Toblethorpe Manor (32 page)

Rosalind, meanwhile, was comparing not past and present but Richard and Harry. The greatest difference, she decided, was that while both were amusing, with Richard she could also discuss serious subjects that never seemed to have crossed Harry’s mind. He was well-informed about everything that interested her and always ready to listen to her opinions.

On the other hand, in spite of his evident admiration and occasional compliments, she could not flirt with him as she did with Harry, whose compliments grew more outrageous daily. After all, she reminded herself, she had come here to enjoy herself. She would have plenty of time for serious matters when she was married to Ian Heathercot.

The other contrast between the gentlemen in question was their appearance. Harry’s fair, cheerful good looks and fashionable apparel, when he was not in regimentals, were a far cry from Richard’s usually somber face and restrained elegance. She knew that several of the young ladies in the party regarded the latter’s dark complexion with abhorrence. Hoping that she had too much discrimination to be swayed by outward appearances, she also realized that far from being shocked at her first sight of him, she had felt a kind of inexplicable recognition, almost as if she had expected his swarthiness. Now, of course, she saw not the color of his skin but the expression on his face and in his eyes.

And they, she thought crossly, generally held altogether too much warmth for her peace of mind. After all, she had known the man only a week.

The day of the performance was drawing close, and Rosalind found more and more of her time occupied in rehearsing. She still played the piano daily for Richard, and once or twice a day they would seize a few minutes to slip down to the stables for a riding lesson. Rosalind was soon able to stay on Whitesocks’s back while Richard led the mare around the yard. However, she had no time for driving or walking with him, or trying to ride farther, and even their conversations were curtailed. Richard longed for the performance as fervently as any of the actors.

It was due to take place on a Friday evening—the day after was the date of the Hunt Ball, and the following Monday Lord Denham’s party was to break up. Lady Catherine had roused herself to veto vigorously any suggestion of inviting the neighbors.

“Most ineligible!” she exclaimed to her disappointed younger nephew. “Why, Harry, that would make it almost a public performance. You cannot be serious!”

Harry had been serious, but accepted his aunt’s disapproval, with a good grace. The audience was to be composed of the nonparticipating guests and those of the servants who could be spared from their duties.

The cast kept their costumes a closely guarded secret from those who had no hand in their making. It was known that the attic had been raided and had disgorged trunks full of the fashions of the last century, including even wigs. More than one young lady was hopeful of dazzling the eyes of certain members of the audience.

The plot, disclosed to Richard by Rosalind with much giggling, concerned a villain who, for unspecified reasons, had stolen the infant Patience Allgood and had her brought up as a maid by his sister, Lady Toplofty. This starchy matron had two daughters whose hands were being sought by a pair of suitors, one of whom was Sir Roderick Lebeau, to be played by Lord Harry. Sir Roderick was to fall in love with Patience, in her guise as maid. After many vicissitudes, Squire Allgood, Patience’s father, arrived to claim his daughter, whereupon Sir Roderick asked for her hand, to the discomfiture of the villains.

As Harry had pointed out, the heroine’s role was minor. Until the last scene Rosalind spent most of her  time wringing her hands while the other female parts, not excepting the maid, strutted and preened and gave her orders.

On the gentlemen’s side the situation was reversed: The hero had the weightiest part, with a great many declamations and soliloquies. Harry was in his element. Wildly overplaying his part, he led the rest of the cast on to efforts they had never dreamed of. He had the audience in gales of laughter, which generally concealed the necessity of frequent prompting.

The last scene before the denouement was a tender love scene between Sir Roderick and Patience. Rosalind, in a black dress, starched white apron, and huge chartreuse mobcap, was taken aback to find that Harry, abandoning the manner of their rehearsals, was playing his part with passionate sincerity. She could only attempt to do likewise. The sole laugh came when, in the middle of a long speech, Harry seized her headgear and cried unexpectedly, “I cannot possibly make love to you in that ridiculous cap!”

By the time Patience had renounced Sir Roderick’s hand forever on the grounds of not being worthy of him, several maids in the back of the hall were sobbing openly, and even Lady Catherine was seen to dab at her eyes with the corner of a dainty lace handkerchief.

For the final scene, Rosalind had been persuaded, with some misgivings, to wear a gorgeous court dress of the 1760s. Her hair was hidden under a tall powdered wig and paste diamonds sparkled at her throat and wrists. She swept onto the stage with her usual queenly bearing, and looked so
grande dame
that Richard barely recognized her. She would make a superb marchioness, he thought with a pang.

Lord Harry was thinking much the same. If he could have found a private moment with her, he would have proposed immediately, but in the excitement of applause, congratulations and discussions of the performance, it was quite impossible.

Rosalind was relieved that it was all over. Acting in front of people, however well she knew them, she found to be very different from rehearsing in private. She had felt little stage fright, but had been embarrassed by the penultimate scene. Extremely annoyed with Harry for changing the character of his role so drastically at that moment, she held him largely responsible for her embarrassment. She was inclined to think that possibly Richard was right, though, that acting was not at all a suitable pastime for well-bred young ladies.

She was annoyed with Richard for proving correct. When she managed to seize a few minutes for quiet reflection, she was inclined to exonerate Harry from much of the blame. Everyone knew he was incurably frivolous and surely would not think any impropriety attached to her listening to his passionate declaration in public. It was only acting. When Lady Catherine congratulated her on her thespian talents, she was sure that her behaviour had been unexceptionable and was able to meet Richard’s eyes calmly, though with a certain feeling of defiance, which she resented. What business had he looking so miserable?

“You looked magnificent in the last scene,” he told her, “though I prefer your natural hair to any wig.” He found himself quite unable to praise her acting and turned away quickly, hoping she had not noticed his hurt.

Exhausted, Rosalind went to bed early and arose late. She breakfasted in her chamber, and then tried on her new ball gown of emerald silk, which she intended to wear for the first time at the Hunt Ball.

While her abigail was placing a few pins to mark last-minute alterations, Lucy knocked and entered.

“What a beautiful dress!” she cried. “That is precisely the color for you, Rosalind. Why do you not wear it more often?”

“It would not then have half the impact,” laughed Rosalind. “What do you mean to wear tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something blue. Charles likes me in blue. Ros, look what he has given me.” She held out a pair of sapphire earrings. “And he says he will find me some blue flowers to wear. I can’t think what, at this time of year. He says blonds with blue eyes usually wear blue to enhance the color of their eyes, but my eyes need no enhancement. Is that not pretty?”

“Yes indeed, and I cannot think of any precious stone that is as brown as your eyes.”

“Well, no, though I am sure that if there were one, Charles would find it for me. He is quite the dearest person in the world. Rosalind, I am so happy I could burst!”

“Pray do not do anything so shocking in my chamber, Lucy! How should I ever explain it to Charles? Yes, he is a dear, and I am lucky to have had him as a brother.”

“Ros, I have been wanting to ask you for some time, only you have been so busy. Will you be my maid of honour? Mama says it will be quite unexceptionable, for my cousins, you know, may be my bridesmaids.”

“My dear, I shall be honoured, if you truly think your eldest cousin will not feel slighted.”

“Oh, Jenny will not care, and I am sure Richard would much rather squire you than my cousin.”

Rosalind blushed. “I had not thought, will not your brother give you away?”

“Yes, but he will also be Charles’s best man, as it is to be a quiet family wedding, and the best man always escorts the maid of honour, you know.”

Charles had maliciously considered asking Lord Harry
to be his best man, then decided that making Richard miserable would hardly enhance his own wedding. He had no idea how Rosalind felt toward the rivals, but she seemed to be enjoying herself and showed no signs of being troubled by errant memories, so he relaxed in his own happiness and left her to sort out her suitors for herself.

He knocked at her chamber door just as Joan was carefully removing the green gown.

“One moment,” called Lucy, seizing a wrap and casting it round Rosalind’s shoulders. “It’s Charles, I’m sure,” she added to Rosalind. “He has something for you, too.”

Rosalind quickly made herself decent, and Charles came in.

“I’ve a gift for you, Ros,” he explained, confirming Lucy’s words. He handed her a velvet box. “I bought the stone in India, very cheap I may say, but it had to be set. There hasn’t been a suitable occasion for giving it to you, until now. I thought you would not wish to wait until Christmas or your birthday.”

Rosalind opened the box and gasped.

“Charles! It must have cost a fortune! Oh, it is truly beautiful.” She drew from its velvet nest a single square-cut emerald on a simple gold chain. “Should not Lucy have it? It will be an heirloom.”

“I bought it for you, before ever I met Lucy. And do not think I squandered a fortune on it, even for you, Ros. I suspect it was stolen from the hoard of some long-dead maharajah, for I paid only about one-tenth the going price, and such things are far less expensive in India than in London to start with. I daresay I should rather have turned the peddler over to the authorities; but he was brother to one of my men, and besides, I always thought you should wear emeralds.”

Rosalind threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on both cheeks. Lucy laughed as he blushed.

“Oh, you are the best and dearest of cousins, Charlie. I shall feel like an Indian queen in it. A maharani, is it not?”

“Cupboard love,” growled Charles. “I missed you, Ros. Come, Lucy, if we are to ride before luncheon, we must go.”

Lucy kissed Rosalind and followed her betrothed. Rosalind sat down on her bed and wept a little. For the first time, she considered the possibility of living at Bennendale with her cousin after his marriage. She knew she would be welcome and could continue to regard it as her home. Then she rejected the comforting thought. It would not be fair to Lucy, would not give her a chance to make it into her own home. She must marry Ian and be thankful she had that choice.

Descending below stairs for luncheon, Rosalind was pounced on by both Richard and Harry. They escorted her to the breakfast room, where a cold collation had been laid out, hovered over her while she chose her meal, and both managed to sit beside her. Both had plans for her afternoon. Harry was determined to be alone with her, Richard equally determined not to let her out of his sight.

In the end, they all three went walking. Several days of dry weather had cleared the worst of the mud, and the gusty wind with its hint of frost was invigorating in the golden sunshine. They strolled into the woods. The two gentlemen forgot their animosity and behaved like schoolboys, catching falling leaves before they touched the ground and presenting them to Rosalind with a promise of a month’s good luck for each. They climbed trees for nuts, ate blackberries by the purple handful and dropped the fruit berry by berry into her mouth so as not to stain her fingers with the juice. If both longed to kiss that mouth they kept the longing to themselves and argued amicably over the best way to weave a garland of Michaelmas daisies for her hair. Rosalind, in her long skirts, could not climb trees, but she gathered her gown in her hands and ran rustling through drifted heaps of dead leaves while her lovers threw great armfuls of them at each other. When at last she took an arm of each and they turned homeward, she crowned with daisies, they with leaves in their hair, she felt that she had not so enjoyed an afternoon since she was a child playing hooky with Charles.

In the hall they met Lady Annabel and Lady Catherine, who stared with horror at their disarray.

“Harry,” said his aunt in minatory tones, “you have leaves in your hair.”

“Don’t scold, ma’am,” he answered pacifically, “I gave as good as I got. Look at Richard.”

“Well, dearest,” said Lady Annabel, “I cannot imagine what you have been doing, but it is just as well you have brought Rosalind back, for I daresay she will wish to lie down for an hour before dressing. We are to dine early, as it is near an hour’s drive to the ball.”

Harry and Richard were both about to claim the honour of driving Miss Stuart to Haddesdon Hall. They caught each other’s eye.

“Cry truce, Harry,” proposed Richard resignedly. “Rosalind, Harry and I beg to be allowed to escort you to the ball. Lord knows what vehicle will be available but we shall have to find one that will carry three.”

“Not at all,” grinned Harry. “It will be much warmer if we are a little crowded.”

Rosalind blushed. “You will not wish to crush my new gown, Harry! I shall be happy to accompany you, gentlemen, if it fits in with the plans of the rest of our party.”

“I’ll have a word with Tony,” said both gentlemen simultaneously.

“I beg you will not speak in chorus all evening,” protested Rosalind, laughing. “I’d as lief you took it in turns to address me on behalf of both.”

“We shall require a minimum of a waltz and a country dance apiece,” declared Harry. “And I suppose we shall have to share supper between us.”