, chatted with her maid in a friendly way Lady Stanwood would have deplored.

Had
her
employers so far forgotten themselves, Miss Tinsdale would instantly have given notice! She was already uneasy in the servants’ hall, but Maria still knew a goose from a hen and was as reticent as possible. It was no part of her plan to be dismissed by the twitty old cat; she meant to enjoy every bit of Miss Stanwood’s social success, and make herself so indispensable that Miss Stanwood would retain her upon marriage ... for Maria had no doubt that her mistress would achieve a brilliant match! Miss Emily was beautiful, it was more fun than work to dress her for a
ton
party, but Maria’s heart was given to Charlotte, who knew Stanbury and cared about its people.

In fact, it was more satisfying to attire her than Emily. “It’s a challenge-like,” Maria said to herself. “Miss Emily’s beautiful no matter what, but Miss Stanwood pays for dressing. She needs special colors and styles, to show her off.” Nightly as the sisters descended to the salon, Maria’s proud eye was for Charlotte. Despite downcast eyes of modesty, her bosom swelled when Beamish approved Miss Stanwood’s appearance.

“Complete to a shade, Maria! Exactly the presentation WE expect for OUR ladies, do you not agree, Miss Tinsdale?”

“I’ve not Miss Tinsdale’s knack with the curling stick,” Maria disclaimed sadly, but the dresser was in a good mood.

“No, but it will come in time,” she stated regally, “and I agree with Mr. Beamish tonight. Miss Stanwood looked just as she should.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” Maria murmured reverently—and drew a suspicious glance for her excessive meekness.

So it was essential that Maria restrain her mistress until she was garbed for riding. She breathed a deep sigh of relief when she’d got Miss Stanwood into habit and boots—not that she would suit Beamish. “Give me the old brown habit, Maria; it’s good enough for the stables,” said Sharlie, thrusting her hair any-whichway under a hat and stamping into unpolished boots. “Cancel your tea parties, Emily—we’ll ride this afternoon.”

“Oh, dear,” Emily murmured unhappily.

At eleven o’clock, Sharlie stood apologetically at the door to the breakfast parlor. “Mama, shall I delay you by changing, or will you forgive me in all my dirt?”
Lady Stanwood looked at her daughter severely. “I should have known you’d be in the stables. This once I will overlook your appearance, Charlotte, but it is not to occur again.”

“Yes, mama,” Sharlie smiled coaxingly, “but how could I resist? I had to shake the fidgets out of Moonshine, and the Park was deserted at this hour—only grooms exercising the mounts. We had a magnificent gallop. John rode Firefly, so she’ll be ready for you later, Emily.”

“Thank you, Sharlie,” Emily said bravely, “but I don’t know ... I believe we’re promised to Lady Penderby, are we not, mama?”

Lady Stanwood caught Sharlie’s disappointment. “Yes, but it is only an old lady’s tea party, you were asked out of courtesy ... I’m persuaded you’d be moped to tears. I’ll make your excuses,” she said smoothly. “A ride in the Park will put roses into your cheeks, and you know papa comes in time to dine.”

“Yes, mama,” Emily murmured, “not but what I always enjoy ... but of course you are right that the party will go on better without young females.”

“Lud, I should think so!” Sharlie helped herself to a generous slab of ham, added a pan-fried scup, an omelet, and pulled the jam jar closer. “May I have the muffins, please, Jenny?”

“If you eat all of that,” Lady Stanwood observed, “we shall need a seamstress to let out your dresses before you ever wear them.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Sharlie grinned with her mouth full, “but I can’t lose country ways all in a trice, and the air was particularly fresh this morning. Moonshine was full of frisk, you know.”

“I’m sure she was, but remember,” warningly, “you cannot ride in London as in the country, or you’ll be rated a wild hoyden.”

“Emily will only shine the more! No, I’m funning, mama—I will be good, I promise.”

It was a promise to be broken unavoidably that very afternoon, although Lady Stanwood had no fault to find in her daughters’ deportment when they set forth. Emily’s habit of azure blue cloth and snowy white boots, the close hat with its seductive plumes curling at one side, was a vision of loveliness atop her roan mare, but Charlotte was even more breath-taking to her mother’s fond eyes. Her habit was the green of pine needles, her boots were gleaming black, and in the sunlight her hair was burnished alluringly beneath an audacious bonnet that was only permissible (or so Lady Stanwood had persuaded herself) for a second season. She was even more dubious as to its wisdom now that she saw it on Sharlie’s head, but it was undeniably
right.
It was also the height of dash, without a plume and severely designed to sweep up to the left, down to the right, and buckled beneath the ear.

Sedately, the sisters started forward with the groom behind them. Lady Stanwood was half-minded to order her coach to follow for a turn of observation, but once into the Park, she might be caught in a press of carriages and unable to fulfill her engagement to Lady Penderby. She would go another day
—any
day, for now the horses were here, Sharlie would be on them every afternoon, no matter what Emily chose to do.

Lady Stanwood smiled to herself in her carriage. Sharlie was enjoying herself through Emily’s success. She wanted to display Emily on a horse as part of the overall effect; it had not occurred to Charlotte that she herself would be displayed and might create more interest than Emily. In retrospect, last year had been a disaster partly of mismanagement. Sharlie should have had Moonshine and a groom; Lord Stanwood thought it unnecessary, “She’ll be driving or going out to tea—no point to a horse eating its head off in the stable.”

How could they have been so stupid? It was a family joke that Sharlie preferred horses to people. If she were wanted, one had only to look in the stables. Had she had Moonshine last year, much might have been different, “but she would still have succumbed to the mumps,” Lady Stanwood reminded herself. “This year will be a success.”

Could she have seen her daughters pacing along the Row, she would have been confirmed in her optimism. The sisters drew all eyes. Ladies rapidly assessed their riding habits and reacted variously to the wicked severity of Charlotte’s bonnet. Men spared envious glances for the horses. Lady Stanwood had been right that the Park would be slow going. It was not yet the height of the Promenade, but already carriage drive and bridle path were becoming crowded, while sauntering beaux and parasol-shaded misses strolled the walks.

Charlotte found it irksome to be held to no more than a genteel trot, but Emily was much relieved at the leisurely gait. If this was London riding, she could certainly manage it. Few of the other riders today were known to the Misses Stanwood, but Charlotte felt (with an inner chuckle) it would not be long before they got themselves presented.

One of them managed it very cleverly at once: the Duke of Imbrie.

Charlotte was keeping a sharp eye out for any of Lady Stanwood’s friends on the carriage drive, making sure that Emily was noticed, when a waving hand drew her to the side rail for Lady Inverclyde. Superbly indifferent to snarling traffic, the old lady smiled approvingly at Sharlie. “Very dashing bonnet, my dear—becomes you mightily!” she cackled naughtily. “Nelly’ll have a deal to explain how she came to permit it—and how is she?”

“Very well, ma’am, and gone to Lady Penderby. Papa joins us tonight for dinner.”

“Does he so? Come to sort through the offers for Emily, eh? How many’s she had?”

“None, of course.” Charlotte looked shocked. “I expect papa will be able to give you the tally in a few days, ma’am.”

Lady Inverclyde laughed, “He’ll have a few for you, too,” she prophesied, peering beyond Sharlie. “Oh—Imbrie. Back in town, eh?”

“As you see, ma’am.” Mounted on a superb black stallion, his grace smiled imperturbably as Sharlie turned, startled. “May I solicit a presentation to your fair friend, milady?”

“Phoo, nonsense, Imbrie—playing off your foreign tricks, eh?” she snorted. “Miss Stanwood—make you acquainted with the Duke of Imbrie, but pay no attention to him. He’s a graceless scamp.”

“I fear she is right, Miss Stanwood,” the duke sighed sadly. “Your servant, ma’am ... unless you do not wish for the acquaintance?”

“And if I did not, how could I say so,” Charlotte asked innocently, “when her ladyship has presented you?”

“With a
caveat
!” Lady Inverclyde reminded her, and poked the coachman with her cane, “Drive on, Thompson. My compliments to your mother, Charlotte. Imbrie, come to tea tomorrow.” With a final cackle, she was gone, leaving Charlotte struggling to keep a straight face.

His grace laughed infectiously. “Remarkable woman: says just what she thinks and damn the consequences. Very refreshing!” he smiled at Sharlie, “But do you ride alone? I had thought I saw your sister with you.”

“She went forward to speak with friends,” Sharlie looked about vaguely. John-groom was conversing with another groom. Emily was some way along the bridle path, leaning to talk shyly with two Tulips while Firefly fidgeted. Suddenly all heads turned to a fracas on the drive, where a perch phaeton had tangled with a curricle, resulting in loud voices, neighing animals, and splintering wood. Cutting across the sounds was a feminine scream: Firefly had bolted.

While the duke was staring about for the cause, Charlotte said “
Gehe, Mondschein, gehe
!” and before his incredulous eyes, had set her horse for the one railing spot that was empty ... leapt it as one entity with the beast, and was tearing across the sward on a diagonal to intercept her sister’s terrified horse.

She’d been not a second too soon, as Imbrie realized when he sought to follow. The railing was now crowded with horrified spectators who were too addled to clear a way until he rose in the stirrups and roared, “MOVE aside—give me room!” Then he was over with the Stanwood groom behind him, but knowing that even with a head start, Charlotte would never reach her sister in time to prevent possible tragedy. The girl was no horsewoman, she’d dropped the reins and was clinging to the saddle ... she was bound to be thrown.

And from the farther side of the Park, another horse was racing to the rescue.

With her eyes on Emily’s swaying form, Charlotte was doubly petrified by the would-be saviour. All too likely his horse would cause Firefly to rear, or change course with a buck that would dislodge Emily.

He didn’t.

He circled his horse expertly, came up on the offside, and plucked Emily from her saddle as easily as a dandelion! Once free of weight, Firefly became uncertain—shortly stood sweating and shivering until John-groom fastened a leading rein. Meanwhile, Sharlie was facing Emily’s rescuer with heart-felt gratitude. “How can I thank you, sir!”

“My pleasure to serve you, ma’am,” he returned cheerfully. “Sure, ’twas touch and go who’d reach her first: you or myself. ’Tis magnificent ye are! Did we have a few men could handle a horse like you, Boney’d be
rompu
by now.”

Despite anxiety, Charlotte could not refrain from smiling at him, and he’d have been worth a smile without his gallantry. By his accent, he was Irish; by his words and uniform, he was a Peninsular. Mostly he was incredibly handsome. Red-gold curls
a la Brutus
, eyes as brightly blue as Emily’s, a jolly baritone voice and an infectious grin—Charlotte’s natural friendliness was incapable of dignity at this moment. “You’re a better horseman than I, sir. Masterly, the way you circled to save my sister before Firefly bucked.” She leaned over to pat Emily’s hand, “Darling, it’s all over. You’re quite safe, don’t cry, shhhh.”

Emily couldn’t
shhhh.
She lay limp and trembling in the young man’s arms, her breath catching in tiny sobs and tears streaming down her pallid cheeks. She was entirely lost to propriety, she’d have clung to anyone, but the major problem was how on earth to get her back to Park Street. It was swiftly settled by the duke, reining in abruptly on the other side with a keen glance for the rescuer. “Servant, sir,” he said tersely. “I am the Duke of Imbrie.”

“Captain Sir Eustace Gayle, 2nd Brigade of the Light Bobs—your servant, sir.”

“Hah! One of Vandeleur’s lads, eh?” The duke’s heavy eyebrows rose slightly. “Very neat capture—congratulate you!—never seen a prettier circle, but expectable from a Light Bob, and what do you in London?”

“Oh, I was in the way of a bullet at Ciudad Rodrigo,” Sir Eustace shrugged casually. “Invalided home to Gayle, but
Ireland
—I’m always surprised it hasn’t sunk from water-log between visits! So I’m billeted on my aunt, bothering the War Office to return me.”

“Missed Badajoz, then? And a good thing, from what I hear.”

“Faith, and it was, I suppose—not but what I’d have liked a swipe at Johnny Crapaud.”

Charlotte found her voice, ringing with indignation. “John, assist Miss Emily to transfer to me. Come, darling, and we’ll take you home while these gentlemen continue their conversation.”