An Evening at Almack's

by Sally Britton

  Whilst putting his splendid black gelding through his paces, he was already feeling much more the thing when he heard hooves approaching at a gallop from behind him on Rotten Row.

  “What the devil?” he muttered, but then had to keep his own horse under control as Sampson took exception and endeavoured to further his own wish to run. “Most likely some tomfool young buck,” Dev exclaimed angrily. Then he saw a flash of red hair and a violet form as a chestnut flew past him. He urged his own horse forward at once as recognition dawned, feeling it his duty to rescue the lady from her folly. Instead of pulling up when he approached, she turned and laughed.

  “Race you to the gate!” she called.

  Arguing was fruitless, so Dev enjoyed himself as he appreciated her riding with as fine a seat he had ever seen atop a horse. His Sampson quickly caught up and surpassed her winded mount, yet he only beat her by one length.

  When she reined in and turned towards him, he saw her hair had come loose from its pins and her cheeks were becomingly flushed. He could not recall thinking anyone more beautiful than she in her smartly cut velvet riding habit, which made her eyes sparkle like amethysts.

  “You are determined to ruin your character before your Season begins!” Dev chastised. Her eyes immediately widened with astonishment, and for a moment, she looked repentant before those glorious eyes then flashed with anger. “How dare you reprimand me!”

  “Clearly, there is no one else to do so. Does Lady Sutherland approve of the style of your morning ride? Have you no groom to attend you?”

  “Give me some credit, I beg of you. I bid the groom wait for me at the gate.”

  This ridiculous explanation caused a slight, involuntary lift of his brows, but he did not scold further. “Then allow me to return you to him.”

  Although it was clear she wanted to object, for her jaw was clenched and her eyes were shooting daggers at him, she did not. She inclined her head without speaking as she turned her horse. They proceeded at a more considered pace, slowing to a walk before they reached the groom who stopped leading his horse about when he saw them approach.

  “I assume I have committed another social solecism?” she asked.

  “Indeed. It is considered fast to be seen galloping in the park.”

  “Fast was precisely what I wished to achieve!”

  He had to suppress a smile. She was an original, but if she did not take care she would be ruined. To his surprise, that thought troubled him. “Hopefully, no one other than nursemaids with their charges noticed your escapade.”

  “I’ll be taken all-a-mort, my lord, if you have any interest in my reputation other than your own amusement.”

  A group of cavalry men approached before he could reply, and—at least to him—it was obvious by her expression she bit back whatever stinging peal she was about to ring over his head. He wished them to the devil.

  “David? David!” She waved heartily when she recognized one of the navy-coated soldiers.

  “Rua? What are you doing in London?”

  “I would ask the same of you!”

  “We arrived just three days ago, from the Continent.”

  By the time he had finished speaking, she had slipped down from her horse and handed the reins to the groom, with whom Dev would have a word later. Although, to be fair, he could easily imagine how it had come about that he was left behind.

  The soldier thus addressed had also dismounted and was greeting Miss Postlethwaite with more affection than Dev cared for. To his further annoyance, he noted that David was the masculine counterpoint to her feminine beauty, with his golden locks and blue eyes.

  The young man quickly made introductions to his fellow soldiers, but they were much younger than Dev. He recognized some names and coolly inclined his head to the four jovial young men.

  She, in turn, introduced him, and upon discovering that this was her younger brother, Dev wholly understood the glare he received. His reputation preceded him.

  The brother excused them and pulled her off to one side, but Dev’s ears were keen and he was able to overhear.

  “What are you doing out here unchaperoned? It ain’t the thing, sis. And with Lord Deverell, too! He is not known for his honourable intentions toward the fairer sex, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Perfectly, David,” she snapped. “I am staying at Sutherland House. If you will call on me, I shall explain how I come to be in London. I will be attending Almack’s Assembly Rooms tonight, if you should care to dance.”

  The young soldier whistled. “High and mighty company you are keeping here, Rua. Be careful. I cannot keep my horses waiting, but I will call on you soon.” He brushed a kiss on his sister’s cheek and cast a warning glare at Dev, who smiled insouciantly and inclined his head at the insolent young pup.

  While Miss Postlethwaite watched her brother and his friends ride away, Dev dismounted and sent the groom back to his waiting place near the gate with a small wave of his hand.

  “May I assist you to remount?” he offered gallantly.

  “No, thank you. The groom is well able.”

  “Yes, but I am here. Do you know, Miss Postlethwaite, many gentlemen would take an affront at their chivalry being refused thus.”

  “Fustian! You are not so puddin’-’earted!” She smiled impishly as she waved to the groom and placed a boot in the stirrup.

  “No, indeed!”

  “And we need not pretend you are making advances to me, so you may save your tender emotions for your chères amies!”

  He could not repress a bark of laughter. “Just so!”

  The park was beginning to fill with gentlemen out for their morning rides, so Dev took it upon himself to boost Miss Postlethwaite into the saddle, regardless of her preference for the groom.

  A satisfying “Oh!” escaped her lips, and he mounted his own gelding with the intent of escorting her back to Sutherland House.

  “You insufferable, odious man!”

  “So I have been told.”

  “Do you always ignore others’ wishes?”

  “Not always.”

  Nevertheless, she had fallen in line beside him, and as they crossed Piccadilly, she began to survey her surroundings.

  “Where are we going, my lord? I am almost certain this is not the way to Sutherland House.”

  Dev wanted to remove Miss Postlethwaite from the prying eyes of the ton and was not yet ready to end his tête-à-tête with her. It had, however, slipped his mind that there were milking cows in the neighbouring park, and her interest was fixed there before he could draw her attention away.

  “Well, I will be sparrow-blasted!” she exclaimed. “Who would have thought to see such a thing in the middle of a fashionable park!”

  “People must have their milk, even in the city,” he said imperturbably.

  “Yes, of course, yet it seems such a strange thing to come upon! Oh, look! It is my friend from Gunter’s!”

  Dev frowned, trying to quickly recall of whom she might be speaking. Could it be Campbell?

  Miss Postlethwaite had dismounted, without a thought for his accompanying her, and was leading her chestnut towards a little boy who was watching the milk cows with great interest.

  “Good morning to you!” she said. The little boy turned and greeted his new friend with the enthusiasm any boy in short coats might at the sight of such a fine horse. His attention was at once diverted from the cows to the horse.

  “Ooh, may I ride her? Do say yes, I am a capital rider. Papa says so!” he begged, much to the dismay of his nurse.

  “That big ’orse, Master Thomas? Certainly not! If you was to fall, I should lose my place!”

  “Oh, do allow him to,” pleaded Miss Postlethwaite. “She is a very gentle mare.”

  Clearly the maid was unaccustomed to country manners and a boy’s thirst for adventure, Dev observed, watching the whole scene with amusement.

  He could almost see the farce unfold before it happened. The boy was placed atop the horse and Miss Pos
tlethwaite began to lead him around, to squeals of delight. Alerted by the sounds, one of the cows ambled towards them and mooed dolefully. The mare stopped, ears pricked forward and every muscle taut. She snorted loudly, and several of the cows ambled closer to get a better look at this odd beast. Young Thomas screamed; the cows bellowed, and the horse took fright. She began to stamp and sidle about. Miss Postlethwaite spoke soothingly and remained in control . . . until one of the cows decided to charge. The mare reared, then set off at a spanking pace across the park. Miss Postlethwaite made a valiant attempt to keep hold of the reins, but being hampered by skirts, she had little chance. Even as Dev urged Sampson forward to rescue Miss Postlethwaite, she lost her footing, fell and was dragged. The boy screamed, the mare quickened stride, and with a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach, Dev drove Sampson faster.

  The slight frame of the girl pitched and rolled, lurching from one bruising thud to the next. Dev winced and yelled to her to release the reins. Fool woman, she could be trampled! Anger combined with a fear foreign to his stony heart clutched at him, and a cold sweat prickled his brow. Drawing near at last, he was thankful when she had the sense to follow his instruction. The mare checked; urging Sampson up on her other side, Dev plucked the boy from the back of the chestnut in a deft manoeuvre. Having settled Thomas in front of him, Dev circled Sampson around and rode back to discover whether the lady had come to any serious harm. She had been helped her to her feet by a growing crowd of spectators from all walks of life and was herself trying to comfort the nurse, who had gone into hysterics. The relief Dev felt was overwhelming. At one and the same time he wanted to strangle her and yet embrace her.

  Dev restored the boy to the nurse and made quick work of dispensing the crowd—milkmaids, Cyprians, artists, loiterers, and a pie seller―back to its own business by the simple expedient of threatening to call the constable. Then he walked Sampson over to where Miss Postlethwaite stood, covered in grass stains and mud, a quizzical expression on her face.

  “That did not go quite as planned!” she remarked.

  Dev bit back the thundering scold that was on the tip of his tongue, and instead began to laugh. She joined him, and the best he could do was shake his head.

  “Come, let us find your chestnut.”

  The mare, who happened to be munching on lush grass a short distance away, behaved as though nothing had occurred to upset her. Dev once more assisted Miss Postlethwaite into the saddle.

  “Allow me to escort you to Sutherland House. I think that is enough excitement for one day!”

  “Oh no, my lord, tonight is my début at Almack’s!”

  ***

  Rua would love to be able to capture the image on Lord Deverell’s face. It made the whole sordid adventure worthwhile. He had been remarkably stoic throughout. She could only imagine what a picture she must present at the moment and prayed she could sneak into the house, her adventure undiscovered. Having been gone far longer than she had planned, she hoped fortune would smile on her a little longer. Knowing she could have been seriously hurt that morning, she decided no wager was worth repeating such folly.

  The groom took the horse, and Rua hoped Lord Deverell would be so kind as to leave. No such luck was to be had; he insisted on accompanying her to the entrance.

  The butler opened the door and did not so much as blink at her appearance.

  “My lord, Miss Postlethwaite. You have visitors in the drawing room.”

  At this hour? She had not even breakfasted. “Of course. I will go and make myself presentable. Thank you for your assistance this morning, Lord Deverell.”

  “Deverell? What’s this?” a loud voice demanded from the upper hall. Rua looked up to see an old lady with whom she was totally unfamiliar.

  “Your Grace.” Lord Deverell bowed to the woman. “May I present to you your granddaughter, Miss Postlethwaite?”

  “Come up here, girl, and let me get a better look at you.”

  “I will take my leave of you now, Miss Postlethwaite.”

  She shot him a look of betrayal, not stopping to wonder why she would feel so. As he left, she felt oddly alone in the world. Hesitantly, she climbed the stairs to greet her grandmother. Part of her was curious, and the other part was filled with reluctance.

  “What happened to you?” The old lady made no bones about her critical survey of what Rua could only suppose resembled a disaster. “I trust this is not your normal appearance?”

  “I fell from my horse, your Grace,” Rua pronounced with a deep curtsy, showing as much dignity as she was able. “Will you allow me a few minutes to rectify my toilet?”

  “It is of no consequence now. You look just like her, you know,” the old lady said, taking a seat on the white brocade sofa in the saloon, “except for the red hair.”

  “It is an unfortunate occurrence,” Rua agreed. She remained standing, not wishing to soil Lady Sutherland’s immaculate upholstery and not certain she was ready to welcome this woman to her bosom. Quietly she waited to see what her grandmother wanted.

  An awkward silence fell. Rua was determined not to grovel. She was quite content to wait until the lady said what she wished or had had her inspection.

  “You are as stubborn as your mother, I can see.”

  “A family trait, then,” Rua noted dryly.

  The lady, in whom Rua could see a notable resemblance to her mother, glared.

  “Humph! I came to see if you might wish to stay with me at Argyll House for the rest of the Season. I am not as spry as I used to be, but I believe I could chaperone you on occasion.”

  “I am quite content here with Lady Sutherland, your Grace. Do not feel obligated to me.”

  “I am to pay for the slight to your father, am I?”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, I would call it more than a slight.”

  “When you grow older, you will realize how much folly you committed when you were young. I regret what happened and that I never had the opportunity to apologize nor say my farewells.”

  “My mother held no grudge,” Rua said, softening, though she could not understand why she was comforting the old lady.

  “No, she would not have done. She was far better than all of us,” the Duchess said, looking distant, as if she viewed another world.

  Suddenly, the stern matron did not look so formidable; instead, she looked miserable. Rua tried to swallow her pride, for she knew her parents would wish her to mend this breach.

  “You are as much a stranger to me as Lady Sutherland,” Rua explained.

  “Will you spend some time with me while you are here? Perhaps I can see you suitably situated. I think your mother would wish it of me.”

  “I have no notion, but I would like to know you better.”

  The lady gave a slight smile. “I heard you have vouchers for Almack’s. Your uncle would like to escort you there. There has been some rumour of hoydenish behaviour, I gather, but that will set it all to rights, I assure you.”

  “How kind of him.”

  The Duchess eyed her with suspicion, as though suspecting her of an impertinence, and then smiled.

  “I suppose you have something suitable to wear?”

  “Yes, your Grace. Lady Sutherland has been most kind in that regard.”

  The Duchess opened her reticule, took out a handsome velvet pouch and handed it to Rua. “These were your mother’s. I think she would have liked you to have them.”

  Opening the pouch, she pulled out a string of pearls. They would go beautifully with her cream evening gown and the earrings. “Thank you,” she was barely able to mutter as she fought to hold back tears.

  The grand lady nodded, as though she were uncomfortable with praise. “Now, about Lord Deverell . . .”

  “Do not fear. You have no cause for concern in that regard!” Rua held up a hand.

  “Well, if you should manage to hook him, I could not say as I would be disappointed,” she finished, eyes twinkling, before standing to leave.

  “I am
afraid you will be disappointed, then. He has no thoughts of marriage, I assure you!”

  “Humph!” She appeared unconvinced, but refrained from further comment on Lord Deverell. “You will come to me tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Rua remained standing with her face turned away, her eyes on the prospect outside as she fingered her mother’s pearls for some time after her grandmother had left and wondered what it might mean for her future. She laughed aloud at the thought of Lord Deverell offering marriage to her.

  “Nothing could be more unlikely, Grandmother,” she muttered into the silence.

  She realized then she was coming to like the man and was going to be sad when the approaching night, and the wager, was over. For even though she had been the object of that distasteful game, she could not bring herself to despise him for it.

  Chapter Six

  Dev and Tindal arrived at the hallowed Assembly Rooms at a quarter before eleven, the latter determined to pay his debt and be done with the matter as soon as possible. It was like the town sinner being forced into the sacred walls of a church, Dev mused, as he noticed the shock cross the faces of the matchmaking mamas in the crowd. The two of them were excellent catches, but their reputations were such those mamas warned their innocent daughters away. In truth, some of the reputation had been earned, but Dev wished he might have enjoyed half the fun he was credited with. Trying not to scowl, he scanned the crowd of near-infant girls decked out to look like fluffy clouds. Whyever did they think this fashion was attractive to men?

  “I cannot do it, my friend,” Tindal said, beginning to back towards the door.

  Dev grabbed his arm and held him still. A dance ended, and a hush fell over the crowd as they noticed the intruders standing by the steps.

  Sutherland made his way over to greet them. “Chicken-hearted?”

  “Chicken everything,” Tindal replied.

  “Well, you had better come and greet my aunt Emily. She sent me over here to fetch you.”