by Dorothy Mack
His Grace of Carlyle eyed the animated visage of his daughter’s friend with masculine approval tinged with amusement. “I am relieved to discover that you can find something to admire in the equine species, after all, my dear Lucy, even though I apprehend the vital quality to be extreme smallness of stature.”
Aware of being teased, Lucy pouted charmingly. “I protest, sir. You do me a disservice in equating my poor equestrian performance with a dislike of horses. In general, I find them to be amiable and useful beasts with, however, a disconcerting quirk in their otherwise equable natures that is reflected in a universal and wantonly malicious desire to rid themselves of my presence on their backs. I do not know why this should be so, for I vow I have fed them more sugar over the years than any three of you here combined.”
“Not above stooping to bribery, eh?” inquired the duke over the good-natured laughter that greeted Lucy’s plaint.
“Anything that would serve, sir,” she admitted ruefully before addressing her brother. “John, you really must plan to see the foal soon while he is still such a delightful baby.”
“There will be plenty of time to ride over to the manor when Lady Gemma can get her boot on again,” he replied with a smile.
“Since it is my fault you were unable to see the foal today, Mr. Delevan, let me atone by driving you there tomorrow,” offered Gemma, adding mischievously, “if you are now prepared to acknowledge publicly that I am a competent whip.”
“Bribery from one, extortion from another,” mused the duke aloud. “Typical female practices.”
Despite the provocative nature of this remark, it was clear to all that the duke was in an uncommonly amiable temper, but John chose to take him at his word. “Lady Gemma knows she had no need to extort compliments on her driving skill, sir. I never had a moment’s doubt that I was in the charge of a very capable whip today, and I’ll prove it by accepting her kind offer to drive me to see the foal tomorrow.”
“Or you might prefer to ride over to the manor with the rest of us and let Gemma rest her poor ankle for another day,” suggested Coralee, flicking long lashes at John.
“You seem to forget that I was out driving today, cousin.”
“Oh, so you were. I trust you haven’t stretched my sandal all out of shape.”
John made good use of the breathing space afforded by the cool exchange between the cousins to have his answer ready when both glanced expectantly in his direction.
“If Lady Gemma’s ankle has suffered no ill effects from today’s outing, I flatter myself that, in accepting her kind offer to drive me to the manor, I shall be ensuring that for tomorrow at least she will spend her time restfully in a carriage and not on a horse.”
“How very smug and virtuous you look, Mr. Delevan,” said Lady Gemma, widening her eyes at him across the table.
The gentleman smiled but returned no answer, content to discern the presence of a tell-tale dimple in each cheek despite an otherwise creditable effort to maintain an expressionless mien.
Young Gresham was absent after dinner, having taken himself off on some private revels with friends. When the duke requested a few hands of whist on entering the room where the ladies were gathered, John took instant advantage of the fact that his sister was playing on the pianoforte to challenge Lady Gemma to a game of cribbage. Far from finding her the deplorable cardplayer described by her father, he had to exert himself to keep even in the games that followed. Success in cribbage might be largely dependent on the quality of the cards dealt, but after two hours of hotly contested play, John concluded that his worthy opponent, in addition to being slightly more favoured with good cards, had an uncanny knack for knowing when not to pair up his seemingly innocent offerings, a knack that stood her in good stead in the pegging.
By the time the tea tray arrived, he reckoned himself the most contented loser in creation, for he had been granted an uninterrupted interval with the most enchanting girl in the world. He found her sweetness, joie de vivre, and essential simplicity of nature endlessly entrancing.
Lucy had drifted over in the last half-hour to sit on the arm of her brother’s chair and watch the proceedings, but hers was never an intrusive presence.
When the time came for the ladies to retire after a spirited replaying of the whist game over the teacups, John had to guard his expression from revealing too much when he bade Gemma goodnight. This quiet day spent in homely pursuits had been the most enjoyable of his stay so far by virtue of her companionship, but he could not afford to lose sight of her avowed devotion to George Godwin. He no longer questioned that he had gained her friendship and goodwill, but none of that signified a corresponding lessening of her accustomed feeling for her childhood friend. He would not have chosen to become embroiled in a quest where success was measured in inches, but he accepted that the human heart rarely had the power of choice when it came to the direction of its affections; it was more often the victim of Cupid’s errant darts than the seeker after love. Each small advance in her favour meant a rededication to patience. He sighed silently as his glance followed the retreating back of his unconscious little love, her arm linked with Lucy’s as they ascended the staircase behind the other ladies.
As the girls parted outside Lucy’s door, she made reference to the planned excursion to the manor the next day, again reiterating her delight in the appeal of the baby horse.
“I have never known you to be so captivated by an animal before, Lucy,” said Gemma. “It must be that I think of you as essentially a city-bred person, and animals are so much less prevalent in a town as a part of daily life.”
“Well, I admit that ordinarily I might have admired the foal and passed on had it not been evident that your cousin and Captain Godwin were conducting a quarrel at the time just a few feet away. One would not wish to appear to notice or be curious, of course, so Mr. Godwin and I lingered by the foal some minutes longer and found the little darling eager to be petted and talked to.”
Gemma smiled in sympathy with her friend’s enthusiasm but went to her bed pondering over what Coralee and George could have fallen out about. She considered Coralee inconsiderate and hard to get on with, but men seemed to find her universally charming. She acknowledged a rather mean hope that her cousin might take such lasting umbrage with George that he would wake up to her true nature, and fell promptly asleep.
The sky the next morning looked too lowering to chance a drive in an open vehicle. Gemma and John decided to postpone their proposed outing until after lunch to give the weather time to settle.
The ladies gathered in the duchess’s cheerful sitting room about midmorning to assist her with some of the more practical sewing and mending. They worked together in a relaxed atmosphere punctuated by sporadic bursts of inconsequential chatter from the girls or improving discourses on various aspects of housekeeping provided by Lady Sophronia for the edification of the young. She had just imparted an instructive aside on the efficacy of boiling two or three snails in the barley water of a sufferer from night cough when the duchess noted her daughter’s eye fixed on herself in an assessing fashion.
“What’s amiss, dearest? You are staring so intently at me. Is my cap askew?”
“Nothing’s amiss, Mama. To the contrary, I was just thinking how blooming you look today. Having company must agree with you. I could almost swear you have put on some flesh lately.”
“I agree with Gemma that you are looking a deal stronger than when I first arrived, ma’am. It is most becoming,” said Lucy with a smile.
A trifle conscious but pleased by their observations, the duchess agreed, “I believe I am feeling more robust lately. One of these days I shall astonish you all by coming down to breakfast.”
“Did I not tell you how it would be, Emilia, if you faithfully took that new tonic I had made up for you?” Lady Sophronia complacently assumed the credit for the improvement in her hostess’s health. “If there is one thing I pride myself on, it is my knowledge of the healing properties of plants. Nature
provides a cure for every disease if mankind has but the wit to seek out her secrets. I have made a lifetime study of this fascinating branch of knowledge.”
“Yes, I know you have,” concurred the duchess, smiling serenely at her masterful sister-in-law. “It is most commendable and very useful.” Having gratified her guest and being much too kind to reveal that she had never taken the tonic in question, she held up a shirt with a torn sleeve and addressed her daughter. “Peter asked me to mend this for him, but do you think this sleeve is long enough? There isn’t much point in mending it if he will only pull it out again because it is too short.”
“I’ll find him, Mama, and see if it fits.” Gemma seized the shirt as a heaven-sent opportunity to avoid listening to any more tidbits from her aunt’s inexhaustible supply of recommendations for conducting every aspect of life. As she headed for the door before anyone could dissuade her, she made an impudent little face at Lucy, who dropped her eyes swiftly to her own stitching and concealed a smile.
Gemma ran her brother to earth in the billiards room, where he and Mr. Delevan were involved in a serious contest. The latter looked up with a welcoming smile at her entrance, but Peter’s concentration was too single-minded to admit of interruption. She stood quietly enjoying the match until her brother muffed a shot and threw down his cue in disgust.
“That’s five straight games you’ve beaten me.” He rolled his shoulders to ease their tension, grumbling, “All I’ve got out of this morning’s exercise is a stiff back.”
“You were much more competitive that last game,” John said.
Peter grinned. “That’s what all the sharpers say to their pigeons,” he replied good-humouredly. His eye fell on his sister. “Perhaps Gemma can give you some of what you’ve been handing out to me all morning.”
“I just came to show you this shirt, Peter,” she inserted hastily. “Mama isn’t going to mend it if it doesn’t fit you properly.”
“That’s one of my favourite shirts. Of course it fits me. Here.” He relieved her of the shirt and thrust his cue stick into her hands. “You take over here and I’ll bring this back to Mama.”
As Gemma stood looking undecided, John gently urged, “If you have nothing more important to do at the moment, I’d enjoy another game.”
A vision of Lady Sophronia prosing on to her captive audience flitted before her mental vision and weighted the scales in favour of pleasure before duty. Gemma capitulated without further struggle.
The match that ensued was close fought by two players of nearly equal ability, but in the end Gemma was forced to concede her opponent’s superiority.
“Why is it that I can never seem to beat you?” she sighed. “I beat Papa about one game in three and George more than half the time. George and Papa both beat you occasionally, I collect, so why cannot I? It isn’t logical.”
“We have played very few matches thus far, a situation I am most willing to correct. Behold me eternally at your service.”
Gemma grinned up into his smiling eyes. “Aha! Do I detect a Captain Sharp as my brother warned?”
“Do you really wish to beat me so badly?”
This time Gemma could not sustain the intimate light in bright-blue eyes that seemed always to drag her into a dangerous alliance before she knew what she was about. Her eyes fell. “No, not really,” she confessed, then rallied. “And do not be thinking I wish you to throw a game to me out of misguided chivalry either. I should hate that,” she replied fiercely. “And I should know if you were to do it too.”
“Heaven forbid.” He raised his right hand solemnly. “I have to look to my laurels in one area at least. Remember you beat me at cribbage last night.”
“Oh, cribbage, a child’s game!”
“Ah, here you are, Gemma.”
“George, good morning!” Gemma beamed at the smiling man in the doorway.
“Just barely morning. While you two gladiators have been contending, lunchtime has arrived. The duchess has invited me to join you.”
“Splendid. Is Malcolm with you?”
“Not today. Have I interrupted your game?” This was addressed to Mr. Delevan, who had acknowledged the captain’s nod with his pleasant smile before knocking a stray ball across the table.
“No, we had just finished.”
“Did you win?”
This to Lady Gemma, who wrinkled her pert nose at him and flung a challenging smile at Mr. Delevan before replying, “No, that pleasure is still in the future.”
“Speaking of future pleasures, I’ve come to drive you to Little Menda this afternoon. The Biddlesford girls sent a request by way of Malcolm that you all come to tea today. I’ve just received my new sporting curricle from the carriage maker, and you must have the honour of being the first to ride in it.”
“Oh, George, I should have enjoyed that immensely, but Mr. Delevan and I have already made plans to drive over to the manor to see the new foal this afternoon.”
“That’s no problem. You may easily put off visiting the foal for another day. Delevan won’t mind a postponement, will you, old chap?” The captain smiled affably at the man standing by the billiards table.
Gemma glanced uncertainly at John. No trace of displeasure marred his pleasant countenance as he said with quiet deliberation, “I am willing to defer to Lady Gemma’s wishes in this as in most matters.”
“That’s settled, then,” declared the captain, turning his charming smile on his old friend, who was still looking at Mr. Delevan. “The others may ride over to Little Menda with Mal, and I shall drive you and your ankle in style.”
“Wait, George. Mr. Delevan has kindly deferred to my wishes, but it must always be my wish to honour previous commitments. I would not be thought a flighty piece whose promises mean nothing.”
“Don’t be a little idiot, Gemma. Why should Delevan think any such thing? It is a matter of very little moment, after all.”
“So it is,” she replied cheerfully. “Thank you for asking me to be the first to ride in your new curricle, George. Another time I should love to try it out.”
“You won’t change your mind, then?”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, George.”
“Then there is nothing more to be said.” The captain bowed stiffly and stalked out of the room.
John, who had been idly knocking balls around the table during this last exchange, was standing, cue stick in hand, to receive her glance when it returned from the doorway through which her George had stormed. He could not be positive, but thought he detected a hint of apology in the deep-brown eyes. “I fear Captain Godwin was a trifle miffed,” he ventured.
She sighed. “Sometimes George behaves like a spoilt child.”
Sternly repressing an urge to stoke the fires of discontent, John refrained from adding so much as a coal, saying with cheery solicitude, “Well, I am persuaded it will all blow over very quickly. As the captain said, it is a matter of little import.”
This earned him a grateful smile and a glimpse of her famous dimples. “Yes, George is not one to cherish a grudge. Shall we head for the breakfast parlour? I believe it is nearly time for lunch.”
John’s subsequent observations at lunch did not bear out Gemma’s assertions concerning her old friend’s disinclination toward grudge-bearing. From where he sat, Captain Godwin’s behaviour looked to be a prime example of the childish tactic known as “getting even.” Not once did he voluntarily address a remark to the girl he had just invited to drive with him, and when called on to respond to some conversational offerings of hers, he did so in the briefest terms possible short of outright rudeness. Any lingering doubts Lady Gemma might have as to whether or not her recent refusal had put him in a state of high dudgeon were set to rest by his pointed attentions to the other two young ladies present. Lucy accepted her share of the captain’s charming overtures with her customary composure and no discernible desire to secure more of his attentions to herself. Coralee, on the other hand, had been noticeably cool to the captain
initially, but she was never proof against subtle flattery, and by the end of the meal she had agreed to drive out with him to call on the Biddlesford girls that afternoon. Lucy had earlier declined to make one of the party, explaining sweetly that, knowing Gemma and her brother planned to go to the manor, she had promised herself a few hours of painting.
Peering across the table, John was relieved to see Gemma calmly eating her usual hearty meal with an enjoyment apparently unimpaired by any regrets that her action in the billiards room had resulted in throwing her cousin and Godwin together. It had been manifest from his covert observation of his love during the meal that her attention had been largely concentrated on Godwin. She had appeared to be studying him and listening carefully to his conversation. John hoped he wasn’t just grasping at straws to postulate that, for the first time since he had known her, Gemma was bringing her intellect to bear on her judgment of the man she had long been in the habit of loving. Certainly she seemed unusually thoughtful — but not, he trusted, unhappily so.
The gravity of her manner at lunch disappeared entirely on their expedition to the manor to see the foal. She was relaxed and happy in his company, that much was clear, and her laughter bubbled over on numerous occasions. John’s conceit of himself was not of such a high order that he dared describe Gemma as completely contented with only his society, but he went to bed that night more hopeful than at any time during his visit that the girlish infatuation with her romantic soldier was running its course, helped along by the revealing light of reality.
That waltzing ball was now only a few days off. Before going to sleep, John allowed himself a few moments to savour the heady prospect of having Gemma in his arms. There would be some way to get her all to himself during the evening; he’d manage to evade the chaperones if only for five minutes. A lot could happen in five minutes.