Bertram was recalled from the reverie into which he had sunk. “Sparkling blue.”

  “Blue? How strange. I felt certain I would notice a detail like that. Still, if you are happy—”

  “Oh, I am!”

  “Excellent, then! I hope she may not disappoint you—”

  “Not all women are as callous as that damnable Araminda Fallows!”

  Bertram could have bitten off his tongue. The icy glaze he had come to abhor swept over his brother’s features. The Marchioness of Crewe had a lot to answer for.

  “Yes. Well, at all events, I wish you happy.” The viscount took up a quill, stubbed it hard onto a perfectly good piece of paper, blotted the ensuing blot with vague vigour, then pushed the whole across his desk in distaste.

  “She is amenable to your suit?”

  “I believe so, though cannot be certain.”

  “You did not ask her?” The viscount’s lips twitched, though his voice held a hint of the peculiar exasperation mingled with amusement that he reserved only for Bertram.

  “Oh, but I did! The thing is, you see, she is damnably poor, and though I have told her that such trifles don’t weigh with me—”

  “Stop! I have lost you, Bertie! Miss Richmond is not ‘damnably poor.’ She is making May games of you if she represents herself as such.”

  “I am not a clodpole, Andrew! I am perfectly aware that Miss Anastasia Richmond is an heiress!”

  “Well, then?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, then, how comes she to be telling such tarradiddles?”

  “Miss Townsend? She is not! Her mother was Lady Addersley and her father was a colonel, but—”

  “Stop!” Andrew’s tone held a fearsome mixture of alarm and authority. “Who is Miss Townsend?”

  “But I thought I had explained it! She is the lady I am to wed. And, oh, Andrew, she falls into more scrapes in a minute than I do in a day!” With this happy recommendation, Bertram helped himself to a strawberry. Happily for him, he was quite unaware how close he was to being strangled.

  “May I come in?”

  “But of course, Stasia! I am your companion, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, but not twenty-four hours a day, whatever Mama may think to the contrary.”

  Miss Townsend looked downcast for a moment. “I wish I could please her more, Stasia, but whatever I do, I seem to land in the basket.”

  “Which is precisely why I love you! My life would be tedious indeed if I did not have such a lively companion to spice it up. Take today . . . we might still be talking elegantly about the rainfall if you had not shot off at that spanking pace.”

  “I thought you and the captain might like time alone . . .”

  “Funny, that. I thought precisely the same of you!” Miss Richmond looked at her friend with sudden seriousness. There was an element of truth in the lighthearted tone that caused a flush to rise prettily to Vivienne’s cheeks.

  “I am sorry. Was my behavior reprehensible? Did I monopolise him? I am truly sorry, Stasia. I never meant it to be so. It is just. . . .”

  “Just that when two kindred souls meet, they become inseparable.”

  Vivienne’s eyes widened at the statement, for in truth she had not allowed herself to think too deeply about the state of her heart. That would be too disloyal to Miss Richmond, for Anastasia was practically betrothed to the captain. How wretched that that, of all things, should be so!

  “Don’t look so downcast, Viv. I might quiz you, but I shall definitely not eat you!”

  “How can you joke about such a thing, Stasia? I am mortified! ”

  “Mortified? What codswallop! If you were not mortified to appear before the prince regent in ripped skirts and mud-spattered spencer—”

  “That was different! It was at the horse sales!”

  “But unchaperoned! I rest my case, so don’t interrupt,” Miss Richmond admonished.

  Vivienne grinned, her irrepressible good humour not permitting her to remain in the doldrums overlong. “Very well; you shall say your piece so long as I can answer in kind.”

  “It is agreed. Vivienne, you should know that I have no intention of marrying Bertram now or ever.”

  “But why? He is the most fascinating, delightful, handsome—”

  “May I interrupt?”

  “I haven’t finished!”

  “Nor will you, if you continue in this vein! And that, by the way, is your answer. I shall not marry him for all of those reasons.”

  “You cannot be so feather-brained! Who can turn down such a paragon?”

  “I, though strictly speaking that is not the case, for I have not yet had the felicity of a proposal.”

  It was on the tip of Vivienne’s tongue to tell her friend that Bertram had made her an offer that very morning. She could not bring herself to do so, for fear of seeing pain and disgust line Anastasia’s face. Instead, she let her continue.

  “I cannot marry the captain, for whilst you are kindred spirits, we are not! He is fascinating, delightful, and altogether handsome to you. To me, he is just dear, sweet Bertie. I thought I could live with that, but seeing the pair of you together, I realise I cannot. I want for myself what I see reflected in your eyes, Viv. I shan’t ever get that if I were to accept Bertie. Even supposing he makes the proposal, which I now very much doubt.”

  “You are certain, then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Your mama will have fits.”

  “Not an uncommon practice for her. I shall win her round.”

  “Even if I marry your Bertram?”

  “Vivienne! You sly creature! I’ll wager my last farthing you are keeping something from me!”

  “And so I am! Anastasia, you are certain?” Vivienne’s tone was heartrendingly wistful.

  “Of course I am, you muttonhead! Now tell me at once what you are harbouring in that breast of yours, or I shall scream!”

  “You tempt me. I would love to see you doing something unladylike for a change!”

  “Vivienne, if you do not start talking at once, you will have your wish.”

  So the irrepressible Miss Townsend began to talk . . .

  The next day started off with a great deal of sunshine and much promise for improving weather. Unfortunately, Lady Richmond looked like a thundercloud at the breakfast table, and by the time Miss Townsend and Miss Anastasia Richmond had finished nibbling on some kippers, some leftover game pie, and a plateful of eggs, they were both heartily sorry not to have elected a cup of cocoa in bed.

  Lady Richmond seemed to think it was Anastasia’s fault that Bertram had been negligent about proposing marriage the day before. She scolded her for being so prim as to wear high-collared gowns when a little décolletage was “all the rage.” She threatened to visit the dressmaker herself to have all the spring clothes altered. She wanted to know every sentence that the captain had uttered, and every circumstance that had occurred during their infamous walk to the stream. She scolded Vivienne for getting wet, and, contrarily, Anastasia for not getting soaked, for “damped-down skirts would have been the very thing to capture the eye of a man about town.”

  Vivienne choked into her coffee cup and glanced hopelessly at Stasia. It would have been fatal to giggle at that point, so she stuffed a large piece of buttered toast into her mouth and chewed hard.

  Anastasia nodded peacefully as she heard her mama’s tirade. There was nothing new in the nature of it, for Lady Richmond habitually threatened all kinds of dire consequences when her will was crossed. The best thing was to nod quietly, appear apologetic, and make sure that the more unsuitable of her threats and plans were never carried into fruition.

  “Shall we pick brambleberries today?” Vivienne was eager to change the subject as she looked longingly out the window.

  “Anastasia may, for she had best stay close to the house today in case the captain comes calling.” Lady Richmond looked at her daughter doubtfully. “And promise me you’ll change into a decent gown! The sarcenet, with your new trimmed chip straw—”

  “Very well, Mama.” Miss Richmond always gave in gracefully in matters of trivia. That way, her mama was mollified and she retained a measure of peace. Besides, the sarcenet was fetching, and on such a crisp, heavenly day. . .

  “Miss Townsend, you shall ride into the village with me. I have many errands to run and should like you to meet Lady Peabody Frampton, a most particular friend of mine. I suspect she could use a little help about the place, for she is expecting her nieces to arrive any day. Please behave with decorum! She is related to the Countess Lieven, and I would be mortified if you were once again to edify us with a sample of your disgraceful behaviour.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her tone was meek, but she pulled such a nasty face behind Lady Richmond’s outmoded wig that Anastasia was hard-pressed not to laugh. When her mother treated Vivienne like a serving girl, Anastasia habitually cringed. Today, however, she did not mind quite as much. Very soon Vivienne would be out of her realm. The thought saddened Anastasia, for she treasured the lively companion’s company. Still, she was not so poor a creature as to grudge Miss Townsend her happiness. If Captain Ralston had offered for her, she would be a fool not to accept. The couple was clearly made for each other, though how the pair of them would manage without some more sobering influences, she could not imagine. Still, they were the sort that added sparkle to an otherwise proper world. Society needed that.

  So it was that Vivienne was dispatched rather glumly with Lady Richmond whilst Anastasia was free to change swiftly into the sarcenet. It was not long before she was walking steadily down the tree-lined path, and out toward the fields of tall grass and fresh poppies.

  The brambleberries, when she reached them, were sweet, juicy, and confoundedly difficult to reach. Anastasia might have decided not to bother, for she had so many tumultuous thoughts in her lovely, bonneted head that she would have quite happily plumped herself down on a plot of clover to think.

  Unfortunately, the basket that had been thrust into her hand by Mrs. Timmons, the housekeeper, was empty and she would have some explaining to do if dessert was spoiled by a bout of uncharacteristic idleness. She would incur enough wrath on her head when Lady Richmond discovered the errant Captain Ralston was never to propose. She didn’t need brambleberries to compound her sin. Accordingly, she muttered a little under her breath and began to pick.

  It took only a few moments for her initial annoyance at having fingers and arms pricked unmercifully by leaves, twigs, and sundry stray brambles to subside. When she relaxed into a soothing rhythm, it was not too long before her basket looked a little more respectable. However, there was little doubt that she would have to shin up the apple tree, for vines of brambleberries crept up it and she wanted to reap some greater rewards.

  Thankful that no one was about to witness her unladylike actions, she removed her half boots, lifted her petticoats, and slowly clambered her way up to the third branch. There it was an easy matter to fling brambleberries aplenty into the basket.

  “Ouch!”

  Anastasia nearly fell out of the tree. She peered through the leaves to see who had made this unpromising remark.

  “Bertram—I mean Captain Ralston! Where did you pop up from?”

  “I’ve been watching you this age, from the hollyhock hedge.”

  “And why, pray?” Anastasia endeavoured to sound grim, but in truth she liked Bertram and found it hard to scold despite his unsuitable behaviour. Besides, since his nose was splattered with brambleberry juice it seemed unsporting to punish him further.

  “I wanted to talk with you. The butler said you would be out here.”

  “Could you not have talked before I exposed my undergarments and removed my footwear?”

  Bertram grinned. “Yes, but that would hardly have been as edifying. No, don’t throw another brambleberry. They are confoundedly juicy!”

  “Then cease provoking me, sir! And don’t tell me banbury stories! I am perfectly certain that you have no interest whatsoever in the sight of my ankles. It is Miss Townsend’s, I believe, that are more likely to hold your scrutiny!”

  The Honourable Captain Ralston regarded her closely. “Come down from there. I want to talk to you about that. I fear I owe you the most frightful apology, not to mention explanation.”

  Anastasia waved her hand airily. “No need, sir! You have my blessings. Vivienne is the most delightful creature, and I have to concede you are perfectly well suited.”

  “But am I not a cad? There is practically a betrothal between us!”

  “Nonsense! You have neither proposed nor I accepted. I believe that is the form required, sir, in such matters. You merely rode to Brampton to review my suitability. That was made quite plain from the outset.”

  “But I cannot simply say you are unsuitable! Think how it will reflect upon your character!”

  “My character can stand the odds.” Her lips curved upward slightly. “Now do be a good boy and turn around, sir, that I might climb down and talk to you reasonably. It is passing hard to discuss matrimony—or the lack of it—up a tree.”

  “Wait! I will join you!”

  “No, you will not, you horrible boy! It is Vivienne who is as game as a pebble, not I. I am the very pink of respectability. Now close your eyes. I warrant you have seen enough petticoats in a lifetime not to have to gaze upon mine.”

  “Oh, very well.” Bertram obediently shut his eyes as Anastasia carefully made her way down the thorny brambleberry vines.

  “Oh!”

  “What?”

  “I am stuck, and the wretched twigs are scratching me. Just wait a moment.” Anastasia struggled, but the more she did, the more entangled her apple-blossom sarcenet became with the branches.

  Captain Ralston opened his eyes and grinned. “In a nasty tangle, Anastasia?”

  “Since when did I give you leave to call me by my first name? We are not children any longer!”

  “My, my, my! You sound as cross as crabs. Don’t quibble, Stasia. It was only a moment ago that you called me a ‘horrible boy’ like old times. Come, stop being so missish and let me help you.”

  “No.”

  “Very well, then, I shall just seat myself comfortably and watch the spectacle. By the by, your petticoat, though thoroughly delightful, is ripped.”

  “Oh!” Anastasia dimpled. The boy was very hard to scold. Bertram had never had a proper sense of decorum.

  “Oh, very well, then. Climb up and loosen me. I think I am caught on that twig.”

  “You are covered in thorns! I shall have to pick them off carefully. Don’t move, I am coming up.” This Bertram did, with amazing deftness considering the tight, cream-coloured buckskins he had chosen to wear. As he merrily picked thorns from Anastasia, he found that conversation was easier up than down.

  “You are truly not at odds with me?”

  “Captain, believe me! I considered a marriage of convenience with you because it was just that—convenient. It would have saved me the tedium of another season and Mama the expense. Also, I like you. Or used to.”

  “I hope you always shall.”

  “I believe that is possible, if you only refrain from jabbing me with those thorns. You are supposed to be helping, not hindering.”

  “Ingrate! I have a mind to just leave you.”

  “Don’t you dare. Have you unhitched me yet?”

  “No, but if you hold still I will try. Ready?”

  Anastasia nodded. The work was absorbing, for Bertram had to crane his neck to see exactly the spot where Miss Richmond was caught. He found he had to climb a little higher, for the twig was in a difficult position. Anastasia held obediently still until the ominous crack of a branch alerted her to a problem. She did not have time to wonder about the precise nature of the matter, for she was very soon tumbling to the earth, Bertram following with a loud gasp and an astonishingly ungentlemanly oath. For an instant, Anastasia wondered whether she had cracked a rib; then she realized, with relief, that she had merely been winded. Bertram, however, was an impossibly difficult weight, for he had landed just short of her head, but quite definitely on top of something. Her thigh, very likely, if she could just get herself untangled enough to be certain. She was just endeavouring to sit up when she noticed a dreadful sight. Her heart quickened considerably.

  “Bertram!”

  “Beg pardon, Stasia; the silly branch was just not strong enough. Just a moment and I’ll have all as right as a trivet.”

  “Bertram! Get off me at once! There is a party of people approaching!”

  The captain grabbed at his boot that had somehow been dislodged in the fall.

  “God, Stasia! You will be compromised! Get up at once!”

  “Pass me my half boots.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Next to the basket—and hurry!”

  FOUR

  It was too late. The people were upon them, with a great deal of hallooing and waving. Anastasia flushed crimson. There with her mama was no less a person than Elinor Peabody Frampton. Vivienne trailed just behind, with two unknown young ladies Miss Richmond immediately took for the nieces.

  “Anastasia!” Lady Richmond’s voice was high-pitched as she took in Miss Richmond’s indecorous state of disarray. Bertram was fiddling with his necktie, but to no avail. There was brambleberry juice all over him, and telltale leaves about his person.

  “Mama, it is not what you think!”

  “No, indeed, Lady Richmond!”

  Lady Peabody Frampton tittered delicately and looked at the fascinating pair with razor-sharp eyes. Here, she was certain, was delicious scandal.

  Lady Richmond’s eyes bulged as she looked at Bertram. “What do you have to say for yourself, sir? You have ruined my daughter’s snow white reputation with your unwarranted attentions. Do you intend to make amends? Well, do you?” She poked at him with a stick.

  Anastasia opened her mouth to explain about getting caught on the branch, but was shushed sternly by her mama, who said she wanted to know no roundaboutation.

  Poor Bertram! He cast an anguished glance at Miss Townsend, who was looking rather more pale than usual. There was no help from that quarter, for she appeared to have lost her habitual merry sparkle and stood stock still between the two young ladies, eyes downcast.

 

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