Springtime Pleasures (3 page)

She managed a wan smile. “Thank you.” Her fingers twisted in her lap, as she let her gaze roam over the bare trees, the evergreen hedges, and some early flowers. “A truly lovely day for an outing, is it not?”

“Izzie…”

“Winter is such a dreary time of year,” she said quickly, “don’t you think so? Spring is such an improvement with all its freshness and—”

“Izzie.”

She cast him a quick glance. “I hope this fine weather will hold, though it is not to be expected of course.”

“Izzie.” Before she could prattle along more inane commonplaces, he caught her hands in his. As always, their slenderness came as a shock. Even through her white gloves he could feel the bones moving under her skin.

So frail…

Guilt made his stomach clench.

“Oh no,” his sister said softly. “You are making that face again.”

Impatiently, he shook his head. This was not about him. After all, he would carry this guilt as long as he lived. This was about her. She was precious to him, this sister of his, and he hated seeing her upset.

He pressed her fingers. “There is no need for you to make polite conversation about the weather. Tell me what it is.” He looked at her intently, willing her with his eyes to tell him the truth.

Isabella sighed. “But it is such a nice, safe topic, the weather.” At his frown, she gave a little, embarrassed laugh, returning the pressure of his fingers. “It is nothing, I assure you. A mere silliness on my part.”

She sighed again, then drew her hands from his and leaned back in her seat, regarding him solemnly. “You
will
attend Mrs Featheringham’s ball next week, will you not?”

“Most certainly,” he replied, more than a little surprised. What was the Featheringham ball to his poor sister? “As by the pater’s orders I am—” He grimaced. “—a-hunting for a possible spouse.”

“So I have heard.” Thoughtfully, she put her head a little to the side and muttered something that sounded like, “It is a truth universally acknowledged... Though perhaps not,” she added more loudly. “You do know that our parents have been invited as well?”

He nodded. It was only to be expected that his mother had secured an invitation since his father would want to keep a close eye on Griffin’s progress.

“And I.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

With a little sigh, she let her gaze roam over their surroundings once again. Finally, she said, “I have been invited as well. Mrs Featheringham has convinced Mother that my prolonged absence from social events such as balls might give rise to the speculations that I am being kept under lock and key.”

For a moment, Griff simply stared at her, struck speechless by so much want of tact and sensibility.

“Naturally, Lady Featheringham only wishes to be able to say her ball was the first social event I have attended,” Izzie quickly continued. “It will be a… novelty, I assume.”

Anger exploded in his breast, red-hot and all-consuming. How dared they! “That old, conniving—”

But before he could finish, Izzie had laid her hand on his arm. “It will be alright, George, I swear it will.” Her tone was urgent.

He took a deep breath to calm himself.

Naturally, she wouldn’t want to attract any attention. And sharing a carriage with a roaring male inevitably did attract attention, no matter how early the hour and how empty the Park.

Ruefully, he bowed his head. “I apologise.”

“No, no, no.” Isabella’s hand tightened on his arm. “Don’t. I merely…” She bit her lip, and for a moment a suspicious sheen covered her eyes, which made him want to roar all over again. “I merely wanted to make certain that—”

“Griff, old boy!” somebody shouted. “And Izzie! Tally-ho!” With a thunder of hooves the man who was rumoured to be the least well-favoured gentleman of all of London rode up to their landau. His light blond hair, or what could be seen of it below his hat, bore a strong resemblance to straw; his nose had once been called a potato-shaped appendage; and his hands were as big as the blade of a large—a
very
large—spade.

Izzie blinked away the tears before she turned to him with a dazzling smile. “Boo. How very good to see you.”

Their cousin, the Honourable George Fenton Cole, grinned, which marginally improved his appearance. “I heard him—” He pointed at Griffin. “—shout, so I came to investigate.”

Griff felt his cheeks heat. Attracting attention—that was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to do.

“For who knew?” Boo gave Isabella a wink. “I might have had to rescue the fair princess and—”

“Oh, do shut up,” Griff grumbled. Thank heaven, it was only Boo and not any of the usual gossipmongers about Town.

To Griff’s surprise, Izzie actually laughed. Light and trilling, it was music to his ears, and he felt himself relax. Perhaps she was right, and all would be well.

“So.” Their cousin eyed them with interest, looking from one to the other. “Is anybody going to tell me what has caused the ruckus?”

Griffin threw a questioning look at his sister. Would she want to tell Boo?

Of course, she wanted to tell Boo. He was, after all, her childhood friend and champion.

“We were talking about Mrs Featheringham’s ball on Tuesday next,” she informed him.

“Ah,
that
ball.” He frowned. “I seem to remember having received an invitation.”

This came as no surprise, as everybody made sure to include the Honourable Mr Cole on their guest list. For he was not only a bachelor, but also, and more importantly, one of the richest men in the kingdom.

“Then you must come,” Griffin said.

Bushy blond brows rose. “I must?”

“Indeed, for it would seem that Mother intends to drag Isabella to said ball.”

For a moment it looked as if his cousin was about to fall off his horse with astonishment. “Izzie!” he exclaimed, then his gaze fastened on Griffin’s sister. Disbelief was written all over his face. “Surely you jest!”

“Unfortunately, I do not.”

Izzie’s lips curved. “So you see, my dear cousin, I am in dire need of a champion. Will you be there?”

“Of course I will,” Boo answered without hesitation. “I take it that Miss Smith will accompany you?”

Isabella grimaced. “Oh no. It has been decided that she is not quite polished enough and would only be an embarrassment at Mrs Featheringham’s ball. Hence...” She lifted her shoulders in a seemingly careless shrug. “Hence it will only be me and my chair.”

Griff winced. That chair! How he loathed that thing! It stood for all that had been taken from his sister, from his family, and served as a visible and inexorable reminder of his own guilt.

Boo’s mouth had tightened and he muttered something unintelligible. Cursing his muttonheaded aunt and uncle, most likely.

For a while they rode in tense silence, the crunch of the carriage wheels, the clatter of hooves, and the twirping of birds the only sounds in the early afternoon.

Then Griff saw his cousin shake himself like a wet dog, before he directed his attention to the passengers of the carriage. “Actually, there is a much easier solution to this dilemma,” Boo said.

Surprise and hope flickered across Isabella’s face. “There is?”

“Oh yes.” Boo gave cheerful nod. “All we have to do is to elope. To Gretna Green, of course. If you marry me, I promise that I will never drag you to any horrid ball.”

Izzie burst out laughing. “You are incorrigible!”

He shrugged. “We will move to a nice, snug house in the country where we’ll be as happy as two peas in a pod.”

“No, we would not. We would start bickering after only three days and I would be forced to throw a pan at your head.”

His head held high, Boo informed her loftily, “Given that I would not let you even near the kitchen, I find that very hard to believe.” Suddenly his expression became serious. “You do know that my offer is earnest, don’t you? You only have to say the word and I would marry you in a trice and you wouldn’t have a day’s grief ever again.”

Izzie’s features softened. “You are the dearest friend anybody could have, Boo, and I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you in such a fashion.” She reached out to touch Boo’s hand, and Griffin saw the two of them exchange a small, very private smile.

~*~

“Have you ever noticed that London is exceedingly strange?” Charlie asked her friend. She had just entered the small parlour of the house in Cheapside, which contained both the grocery shop of Emma-Louise’s parents as well as their living quarters.

Emma-Lee busied herself with the tea-things that a little maid had brought up from the kitchen. “I can’t say that I have,” she murmured.

“Well, take the footman.” Charlie plopped down on the sofa. “Did you know that I cannot leave the house on my own? Instead, I am obliged to take a footman along. That is excessively strange, if you ask me.”

Emma-Lee raised her brows. “I didn’t see you arrive in the company of a footman.—Tea?” She held out an old-fashioned tea bowl.

“Bah, the footman!” Charlie waved her hand dismissively, then accepted the offered tea. “Thank you.” She took a sip. “I lost him,” she finally admitted.

“Ah,” was all her friend said, but there was a wealth of meaning in her words.

Charlie shifted on her seat. It was, she found, near impossible to hide something from the girl with whom you’d shared a room and all your secrets for the past eight years. “I stepped around a corner, then around another corner, and then he was gone. It wasn’t
design
or anything like that.”

“Hmm.” Emma-Louise eyed her shrewdly. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that your aunt and uncle wouldn’t approve of your friend in Cheapside, would it?”

“No.
No
, it is nothing like that!” Charlie protested. At the sight of a quirked golden brow, however, she caved in. “Well, yes.” She sighed. “They wouldn’t approve of me coming here. And I might have walked rather quickly and turned around the corner rather—”

Her friend’s mouth curved. “Oh Charlie!”

“—fast, and that’s another thing that I simply do not understand: for nearly half of our lives we went to the same school, yet now I am not supposed to know you?”

“That is London.”

Charlie gave an unlady-like snort. “It is ridiculous!” Smouldering, she drank from her tea. “Back at St. Cuthbert’s I thought of
this
—” She waved her hand around to indicate the whole of London. “—as a wonderful, exciting adventure. I
craved
adventure, you know I did. And now? Pish!”

“Oh Charlie!” Emma-Lee gave a helpless laugh. “Didn’t you remember—”

“—about London? Of course I didn’t. My childhood was spent in Italy, and
afterwards
…” She shrugged. “I spent only a few days, a fortnight perhaps, in my uncle’s house before I was sent to dear, old St. Cuthbert’s. That time is all a blur and I don’t remember
anything
, not really, and—”

“Oh Charlie!” Emma-Louise exclaimed a third time. She stood and walked to the sofa to sit down beside Charlie. Putting an affectionate arm around her shoulder, she pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Do not glower at the carpet in such an alarming fashion, dear,” she said lightly. “You wouldn’t want it to catch fire.”

“Hmph.”

“It will be alright, sweeting. Once you get used to London ways, it will be alright. And now show me what you’ve brought in this bandbox of yours.”

Charlie decided to fall for the diversion, for, after all, Emma-Louise was her dearest friend and she seldom could resist her. So she put the tea bowl and saucer onto the small side table and reached for the bandbox. “It is a dress.” Taking it out, she stood up to show the whole length of the garment to Emma-Louise. “A ball gown, really.” She held it against her chest. “What do you think?”

Her friend eyed the gown up and down. Dismay flickered over her face. “Oh dear.”

“What?” Charlie looked down. “What is it?”

“It’s hideous; there is no polite way of putting it, I fear.” Anxiety clouded Emma-Lee’s eyes. “I do not wish to give you any pain, but it doesn’t suit you at all. The colour makes you look washed out, and the bodice! Dear heaven, the bodice!” She stood and leaned forward to examine the offending piece of needlework more closely. “It was made for somebody with a much larger…” She cupped her hands in front of her chest. “…altogether, was it not?”

“Is it really that bad?” A knot of apprehension began to form in Charlie’s stomach. “I feared it wasn’t all that sparkish, but…” She sighed. “It was my cousin’s. My aunt said it would suit me quite nicely after the seamstress had done a few alterations.”

Emma-Lee snorted. “A seamstress? What kind of seamstresses do they have in London? If any of the girls at St. Cuthbert’s would have produced such botchy work, Miss Riggs would have had her head, I assure you!”

“To be fair, Aunt Dolmore impressed upon the seamstress that the alterations of Cousin Caroline’s dress were of the utmost importance.”

Emma-Lee looked up sharply. “Ha.”

“They
were
of the utmost importance, I assure you. Caroline will turn five-and-twenty this spring, which places her almost squarely on the shelf.” Clutching the dress to her breast with one arm, Charlie scratched her nose. “Or so I understand.” She glanced down at the brilliantly white gown. “This used to be one of hers. Did you know that a new ball gown is frightfully expensive?”

At this, Emma-Lee’s lips thinned. “I see.” Not looking at Charlie, she went to one corner of the room and returned with her sewing basket.

A knot of apprehension formed in Charlie’s stomach. Had she inadvertently hurt her friend with her talk about fine balls Emma-Lee wouldn’t and couldn’t attend? Drat her wayward tongue! “Em?” she asked tentatively. “You don’t mind me talking of Mrs Feather-something-or-other’s ball, do you?”

“Don’t be daft!” Shaking her head, Emma-Louise turned around. “I wish you to enjoy your first grand social event. With all my heart, I wish you to enjoy it. But as to
this
—” With her chin she pointed at the offending dress. “There really is only one thing to do.” With a triumphant smile she produced a thin, flat blade. “Employ dexterity, creativity, and good fashion sense.” She put her head to the side. “And some pretty ribbons. Green, I think. Shall we start?”