Lady Caraway's Cloak, page 13
“I thought we were agreed we would not suit.”
“You are merely being quarrelsome, if I might say so, Lady Serena! Yes, quarrelsome and irksome, for if you would simply accept my offer I would not need to put myself to the trouble of this tedious process of selection. “
“And if you would stop offering, I would not have to put myself to the trouble of pointing out my many unsuitable points! Come, my dear, sir, admit I rest my case. We shall not suit at all if I am as quarrelsome and irksome as you so delightfully point out. Now do you, my dear Phillip, still wish me to dance this quadrille or are you really quite at outs with me?”
“Quite at outs but we shall dance, anyway, else my mama will doubtless descend on me with some other hideous prospect.”
“See how flattering he is?” Serena turned to the earl. Her heart was still beating erratically from their encounter, but she simply could not resist.
The earl, whatever his own shortcomings (Serena could not immediately think of these but was certain he must have some) shared her delicious sense of the ridiculous. It was delightful to have someone who could understand her thoughts so precisely. Certainly, it enlivened the tedium of functions such as these.
Robin bowed. “Inept, most inept. His Grace should be whipped for such a comparison as that. It is the ‘other’ that is your undoing, Duke!”
The Duke of Bedford, perfectly splendid in a nipped-in waistcoat of broad candy stripes and two huge golden fobs dangling from their clips, looked bewildered. Serena took pity on him.
“I am sure you did not mean to imply I am a hideous prospect, sir,” she said, kindly.
“Gracious no! However did you come to think that I did?”
“It was that fateful use of the word ‘other,’ my dear man, and so I have told you! You know, ‘other’ hideous prospects ...” Robin could not resist a chortle.
Serena frowned at him, but since this had no effect on his amusement whatsoever, she ground his toe into the floor.
“Your Grace, the sets are forming. Shall we?”
“Oh yes, by all means. Yes, let us at once,” the Duke of Bedford answered most affably.
And so, to Serena’s satisfaction, they did. Her satisfaction, sad to say, was greatly increased by the fact that Lord Robin, by contrast, sat out the dance and did not invite anyone—pretty or otherwise—to nestle in the comfort of his arms. As a matter of fact. he seemed perfectly intent on nursing his sore toe and cursing wrathfully as his cousin—or whatever Serena actually was, she could not quite work it out herself—glided past.
Chapter Twelve
When Lord Caraway and Captain McNichols called the following afternoon, they were forced to be satisfied with merely leaving cards, for Serena had informed the house staff she was not at home to visitors (forgetting that they would consider his lordship a visitor rather than family) and Miss Julia Waring was having a delightful time riding through Hyde Park on a mare bought by Serena specifically for the purpose.
She was accompanied, very properly, by a groom, with a maid walking purposefully alongside her, but these impediments were as nothing, for it stopped not a single gentleman from stopping and admiring the weather—and, quite naturally, her bonnet. London was, quite simply, delightful. She quelled a little voice telling her it would be more delightful yet if a certain captain of the seas should happen to have his horses take exercise here and she should happen to see him, for she knew she was being absurd.
That very gentleman was escorting her—or strictly speaking, Serena—to the ridotto that evening. She wondered why, of a sudden, the day seemed to be so slow in passing, and the gentlemen doffing their beavers at her so ... uninspiring. She would lay a farthing none of them had a shine in their boots quite like Captain McNichols. As for their eyes, though she had looked at a dozen or so pairs that morning, it was fair to say that none were as soulful, or as compatible with her moods as his were.
Julia had come, rather guiltily, to understand that despite her very proper upbringing, she preferred an impudent smile to polite admiration. Admiration, though pleasant, did not have that fascinating effect upon her pulses, and though she loved pleasantries in the proper form, there was nothing so pleasant, really, as flirtation in the improper form! Captain McNichols had not yet been so bold as to flirt, precisely, but she was very certain he would be amenable to encouragement.
And how much more fun it would be than with Lord Blanely, who leered, or Mr. Curruthers, who lisped simperingly, or even Sir Peter Blakeborough, who had picked a delightful posy for her, but somehow did not have the same effect upon her person as dear Captain Adam McNichols.
As for the Earl of Caraway ... well, he was positively frightening! Julia blushed as she recalled—again, for how could one not reflect on such a thing?—how he had tried to kiss her in the conservatory. Bold as brass, yet somehow too mocking and confident for her tastes. No ... he might have kissed her—shameful behavior! —but he had not meant it to mean a thing. She was positive of it, despite all her mama’s hints and hopes. Thank heavens, too, for she was quite certain that they would not suit. Besides being a great age older than herself (to the young at heart two-and-thirty seems very ancient indeed), he was too confident, too careless with his caresses ... not at all like his debonair friend.
A small sigh escaped Julia, as she reined in the mare. Was it unreasonable of her to wish he were a little more forward in his dealings with her? To imagine what might have been had it been he, not Lord Caraway, who had come across her sobbing in the conservatory? He would not have been so bold as to tease her with a nonchalant kiss and an exasperated shake of her pretty shoulders. No, she was sure of it. He would have taken her in his arms, and wiped away her tears and maybe, yes maybe, just brushed his lips across her own ... .
The mare stumbled over a hawthorne bush, which was not surprising, as Julia had quite forgotten where she was. Fortunately, her groom, seeing the danger, had grabbed hold of her lead rein and averted anything more serious. The maid, rushing forward to keep up, however, tripped over her skirts, so between her squeal and Julia’s apologies—not to mention embarrassment, for a curious crowd was forming—no one noticed the very object of her speculations approaching until he was right upon them.
“Miss Waring, we meet again!” Julia wanted to sink into her sidesaddle with embarrassment, for she was certain he must have witnessed the spectacle and she was perfectly aware that stumbling over hawthorne bushes did not set one off to advantage.
In this, of course, she was mistaken, for Captain McNichols would have thought her ravishing anywhere, and now found her doubly so owing to her confusion and the rosy glow upon her delicate cheeks.
“Captain McNichols! How fortunate! I did not expect to meet you here at all! This was only half-true, for while she might not have been expecting, she had certainly wearied her mare, her groom and her maid with her hoping.
These hopes had led her to haunt Hyde Park half the day, for she remembered perfectly clearly that it was the captain’s habit to ride out there most afternoons. The captain greeted her with all the enthusiasm she could have dreamed of, much to the amusement of Lord Caraway, who, having been balked of his prey (Serena) now compounded his tedium by accompanying Adam.
“Lord Caraway!”
“Miss Waring, how perfectly delightful.” But his eyes were dancing and Julia did not take heed of him one bit. He was teasing, and she was not perfectly certain it was not at her expense. The wind played with the ribbons of my lord’s smooth, unpowdered hair as she smiled demurely and permitted her hand to be kissed, though her mare danced with impatience.
“I think we should not tease your mare any longer, Miss Waring. All this formality is fretting her.”
“I fear it is I who am fretting her by not looking where I am going!”
“Then by all means let us lead you. It is a pity Lady Serena could not accompany you. She is not ill, I trust?”
“Oh, no such thing! She is probably all nestled up with a book, for I very much fear she thinks the pace I set rather giddy. There is the ridotto this evening, and Lady Halbrook’s tomorrow ... I feel guilty, really, for she misses Caraway, and all the things she used to do there.”
“She can still do them.”
“No! It is different, for she is used to making decisions and having people depend upon her, and ... oh, a host of things! People are forever telling me of all the complicated wonders Serena gets up to. I am afraid she might need time to adjust, really. Society life must seem very dull by comparison.”
“But not to you, I trust?”
“No, Captain McNichols, for at the risk of seeming quite horribly shallow, I have dreamed of my Season since I was a little girl!”
“How refreshing! Most debutantes feign fatigue.”
“Yes, and I think it is the height of silliness! Why should one pretend to have a bad time when one is having a very good time indeed?”
“To appear sophisticated?”
“To appear stupid, more like!”
“Do not change, Julia, your freshness becomes you.” This remark from the earl, so unexpected, made sudden tears sting at Julia’s wide eyes. Somehow, the comment touched her, especially as it was then rigorously endorsed by the captain, who exceeded all her ladylike dreams by expounding upon all of her various virtues, real and imagined.
“That will do!” came the quelling response of the earl, who had started the whole affair, but Julia did not take it amiss. He was smiling.
Lady Caraway closed the epistle she had been reading thoughtfully and tucked it away in the ornate drawers she’d had installed at hideous expense in the dower house.
By all accounts, the earl was dancing attendance on her daughter at last, but there were still some spiteful old tabbies out there who reported otherwise. Yes, indeed, Lady Baldwin herself seemed to think it was Serena he was captivated with, and that, naturally, would not do. Fortunately, these were not the only reports circulating about London. Some, more sinister, were far more intriguing. If rumors had it right, the earl had led a varied life. Yes, varied indeed if certain telltale tidbits were to be believed.
She rummaged through her old pile of Tatlers and Gazettes (she saved them all, despite Serena’s comments that they would make excellent kindling for the castle fires) and scanned at least ten of them with an impatient rustling of highly manicured—but nevertheless slightly gnarled—fingers.
She found only the odd, unhelpful snippet of what she was looking for, but on page five of the Gazette of two years before, found at last what she had vaguely remembered. Three paragraphs devoted, rather tongue-in-cheek, to the exploits of Robin Red-Ribbon, a detailed description of the treasures seized from Le Liberté, the French vessel waylaid on the Spanish waters of the Iberian coast.
Not full—it fitted any person of medium height and slight, muscular build—but full enough to arouse the dowager’s already wakened suspicions. Yes, she remembered now, there had been much talk of the famous Robin Red-Ribbon, just as there had been similar talk, nearly a generation before, of the elusive Scarlet Pimpernel. Romantic drivel, most of it, but a few grains of truth, surely.
There was no doubt, now that she skimmed through the correct dates, that several important ships had not reached their ports. When they had, they had been short of a great deal of cargo, most of it rum and contraband lace.
She, reading, could know nothing of the several French spies who had been foiled in their attempts to reach English shores, or of the English spies who had landed on French shores as The Albatross—immune, as an American vessel, to the restraints placed on the British—glided easily in and out of coves known hitherto almost exclusively to smugglers.
Lady Caraway rather hoped that she was correct in her surmise, for to have a pirate chief in the family was no small thing and a fact she might well use to advantage. Even if he were not a pirate—which she very much doubted, now she came to think upon it, for he looked every bit the rogue—he would not wish for a scandal.
Such a little gossip-worthy item this was! She smiled, as she called Redmond to dress her hair. Tomorrow, if her gout permitted—and somehow she was certain it would—she would undertake the journey into London herself.
No, better yet, for really, she could not bear any unnecessary exertion, she would summon the Lady Serena back to Caraway. Doubtless a few judicious words, sprinkled liberally with a few equally judicious threats, would bring her back. Yes, she was perfectly certain they would indeed.
Lady Caraway—for she simply could not think of herself as the dowager—life was so unreasonable!—sank back into the comfort of her luxurious, ancient Egyptian-style opulence.
When the sun trickled in through the drapes and finally caught at her expensive, ermine-trimmed skirts, she was daydreaming in a haze of pleasant thoughts, chiefest among these being her complete rule over Caraway and her ability to crush any pretender in the palm of her prettily gloved hand.
It was the following day—maybe two or so later—that the silver salver so laden with invitations bore one marked with the familiar green Caraway seal. At first, Serena, recognizing the hand, tossed the letter on to Miss Waring, but Julia, who had already ripped open the missive, thrust it back with a grin.
“For you, my dear Serena, and it is probably a scold! Mama never puts herself to the trouble unless it is to admonish one. I have thankfully not had a letter in days, though I live in dread.”
Serena, responding that Julia was becoming an undutiful little varmint and that she had half a mind to send her straight home, now idly extended her hand for the unlooked-for letter, which was bound, she thought uncharitably, to be full of complaints and hints at expenses and artful bemoaning of this and of that.
Serena, who had been in a perfectly pleasant mood—and it was nobody’s business of what or of whom she had been thinking!—regarded the letter with distaste. It was, as she feared, a mysterious, heavily underlined and virtually unintelligible load of drivel from her sister-in-law. She very nearly tossed the whole damn thing into the fire before finding her wrap.
She had an engagement at the bank—for she wanted to transfer some of her bonds on the exchange, and cash some for the maintenance of the club at Caraway—then planned on showing Julia the Tower (for Miss Waring had a delightfully vivid imagination and seemed to relish the horrors) and Astley’s, compulsory for any visitor to the city sights.
Naturally, they were to have been accompanied by Captain McNichols, who bravely tried to maintain the fiction that his interest was firmly fixed with Serena, and Lord Caraway, who ignored Serena in company and flirted with exasperated enjoyment, (for Julia had none of the spunk of her aunt) with Miss Waring.
Julia, breathless with anticipation—whether for the tower or for the sight of the captain or for Lord Robin’s mild attentions, Serena could not quite divine—had tried on several different gowns and combinations of cloaks, hoods, pelisses, and caps until Serena had lost all patience with her and told her that she was in danger of becoming spoiled.
Which naturally had caused the tears to well up in Julia’s fine eyes and Serena to feel like a veritable Miss Mean-Spirit, so after much hugging and kissing and eye-drying, a suitable gown had been chosen—delectable, if slightly cold for the Season—and all had been well, once more, at Number 2, York Crescent.
The clock was just chiming the hour when a linkboy arrived with a message for the ladies, indicating that the outing was to be delayed an hour on account of “Captain McNichols requiring a further fitting of his topboots,” an impatiently dashed message that had Serena smiling—clearly, the earl had been the author—and Julia cluck-clucking, hoping that the captain would take his time, for there was nothing worse than boots that did not quite fit, and did Serena remember the time ... Serena, with a sigh, remembered.
So, being somewhat at a loose end for the moment, Serena picked up Lady Caraway’s missive and struggled with it once more. It appeared to be full of dire warnings that Serena did not for a moment give the slightest credence to, but the abuse of Lord Caraway’s name annoyed her, and the tone of the dowager’s letter seemed far too gleeful for Serena’s liking.
The dowager was talking a great deal of balderdash relating to the new earl, but it was the sort of drivel that would delight her contemporaries—not to mention the eager ears of Sally Jersey, who was always on the lookout for a juicy scandal.
Pirate indeed! Serena smiled at the very thought, and wondered how much truth could be in the fabrication.
He did look like a pirate, with his roguish air and red-ribboned hair, but Serena had firsthand insight into his business dealings and did not for a moment think that his gains were ill gotten, though possibly a little privateering on The Albatross had occurred from time to time. Yes, she would not put a little light-hearted adventure past Robin, but anything dishonorable—as the dowager insisted in many pages of gleeful underlining—was perfectly out of the question.
If Serena had been so diligent as to read and remember every article in the morning mail, she might have made the same connections Lady Caraway had made. As it happened, she was far too busy to cast her mind so far back, though the name Robin Red-Ribbon, had she but recalled it, might have intrigued her a little. As it happened, she had not a scrap of romance in her backbone and therefore did not immediately suffer the trembling heart and spasms of shock one might have expected.
Still, such rumors should be scotched at the source and Serena felt it her duty to do so. Also, she rather thought that a last missive from the mysterious Mr. Addington might be in order, to allay the earl’s suspicions.
If it was fine early on Thursday, she would have a chance to return quietly to Caraway, for Julia had engaged herself not only for several fittings, but also for a picnic in the company of two of her oldest friends, Miss Chartwell and Miss Lila Weatherby, both of whom were unexceptional young ladies whom Serena liked very much indeed. If she found their company just a trifle tedious—especially Miss Weatherby’s high-pitched giggles, she was far too good-natured to say so, for the girls were kindhearted and perfectly well mannered in their own way. So Thursday would be ideal for a return to Caraway, a firm chat with the dowager, and a letter-writing session that would hopefully put an end to the wretched affair of Mr. Gabriel Addington.
