The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane (30 page)

“There’s a lot to be said for romance, I
suppose. Perhaps I should have taken it up sooner. Go on.”

“You won’t stop until you have the whole of
it, will you? Very well. That’s why I so readily fell in with your
inane suggestion to chaperon Emily. I had hoped familiarity would
either cure me of my affliction or—wonder of wonders—allow you time
to notice all my sterling qualities as I made myself, as you so
meanly guessed, indispensable to you.”

So much honesty nearly overwhelmed Tansy, and
she buried her head against his broad shoulder.

Avanoll chuckled wryly. “As for your charms,
my pet, I noticed them all right. Me and half of London. I never
much cared for crowds. I think I counted on your good sense, seeing
through all those fops and halflings surrounding you morning ’til
night like barnacles on a hull. Then, at the end of the Season,
when we retired to my house in the country, I would have pleaded my
case.”

“Is that so?”

“I think it was, yes. Of course,” he admitted
truthfully, “I didn’t know this was my plan until I was wearing the
willow at Newmarket, but when I was finally honest with myself I
realized I was lost from the moment you alluded that I was a
blundering idiot—which is the same as saying from the moment we
met.”

“You were—acting like an idiot, that is. You
were also arrogant, overbearing, disgustingly objectionable, and
irritatingly...”

“Drat you, woman. Will you always be so
brutally honest?”

“Yes, my dear,” she replied, gaining
confidence by his declaration of affection, “I shall. Even now, I
am afraid. It seems debutantes of six and twenty are very practical
types. I feel bound to point out that at the moment my shoes are
soaking through in this muddy road, I am hungry, tired, and nearly
overwhelmed with happiness all at the same time. Still, my
discomfort is winning out. Is it possible for us to climb upon your
curricle that I see back there in the inn-yard, leaving Leo and
Pansy to make their way back themselves?”

“Leo, Pansy, and Farnley,” the Duke
corrected. “You cannot know what I have been through with that
carrion crow riding beside me all the way from Grosvenor Square,
not to mention the sound tongue-lashing I had to take from Dunny—I
mean Dunstan—before ever I was allowed to leave at all,” he told
her, kissing the tip of her nose. “But first things first. My
grandmother informed me it was my lack of form that sent you
fleeing in the first place. Therefore, before we go another step, I
must ask formally for your hand.”

So saying, the staid member of Parliament
pulled out his snowy linen handkerchief and proceeded to, with a
fine flourish, spread it on the muddy roadway. Before Tansy could
stop him, he was kneeling in broad daylight on the fringe of the
heavily-traveled Great North Road.

“My dearest Tansy,” he began solemnly, “for a
long time now I have regarded you with deep respect and
admiration—admiration that has deepened to devotion. I pray you to
consider my petition and agree to become my Duchess, making me the
luckiest and happiest of men.”

“Oh, Ashley, get up, do,” Tansy giggled.
“There is a rider approaching.”

“Hang the man. I’ll not move until I get my
answer.”

“Good God, here comes a sporting curricle.
We’ll be run down! Let loose my hand, Ashley, and get up.”

The Duke remained where he had knelt. “My
answer first, if you please, madam.”

Tansy looked about with no little agitation
and finally sputtered, “Oh, confound it all, yes.”

“What? I’m afraid I was not attending. The
mud is penetrating to my knee and my attention wandered,” Avanoll
excused himself. “Would you please to repeat that last part?”

“I said, yes, you lovable loose-screw. Yes,
yes, yes! A thousand times yes. Only move or I’ll be a widow before
I can ever become a wife!”

In one motion Avanoll rose, lifted her high
in his arms, and walked to the curricle where Leo, his face
beet-red and nearly choking from the effort of trying to hide his
laughter, was barely holding the four matched bays in check.

“Turn your back, Leo. You’ve enough sport for
one day.” The groom turned obediently. “Madam,” Avanoll said, “I
claim my betrothal kiss.”

Leo, sneaking a quick look over his shoulder,
grinned broadly at the sight of his master thoroughly kissing the
nice young Miss Tansy. He then turned to direct a stony stare at
the farmer who had stopped dead in his tracks, completely
forgetting he had to get his only horse to the blacksmith or
there’d be no plowing tomorrow, and another at the young gentleman
in the smart black-and-yellow curricle who was holding onto his
reins with both hands—a gold rimmed quizzing glass stuck to his
eye.

“Beggin’ yer grace’s pardon, but we seem to
be, er, puttin’ on a bit of a show, like,” Leo whispered
hoarsely.

Avanoll raised his head and looked rather
dazedly at his audience. “Bladesham, your servant sir,” he said as
calmly as if he were just passing the Viscount on Bond Street.
“Like to introduce you to my affianced wife. Miss Tansy
Tamerlane.”

“Ch-Ch-Charmed, I’m sure, ma’am,” stammered
his lordship, his horses dancing as he released one hand to tip his
curly-brimmed beaver. “Wish you happy.” Then he seemed to
comprehend the import of the situation. By Gadfrey, he’d be the
center of it all at White’s tonight with this story, hang that
visit to his Uncle Chester anyway.

“You there,” he called to the farmer. “Shove
yourself off, I’ve need of some room to turn my pair.” The farmer
looked glad for any excuse to quit the scene and its balmy gentry.
Kicking his poor horse in its skinny flanks, he bounced off down
the road, never once looking back.

“Where to, Bladesham? Have you forgotten
something in London?” Avanoll inquired innocently.

“No. Yes!” answered the Viscount. “Recall an
engagement. Bad
ton
to neglect my fellows when they wish to
gather. No fourth at cards, you know. Must fly now,” he ended
desperately before adding, “Felicitations again, old fellow.” With
a turn that spoke more of haste than whipmanship, his lordship was
off.

Avanoll threw back his head and roared. “That
turn won’t get him any votes for the Four Horse Club, I can tell
you. Ah, you’re good for me Tansy. I feel young and gay and quite
deliriously happy. And you can’t back out now, my love. By the time
we get to Grosvenor Square, half of London will have already had
the whole of it from Bladesham.”

“Nor can you withdraw, your grace,” Tansy
pointed out, “for I am thoroughly compromised, besides being able
to sue for breach of promise. You claimed me as fiancée before
witnesses. Isn’t that right, Leo?”

“Me? I ain’t heard a word if you don’t wish,
your grace,” Leo avowed fervently. “Though I think it downright
balmy to pass up a right ’un like the miss, your grace, if I may be
so bold.”

Avanoll laughed again as Tansy calmly thanked
Leo and told him she thought he was a right ’un too, “a real prince
of a fellow,” before the Duke sent him off to the inn to drive
Pansy and Farnley back to town while he and Tansy followed in the
curricle.

Once Leo was out of sight, Avanoll hoisted
Tansy up to the seat and joined her, but another kiss seemed in
order before they set out on their journey. As the two new lovers
blissfully indulged in what seemed a very edifying pastime, the
South Bound Mail Coach pelted by them, loaded to the rails with
outside passengers.

“Coo,” one passenger shouted, relinquishing
part of his two-handed hold on the coach roof to point out
something to a fellow traveler. “Now there’s somethin’ you don’t
see every day, Chumford, two gentry morts kissin’ and huggin’ out
in the open for all to see, just like regular folk. Give her
another one, sport!” the man had time to yell before the coach
rounded the next bend.

Over Tansy’s embarrassed protests, Avanoll
proceeded to do just that.

By just a little past nine of that same day,
the dowager and Aunt Lucinda stood in the foyer of Avanoll House
while behind two closed doors two separate sets of lovers were
allowed a few short moments alone. Hand to heart, a sign of deep
emotional involvement, Aunt Lucinda at last gushed, ‘“Love looks
not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing’d Cupid
painted blind.’ Shakespeare.”

The dowager answered this observation with
her usual vague, “Yes, yes, Lucinda,” before suddenly jerking up
her head—an expression of horror on her face. “Shakespeare?
Sh-Shake-speare! Oh, no Lucinda, say it isn’t so! You haven’t been
dipping into my private library?”

Aunt Lucinda smiled serenely, so sure her
little surprise had gladdened the dowager’s heart—Shakespeare being
the lady’s favorite poet, and nodded her head in a gesture of
farewell before turning to mount the stairs.

The dowager took a step toward her and
ordered, “Lucinda, you just march yourself back over here and we’ll
have this thing out right now and for all time. I will house you
once Ashley is wed, I will clothe you, I will feed you, I will even
allow you use of my library in your asinine and never-ending search
for quotes. But I will not, I repeat, will not countenance the
wanton bantering about of Shakespeare’s immortal words whenever you
wish to remark on such subjects as cinch bugs on my roses or the
proper time to turn sheets. Do you hear me, Lucinda?”

The offended woman nodded sadly.

“Good,” said the satisfied Duchess. “It’s
late. You may now retire.”

Aunt Lucinda again made to mount the stairs,
this time crooning softly, “‘To sleep: perchance to...’” She cut
off the end of the Hamlet quote as the dowager began to make noises
like an angry bear and improvised quickly as she hastened her
ascent. ‘“To err is human, to forgive divine.’ Pope.”

“What a maddening loose-screw; sixty and two
and with all the brains of a chamber pot and twice the brass,”
lamented the dowager before lifting her skirts and striding toward
the drawing room, determination lending speed to her stiff
limbs.

“Ashley,” she called out as she burst open
the doors and stepped inside. “Grandson, if you will but leave off
pawing that poor child a moment I have a proposition to put to you
both. I will turn over to your first-born those cozy estates in
Hampshire as well as the coal mines your grandfather won so long
ago at Faro, which are now producing greater profits every year, if
you will but agree to making Lucinda a part of your household.”

Tansy giggled. “What is she up to this time,
your grace?”

“What is she up to?” the dowager parroted
distractedly. “I’ll tell you what that feather-wit is up to: she
has set her pointed little teeth at chewing up and spitting back
her own interpretations of the Bard himself. It’s sacrilege, I tell
you. And if you condemn me to a lifetime of listening to her, you
will have murdered me as surely as if you had stuck a knife in my
heart. I’m not a young woman anymore, Tansy,” she pleaded, falling
back on the excuse of her advanced years. “Have pity on me, please.
I’ll toss in my ruby pendant to sweeten the pot. You can have it
made into a ring if your first is a boy.”

Tansy stood on tiptoe and whispered into her
beloved’s ear. He smiled and turned to address the older woman.

“Tansy, the dear darling, may have a better
suggestion for you, Grandmama. Keep your pendant and your coal
mines and all but one of your Hampshire estates to dispose of later
on as you wish. Simply turn over one of the smaller homes—retaining
control of the land, of course—to Aunt Lucinda, and promise to
provide her with a generous allowance for the rest of her life on
the condition she never darken your door again. It should suit her
to feel more independent as mistress of her own household once
more, besides giving her a room in which to place her horrid
chairs.”

The Duchess grinned and clasped her gnarled
hands in glee. “Why didn’t I think of that? Not that I shouldn’t
have presently if I were not so overset. You are quite capital,
Tansy; you too, Ashley. I shall talk to my man of business first
thing in the morning and order him to have all in train by the end
of the week. She can return for the weddings; never let it be said
I was not magnanimous. I shall also have him sign over those mines
to you both as a wedding present. Tut, tut,” she warned as they
made to protest. “You’ve earned it. You may go back to what you
were doing now. Goodnight, my dears, for you have made me a very
happy old lady.”

She left then, pausing only once at the door
to shake her head in seeming amazement. “Getting that dratted woman
to do justice to dear Will’s pearls of wisdom would be about as
possible as teaching Horatio to sing Italian opera,” she said to no
one in particular.

Ashley and Tansy shared a smile, content that
every last loose end had now been neatly tied up—at least for a
while—and obediently returned to their earlier occupation. With
bodies softly pressing together and arms firmly entwined, their
lips alternately advanced and engaged or retreated to whisper inane
love words—quite expected murmurings when spoken by the very young
(like the two lovebirds in the small salon), but uncommonly
touching when uttered by two people who have had to wait so long to
share the heady giddiness of true love.

If Aunt Lucinda were there, and it must be
noted her presence was not missed, she quite possibly might have
said, “‘All’s well that ends well.’ Heywood.”

And she would have been quite right.

The End

If you enjoyed
The Tenacious Miss
Tamerlane
, I would be honored if you would tell others by
writing a review on the site where you downloaded this title.

Thank you for reading!

Kasey Michaels