Somerville Farce (10 page)

The fact that each statement Aunt Amelia
made about Trixy was punctuated with an “I know more than you think
I know, you little dear” wink did nothing to ease the duke’s
mind.

Willie and Andy, obviously believing
themselves to have personally contrived this happy resolution of
their latest idiocy, had immediately washed their hands and
consciences of the entire project, and were now returned to their
previous all-absorbing pursuits—most of them having to do with
causing as much trouble as possible, all in the name of fun.

Miss Trixy Stourbridge, the duke recalled,
suppressing a shiver, appeared to have taken her defeat with a
graciousness that stunned as well as worried him. She had kept
almost completely out of sight these past four days, closeting
herself with the twins and his aunt, making preparations for their
removal to London.

It was only at dinner that Harry saw her,
and then she was seated below the salt, so that he could not engage
her in conversation without yelling down the table at her, a thing
he wasn’t about to do, and they hadn’t exchanged more than polite
greetings since their last uncomfortable meeting in his study.

Guiding his horse along the ice-rimmed path
through the home wood, Harry mentally berated himself for looking
for demons where none existed, but he knew he couldn’t help
himself. Everything was going well—too well. With any luck, he
should be shed of the twins within the next few months, his good
family name intact, while at the same time providing his aunt with
a well-deserved diversion in the city.

Ridding himself of the twins could likewise
remove Trixy Stourbridge from his world, an event to be anticipated
with the same eagerness with which he would view ridding his fields
of a plague of grasshoppers.

Glynde grumbled and pulled his wool muffler
up over his mouth and nose to block the icy wind that was the only
remnant of the late-winter storm that had struck the area two days
previously. He did want Trixy out of his life as soon as possible,
didn’t he? What a silly question! Of course he did. She was a
scheming, blackmailing, nasty-tongued troublemaker, and the sooner
he was shed of her, the better!

Turning his horse toward the house, Harry
sighed, knowing what was bothering him. He had to face it, confront
this demon, and stare it down. There was no getting around it.
Trixy—terrible, common name!—Stourbridge was a fascinating
woman.

She had a mind, for one thing, which was a
singular accomplishment for a female, or at least for females of
his acquaintance. She also had an air of competence about her—she
gave off a certain indefinable impression of common sense. And she
was brave. A person had to be brave to take on two male intruders
in her household. A person had to be even more brave to take on the
Duke of Glynde in his own household.

Of course, a person might also dare those
two things if that person were brick stupid or had no sense of
self-preservation, but the duke did not believe that to be the case
with Trixy. She had known just what she was about, even if she
couldn’t have foreseen how he—her superior in every way— would
neatly checkmate her move.

She was a worthy adversary, and she took
defeat well, without tears, recriminations, or threats of revenge.
She took defeat, to be plain about the thing, like a man! Harry
admired that.

He also admired her warm auburn hair that
shone with golden lights when the candlelight caught it, her smooth
pale skin, her deep emerald eyes, and her straight, trim figure. He
hadn’t seen many redheads, and the ones he had met were usually
short, prone to chubbiness, and got spots all over them when they
went out in the sun. Trixy’s skin leaned more toward ivory, and was
flawless.

“Her figure is flawless as well, and curves
in all the right places,” Harry muttered from behind his muffler,
immediately cursing himself for his lascivious thoughts.

He had better get Trixy Stourbridge out of
his head until he could get her out of his house. She was
dangerous.

Glynde was about to turn his mount for home
when he heard a female scream, followed by a high, childish giggle.
The sound hung in the cold air for a moment, only to be fractured
by the deeper, more full-throated sound of a man’s hearty laughter.
William’s hearty laughter, to be exact.

With thoughts beating in his head of his
ramshackle brother having thrown another spoke into the works by
taking one of the Somerville twins out without a chaperone—so that
Trixy would make sure he ended up with a wedding in the house
anyway—Harry spurred his mount forward toward the pond, sure the
sounds had emanated from that area.

The sight that met his eyes once he’d
rounded the corner beyond the Grecian ruin his mother had ordered
built twenty years previously was one of innocent fun and youthful
frolic.

The storm had caused the large, nearly
circular, carefully constructed pond to freeze over from shore to
shore, and the four youngest residents of Glyndevaron were on the
ice, the twins seated on old wooden chairs, the boys behind them on
skates, pushing.

“Faster, Willie, faster!” one of the
rosy-cheeked twins commanded, holding on to the sides of the chair
for dear life, her booted feet in the air. “Oooh! I feel so
giddy!”

“Helena, behave yourself,” warned Eugenie as
Andy executed a dangerous maneuver, turning Eugenie’s chair in a
full circle so that they could avoid Willie as he, the chair, and
Helena whizzed by. “I think I can see your ankles.”

Harry smiled benevolently, watching as
Willie lost his bearings and toppled to the ice, landing smack on
the seat of his pants and causing no end of mirth in the others.
Having already made out the squat dark figure of the maid, Lacy, on
the far bank, huddled—shivering yet vigilant—close beside a small
fire, the duke could find no harm in the scene.

In fact, the whole image was appealing. The
trees surrounding the pond were still heavy with snow, their
branches drooping gracefully down over the shiny surface of the
pond. Through the bare branches could be seen glimpses of a
startlingly blue sky, with the mellow pink stone of Glyndevaron
visible near the left of the duke’s line of vision. A warming
afternoon sun caught each ice particle and turned the scene into a
true winter wonderland, complete with two young, beautiful girls
dressed in matching midnight-blue velvet pelisses and two youthful
swains, their curly brimmed beavers sitting slightly atilt the top
of their heads.

Harry longed to join them, for he hadn’t
been up on his skates since the winter his father had died. He
sighed, remembering how carefree he had been that last winter upon
his return from the Peninsula. He had truly been Good Old Harry
then, as full of frolic and the love of life as his brother and
Andy were now.

Growing up had come late to Harry, but
abruptly, and he knew he was a far cry now from the carefree young
man that he had been. Why, Willie at his worst had never even
attempted the things Harry had done without thought. There hadn’t
been a rig he hadn’t run, a local farmer he hadn’t angered, a
village girl he hadn’t kissed.

He lifted his hands on the reins, ready to
trot back to the house and rummage through his rooms until he found
his skates, when a person-sized blob of drab dark gray entered the
scene from the right, gliding smoothly across the ice. His hands
froze as he realized that it was Trixy Stourbridge, her bonnet
missing, her flaming hair tumbling free down past her shoulders,
her gloved hands swinging gracefully from side to side as she
skated along confidently.

As he watched, she hiked up her skirts a
fraction and did a little leap into the air, coming down lightly
and turning a full circle before heading out across the pond once
more.

Harry continued to watch until she was out
of sight beyond the other side of the ruin, his teeth clenched so
tightly his jaw was beginning to ache. She skated with such
confidence, with such freedom—such abandon! She skated the way he
had skated before the cares of the world had made him forget what
it was like to push out strongly across the frozen pond, his
muscles straining, his head thrown back into the wind, his heart
pumping with the exhilaration of nearly flying, soaring like a bird
on the wing.

A minute later and she was back, her smile
wide, her eyes twinkling as if the sun had found tiny sparks inside
them and set them dancing. She performed that lightfooted leap once
more before skidding to a stop alongside Andrew.

“Trixy,” the duke heard Eugenie trill, “you
look truly wonderful on the ice. I shouldn’t be so brave if I lived
one hundred years. Poor Andy here is quite bored, I think, pushing
this frail spirit of mine about on a safe wooden chair.”

“Are you quite sure you won’t want to borrow
these skates?” Trixy answered, while Harry leaned forward on his
mount in order to hear her every word. “They are a little big for
me, and clumsy, but I’m sure that his grace wouldn’t mind.”

Harry began to see the white winter scene
through a haze of angry red. It wouldn’t do him any good to go back
to the house for his skates. His skates were already here—and that
insufferable Stourbridge woman had them strapped to her boots!

Was nothing sacred anymore? Wasn’t it enough
that he had committed himself to squiring Myles Somerville’s
offspring all over London? Wasn’t it enough that he was feeding
four extra women, clothing three of them, housing all of them, and
preparing to shovel out the blunt to pop two of them off? Did he
have to sacrifice his skates as well?

He by bloody damn Jupiter did not!

“Miss Stourbridge!” Harry called out loudly.
Dismounting, he tied the reins to a nearby branch and walked toward
the edge of the pond. “Come here a moment, if you please.”

The smile she had been wearing, the smile
that had lighted up her whole face and made him forget the drabness
of her clothes and the method she had used to enter his life, faded
as she skated toward him. “You bellowed, Harry?”

“You’re wearing my skates,” he said, hating
the childish tone of his voice. Why, in a moment he’d be whining
like some puling infant. “I... I wonder if you’d mind relinquishing
them for a few minutes, while I take a turn on the ice myself.”

Trixy bit at her bottom lip. “I don’t know,
Harry,” she answered a moment later, looking at him assessingly.
“As I was just about to tell the boys, I think the sun has begun to
do its work farther out on the pond, where the water is deeper.
That’s why I have decided that this turn was my last. With your
weight, I believe—”

Pique made Harry testy—and proportionately
foolhardy—so that he was not about to heed the advice of a mere
female. He wasn’t some giant elephant, to go crashing through what
he could clearly see was a good solid stretch of fist-thick ice.
She just didn’t want to give up the skates—he was sure of it. She
knew, deep inside, that he was the superior skater, and didn’t want
to be shown up in front of her charges and the boys. All this and
more the duke thought.

But “I’ll be careful” was all he said, his
smile tight and fleeting as he helped her clomp in ungainly fashion
through the snow on the shore of the pond to sit herself down on a
fallen log.

It is truly amazing how a skill, once
learned, comes back easily even after an absence of three years.
Within five minutes Harry had rid himself of his riding cloak and
was on the ice, joking with his brother as Willie dared him to
perform the jump that had been his grace’s own particular
invention. Harry quickly agreed, and the girls were unceremoniously
transferred to the bank so that the boys could position the two
chairs back to back in the center of the pond.

“Five pounds says he falls on his rum...
um...” Andy hesitated, looking down at Eugenie, who was frowning
worriedly. “That is to say, five pounds says that he can’t do it!”
he ended, challenging Willie to take the bet.

“Oh, yeah? Ten pounds says he’ll sail over
the both of them with room to spare!” Willie answered immediately,
as Helena took hold of his arm and looked at him adoringly, batting
her long dark lashes and—yet again—giggling as if overwhelmingly
amused. “Fifteen pounds!” Helena’s giggles goaded William into
shouting. “Twenty—and my bay mare for a week!”

“Harry,” Trixy called from the shore,
“please reconsider. Skating is one thing, but to actually jump on
that ice? I really don’t think—”

Glynde turned to bow in her direction, his
smile now broad and fixed as if frozen in place. “Thank you, ma’am,
for those kind words of encouragement. Don’t concern yourself—I’ve
been skating here since I was old enough to strap on my first
skates. And I promise, I won’t show you up—at least not too
much.”

With the girlish squeals of the twins, the
rallying cheers of the boys, and Trixy’s worried frown to speed him
on his way, Harry pushed off, staying close to the shore as he
worked to build up speed. Once, twice, he circled the outer reaches
of the pond, his lungs burning with each gulp of frigid air, the
muscles in his long, strong legs straining as he used them as they
had not been used for more than three long years.

He lost his hat as he whizzed by the
watching group on the third time around and never noticed that it
was gone. His coattails flew out behind him like tail feathers and
the tasseled ends of his muffler waved like plaid flags.

Heart pounding, exhilaration singing in his
ears, he sought out his favorite launching spot—a small space near
the narrow end of the pond where there were no trees and the wind
came straight at his back—and made his last turn before attempting
the jump.

There was nothing in front of him now but
the two chairs, the top of their high backs a good four feet off
the ice. He’d have to remain in the air for the space of at least
six feet, he figured hastily, but he wasn’t worried. Why, he had
already jumped three chairs—and once, four chairs.