* * *
A man of importance did not care to be shuttled off to the sidelines like some excess baggage. Jack bristled at the way he was disregarded by the ladies who organized the seating as if they were planning a military campaign. While the gamblers played whist, he circulated so that he could discretely monitor the banter at Maddie’s table. He was relieved to find her engrossed in a deep discussion of millinery with her partner, an elegant woman with a ridiculous, feather-bedecked turban perched on her head like a silken swan. Satisfied that she was safe enough, Jack joined the men in the dining room, where a scale model of the coast of Spain was outlined in nutshells and orange peels.
No hostess would allow half of her guests to disappear and Lady Gravier was quick to curtail the gentlemen’s conclave. Jack drifted back to the drawing room, but Maddie was not to be seen. Julian, however, was still at the table, wearing his coat inside out and spluttering about some estate that was wagered purely in sport.
The turban-wearing lady approached him, carrying Maddie’s shawl. “How delightful for me, Lord Bransmore,” she said. He must have met her somewhere over the course of his long life, but he could not recall her name. “Your daughter and I are off to explore Lady Gravier’s gardens. We are horticulturalists at heart, Miss Ashford and I. So rare for me to find someone of like mind, with an interest in scholarly pursuits.”
A shadow stirred behind Julian; the dragoon who had been leaning against the wall stepped forward. In the light of the candles, Jack recognized the face of Lord Sunderland, an upstart pup barely out of small clothes. The Admiral would have cut the young gentleman if not for the presence of so many people. They bowed politely; like fighting cocks they circled as Sunderland exited and Jack sought out the proximity of his host.
“Whatever do they find so amusing?” he asked Lord Gravier as another peel of laughter burst from the group gathered around Julian.
“What I would describe as the funniest scene I have witnessed in many a year,” Gravier said. “That girl is a true Ashford, Bransmore, wickedly clever. Reminds me a bit of your late mother, that sly wit of hers. Although your daughter seems to possess a certain charm. French blood, I suppose.”
“Miss Ashford is splendid, my lord,” Caroline Thompson said. The granddaughter of Lord Gravier touched Jack’s arm as she raised up on her toes to reach his ear. In a whisper, she said, “Julian bet his Oxfordshire estate and lost. Miss Ashford is pretending to be in earnest, that she must take immediate possession. Lady Ridgeley and myself are in love with her. We shall be great friends forever, I am sure.”
“I am very happy to hear that,” Jack said. He liked the sound of it. Friends. Forever.
“She will not accept the deed, of course,” Caroline said. “But Julian has learned his lesson. He means to abandon gambling, but we all agree that he must be made to stew for at least another day.”
For all of Lady Gravier’s attempts at frivolity, the men in attendance knew why they were in London at the end of August, and attempts to introduce trivial topics failed under the pressure of war, with a naval battle looming. Jack managed to lose himself in conversation with Sir Peter Parker, rehashing past glories at sea, until the late hour weighed on his thoughts.
He wanted to go home, but given Maddie’s earlier success, he hated to pull her away from a gathering that could have important implications for future accomplishment in her debut season. Where she had gone became a source of concern after he had reconnoitered several rooms. She was not playing cards, was not at the pianoforte with the young ladies who were putting their musical talents on display for the young gentlemen gathered. Neither was she in the company of Lady Ridgeley, who engaged in a heated tete-a-tete with Sunderland before taking her leave.
“Managed to insult her, no doubt,” Jack mumbled to himself. He asked a footman to direct him to the garden, but the grounds were abandoned to the servants who were busy extinguishing torches along the main path.
Certain that she was steps ahead of him, making the same circuit, Jack returned to the dining room that was in the process of being cleaned by the staff. In the drawing room, several ladies were drinking tea but Maddie was not one of them. A sense of panic settled in the pit of his stomach as he made a count of the young men, but he had no idea how many were invited so he could not judge if one were missing. Wandering with greater purpose, he went through a door, across a darkened room, and noticed a sliver of light emanating from the partially closed door of the next room.
“My wife does not approve of Miss Wollstonecraft’s philosophy.” Though muffled, it was Gravier’s voice. “Yet I do not find the modern woman to be as freakish as some would have her. All hail liberty, I say, when a liberalized fashion yields such enticements for a man’s eye.”
“I make no pretensions, I hope,” Maddie replied. “Freakish if I must so be labeled, but I do not decry my education or the independence it may afford me.”
“You verify the arguments made long ago by Lord Sunderland’s father. As you say, your American sisters seek to marry a plantation while a British girl seeks a peer. Both are advantageous marriages. A question of semantics, to an extent. The late Lord Sunderland was a vocal proponent of extending honorifics and peerages to the colonists who earned them, in the same way that native British gentlemen were often rewarded.”
“Yet I cannot believe that Mr. Washington or Mr. Jefferson would have altered their views for the sake of a title.”
From the edge of the doorframe, Jack could see only Gravier, who was bent over a chess board, his gnarled fingers resting on a bishop. “Because you are young and innocent of the mind of the ambitious,” Gravier said. He removed his hand without making a move. Jack rapped at the door. “Lord Bransmore, you come too late. Miss Ashford has conquered me utterly.”
The typical social gathering was a necessary unpleasantness that Jack tolerated for the sake of his career. He felt a lump form in his throat as he realized that Maddie understood the game that men played, that she had been sweet and charming and agreeable and had elevated her stepfather in the eyes of an important gentleman. An appointment to the Admiralty Board was not out of reach if he sent her off into the drawing rooms of London society with such a mission.
Vague stirrings of ambition, once damped down as he aged, were awakened as he listened to Maddie recount the events of the evening as the carriage rolled along the quiet streets on the outskirts of London. A torrent of words spilled from her mouth, her emotion running from elation to disgust to exuberance. It was all so wonderful, so dreadful, so grand. An impetuous young man had asked for her hand, and before Maddie could take insult, Lady Ridgeley slapped him and sent him away. She laughed, hugged his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. Jack had never seen anyone so happy. A deep foreboding clutched his heart and kept him from sleeping that night.
The Second War of Rebellion Page 23