Springtime Pleasures (10 page)

Always your affectionate friend, C.S.

~*~

Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin to Miss Carlotta Stanton, by Two-penny Post, returned the same evening

Dear Charlie,

what do you mean, you are going
to cheat at cards on Friday night
??? I thought this was a Respectable Ball! Whatever you plan to do, I w’d wish you to be careful. You know you have a Propensity for what malicious-minded people might call
Meddling
, though I know you do it with the purest of motives, trying to Fix the Problems of Others.—As you now have obtained Ammunition, I wonder whether I c’d talk you into shooting what Mother refers to as my Beau, but what I call an Infernal Nuisance. When I first met him, I made the mistake of thinking he had a pleasant smile & an Adorable Habit. I can tell you that Adorable Habits turn into Grave Annoyances once you spend the better part of an afternoon in the company of a man. The Man in Question clicks his finger against his Throat & thus produces a kind of bubbling sound.
Constantly
. I am much tempted to break his finger. How I could ever have found his habit
adorable
, is truly beyond me. I must have been afflicted with Feverish Delusions. Unfortunately, Mother is much taken with That Man as his father owns a brewery & is fantastically rich. Should you ever meet a bubble-sound producing gentleman around Town, please shoot him!

Yours affectionally, E.-L.B.

~*~

Lady Isabella Griffin to Miss Carlotta Stanton, by Two-penny Post, posted for morning delivery

My dear Miss Stanton,

I was much touched when I read your letter. As you can imagine it is my fondest wish to see my brother restored to happiness, so I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind thoughts. I have to admit that I did not fully understand your plan, but you may count on me to collect enough funds for our venture to be launched later this week. (How do you propose to win the phaeton from Mr Whitstock? That point was not quite clear to me.)

Most affectionally, Isabella Griffin

Chapter 6

in which our heroine initiates

a gently reared young lady into

the proper spirit of St. Cuthbert’s

Towell House was situated in Kensington, and Charlie immediately perceived what she considered a very important advantage of this location: while the carriage drive lasted longer than to reach other Town houses, a person was rewarded by a whiff of clean, crisp country air once one alighted from the carriage. The bustle of London streets was far removed and merely the coaches of Lord and Lady Towell’s guests crammed the road. And there was even a hedgerow!

“A hedgerow!” Charlie exclaimed in delight.

Cousin Caroline groaned. “Mother, Charlotte is having another of her fits!” She adjusted her shawl, shooting Charlie a mean look.

“Now, now, children,” said Uncle Dolmore, who was the last to step from the family carriage. “Let’s not start this evening with a quarrel.”

Aunt Dolmore gave an impatient huff. “Mr Dolmore, how can you be so ignorant about such matters?” she snapped before she turned to Charlie. “I wish you would suppress your strange outburst, Charlotte. Do remember how very important this ball could be for your cousin! Why, I have it on the best authority that Robert Clarke will be present tonight.” She focused her attention on her daughter. “Do make sure that you dance with him—two sets would be best. It can now be only mere
weeks
until he will become Baron Moreton.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Come, come now.” Uncle Dolmore hustled their party on as the next carriage arrived. “You shouldn’t count on another human’s death—surely this is most uncharitable.”

Aunt Dolmore huffed again. “Truly, Mr Dolmore. How can you talk in such a fashion when your only daughter’s happiness is at stake?” she hissed in an undertone as they had now joined the queue of guests waiting to step into the house. “And you yourself said that old Moreton was a veritable tightfist, despite the soundness of the estate. His nephew will have
five thousand
a year, if not more!”

Caroline nodded primly. “And Moreton Hall is most fortuitously situated, too. If you remember, Father, you remarked on the pleasantness on the grounds and good size of the house when we toured Hampshire last summer.”

Charlie wondered whether the Dolmores had visited the houses of all of Caroline’s prospective grooms. Had they walked through the hallways and rooms with lists, ticking off positive and negative points?

She grinned.

“It was too bad that we couldn’t see the inside of the house,” Aunt Dolmore muttered. “They could have opened
some
of the rooms even if Moreton was present, couldn’t they? He was only languishing in bed, anyway.” By then they had finally reached the receiving line, so she ceased her complaints and instead wreathed her face in smiles. “Good evening, my lord, my lady. How very kind of you to invite us.”

They made their curtsies and bows and gave their cloaks and wraps to one of the waiting footmen. Aunt Dolmore patted her head as if to see whether her feathered silk turban was still in place. Then she ran a critical eye over her daughter, adjusted the fit of a sleeve, removed a fleck of dust, and finally, with a nod of her head, declared herself satisfied. They proceeded towards the ballroom, and as soon as they had passed through the doors, Charlie quietly slipped away to find Lady Isabella.

She trusted that her absence would not be noticed—or if it were, that it would be treated as irrelevant—since her aunt and cousin would be busy running down the future Lord Moreton. She saw her uncle steering towards the smoking room, where he would spend the better part of the evening.

Charlie wove through the throng of people standing around the edges of the dance floor, chatting, drinking punch and watching the dancers. Her eyes darted here and there—at one point she thought she caught a glimpse of Lady Isabella’s cousin, Mr Cole, the bear. The image made her smile—for all his size and burly build, Mr Cole seemed to be a very sweet man. In regard to clothes his tastes seemed to run to practicality, even plainness, and he clearly disdained the fripperies affected by many of his peers.

Charlie chuckled as she remembered a gentleman she had danced with at her very first ball. Not only had his hair had a lilac sheen, but he had also sported a striped waistcoat in lilac and canary yellow. Moreover, he had smelled of lily of the valley.

Lily of the valley!

She shook her head.

Another one of those London peculiarities, surely. But then again, she had not noticed any hint of lily of the valley lingering around Lord Chanderley. No, Charlie mused as she deftly made her way around the dance floor,
he
had smelled rather nice indeed.
Manly.
Yes, a pleasant, manly smell, without the tiniest trace of flowers. More lemony-like.
Definitely
nice.

Finally, she spotted his sister sitting next to an enormous potted plant. Indeed, poor Lady Isabella nearly vanished behind the greenery.

A dart of red-hot anger shot through Charlie. So the poor
crippled
girl was invited to a ball, but then she had to be hidden behind a potted plant? And, most likely, the ladies’ retiring room was upstairs again!

“Confounded, ignorant fools!” she muttered angrily. “Imbeciles!”

She sailed towards the empty chair next to Lady Isabella’s wheeling chair. “My dear Lady Isabella.” Forcing back her anger, she attempted a smile. “How very good to see you.”

The other girl looked up, and her eyes started to sparkle. “And you.” She clasped Charlie’s hand and pressed it warmly.

Charlie sank onto the empty chair and conspiratorially leaned towards Lady Isabella. “Have you come prepared?” she whispered.

Lady Isabella nodded. “Yes, I have,” she whispered back. “I have managed to raise funds up to fifty pounds.”

“Fifty pounds? Lud, surely we won’t need that much. It’s merely a precaution.” Charlie grinned at her. “We have come win after all.” She indicated her own reticule “And I have come prepared as well.” When she saw the confusion on the other girl’s face, she opened the reticule a tiny bit to allow Lady Isabella a glimpse inside. “See?”

If anything, the confusion increased. “It’s a sealed deck of cards.”

“A
re-
sealed deck of cards.” Charlie carefully pulled the strings closed. “I spent yesterday morning preparing it. Getting it re-sealed was the tricky part—you have to take such care as to not destroy the government stamp, and without the proper equipment—Lord!”

During this explanation, Lady Isabella’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers. “Miss Stanton, do you mean to imply that these are… these are…”

“Marked? Of course they are. How else should we make sure to win a game?” Charlie patted Lady Isabella’s arm. “Don’t worry. All will be well. And it
is
for a good cause, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is,” Lady Isabella said somewhat faintly. “But to imagine…” She swallowed hard.

“It will be a piece of cake. You’ll see,” Charlie reassured her. “All we need to do is to exchange one of the Towells’ decks with mine, and then Bob’s your uncle. And now–” She rubbed her hands. “–we’ll find Mr Whitstock.” She half rose from her seat, but Lady Isabella’s hand on her arm held her back.

“How do you propose to get him to play cards with you? Or what if he is already engaged at a table? Surely we cannot simply interrupt.”

Charlie gave her a benign smile. Really, it
was
time somebody took Lady Isabella under their wing. “Well, do you remember that line from our school song, about grabbing the nearest weapon? See, in this case we are going to grab your wheeling chair.” It was, if she might say so herself, a most wondrous plan. And so true to the spirit of St. Cuthbert’s!

Lady Isabella, though, seemed unconvinced, for a brief grimace distorted her features. “Not much of a weapon, I fear.”

“No, no, you’re looking at this the wrong way.” Charlie rubbed her nose and made sure they were still out of hearing range of other ball guests—not much of a feat behind a potted plant. “If everybody insists on behaving like a mutton-brained fool around you, you ought to learn how to take advantage of this.”

“Miss Stanton!” Evidently, Lady Isabella was much shocked.

Yes, indeed, it was
high time
somebody took the poor girl under their wing. She seemed completely ignorant in proper sneakiness! And so, Charlie merely grinned. “Well, you are the one sitting in a wheeling chair. It’s more than time you learn how to use it to your advantage.”

“By… You mean…” Lady Isabella spluttered, and then, decidedly, “
No
. This would be in utterly bad taste.”

Charlie could hardly refrain from rolling her eyes. She heaved an impatient sigh. “But putting you behind a potted plant is in
good
taste?”

The other girl flushed.

“See? You have to remember that ‘Whoever draws the sword last / Never wins the prize’—that’s another line from our school song, and very good advice for all kinds of situations. Especially those involving potted plants.” Charlie gave Lady Isabella a wide smile. “Getting our blow in first, that’s what we will have to do. Or, rather, you.”

Lady Isabella looked far from convinced. “I still think it is improper. Most irregular at best. And frankly, I’m not at all sure that I can accomplish whatever it is you wish me to do.”

“Nonsense,” Charlie said briskly. “You are going to apply to their whatsname… chivalric disposition. And when I give you a sign, you will have to swoon–” Frowning, she interrupted herself, “You
can
fake a swoon, I take it?”

“Of course I can fake a swoon,” Lady Isabella said irritably. “Who can’t? Men are so easily fooled anyway.” Her eyes widened, and she clasped a hand in front of her mouth. Her expression was a rather comic mixture of horror and incredulity. “I didn’t just say that, did I?” she whispered, her cheeks darkening.

Giving a delighted laugh, Charlie clapped her hands. “That’s the spirit of St. Cuthbert’s!” Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the other girl’s cheek.

“So I
did
say it, didn’t I? How mortifying.”

“Nonsense,” Charlie repeated, and simply couldn’t help grinning. “So
I
will give you a sign and
you
will swoon or do whatever you like to create a diversion while I switch the pack of cards.”

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Lady Isabella put her hands against her red cheeks. “I can’t say I like the sound of that. It is very improper.”

Charlie stepped around the wheeling chair and pushed it out from behind the potted plant. “In that case, just think of our aim: to help your poor brother. Now
that
is most proper, isn’t it?”

Lady Isabella heaved a sigh. “There is no use in arguing with you, is there?” She cast a look over her shoulder.

“No,” Charlie answered cheerfully. “I have made up my mind that somebody ought to take
action
. And since there is nobody else, it will have to be us.”

Lady Isabella muttered something unintelligible.

So Charlie didn’t answer, but concentrated on manoeuvring the wheeling chair across the ballroom. The chair, she found, was an awkward thing and rather difficult to steer. She nearly rolled across the toes of a gentleman admiring the elegant dancers on the floor. He growled something about wheeling chairs not belonging into ballrooms, at which a flush crept up Lady Isabella’s neck.

She turned to Charlie. “I am afraid he is right,” she said quietly, her face red with mortification. “It is… I should have stayed—”

“Behind the potted plant?” Charlie supplied. Sudden anger at the mud-headed lubbard gripped her as she caught sight of the sheen of tears misting the other girl’s eyes. “That oaf could have stepped aside, you know. You shouldn’t be mortified because of such idiotish people.” She saw Lady Isabella swallow hard. As deep sympathy for the girl swamped her, Charlie’s fingers clenched around the handles of the wheeling chair. She took a deep breath. “The next time,” she said, and with an effort managed to make her voice light, “you will bring your crutch and then you can
hit
all oafish people.”