The girls moved from reticules to gloves to trimmings for hats, entranced by both wares and prices, and the footman who followed dutifully behind them became steadily more laden with parcels. A particularly charming shop man helped them find the perfect gift for Elvira’s younger brother, and the girls sighed together as they left his table—as did the footman, but for quite the opposite cause.
“Do you not find London delightful, Lenora? I declare if I have not seen more handsome gentlemen in one day here than in my entire lifetime at home,” observed Elvira.
Lenora, put in recollection of the dashing Mr. Ginsham, regaled her friend with the story of his gallantry. “But he has not yet paid a call,” she said wistfully. “I suppose he offered only to be civil.”
“Do not say so! It has only been a sennight, which is nothing to a man!” Elvira pressed her arm. “And even if he does not call, I daresay you will not miss him once you come out, for then all the amiable gentlemen you meet at your party will call.”
Lenora’s irrepressible smile dawned. “I do hope so, my dear, for you are right—there are ever so many fine gentlemen about. But some of them ogle one so!” She lowered her voice. “I fancy one would have no trouble discovering an evil Duke among them.”
Elvira covered her mouth with a gloved hand, glancing surreptitiously at the few men in their vicinity. “Oh, Lenora! It is too true! And among so many gentlemen, there is sure to be a hero as well. I only wish I knew how to recognize him.”
Lenora gripped her friend’s arm, at once recalling another occurrence she had neglected to share. “Oh, Elvira, I have met a paragon!”
“Mr. Ginsham?”
Relegating the unfortunate Mr. Ginsham to the ranks of the merely gallant, Lenora proceeded to tell the tale of Sir Joshua’s heroism in rescuing her mother from the runaway carriage. Elvira’s mouth formed an O as she listened, her eyes widening nearly as much, and she gripped the nearest table, swaying as if she may swoon at any moment. “It is just like Valancourt in Udolpho!” she breathed. “But how comes it that you have had all this good luck, Lenora? And how inexcusable, to keep such a tale to yourself!”
“London has put my head in a whirl, as well you know! Perhaps it is a more romantic place than we had imagined.”
“Oh, Lenora,” cried Elvira, grasping her arm, “tell me at once, does Sir Joshua have a stammer?”
Her friend giggled. “No, he speaks very well, if a trifle stiffly.”
“But surely, he has a limp?” asked Elvira, gamely pursuing.
“He has not even a squint, my dear.” At Elvira’s look of disappointment, she said, “But I fancy he must have a tragic past, for he is very grave and serious.”
“Grave and serious? Surely you mean broodingly sensitive.” The prompt negative checked Elvira’s enthusiasm for some moments. At last she shook her head. “I cannot discover how gravity could be romantic, Lenora. I fear we must pass over your Sir Joshua.”
“But, Elvira,” cried Lenora, whose loyalty was offended, “what rule is there that says gravity cannot hide a tormented soul, that privately pines for love?”
Elvira instantly embraced this enlivening notion. “His past injuries have steeled him against the pitfalls of sensitivity, and he hides behind walls of gravity!”
“But his chivalrous instincts cannot be hid, and will prove the re-making of his happiness, for how can any heart stand against the gratitude of another?”
“Oh, Lenora,” Elvira gazed imperatively at her. “You must only tell me that he stands on the brink of poverty, and I shall be satisfied.”
Lenora blinked at her, brought suddenly back to reality. “Dearest Elvira, I cannot. I believe he is rather rich.”
Elvira’s mouth drooped in disappointment, and it was some moments before she could rally herself. “Perhaps he has only recently inherited, Lenora. Perhaps in his tragic past he was poor.”
“That would certainly redeem him,” agreed Lenora, but she now felt it incumbent upon her, in recognizing the folly of leading her friend on in such a way, to disabuse her friend’s mind on another point, and began to add, “But Elvira—”
Elvira, however, did not attend, rushing on impetuously. “If he is Lady Cammerby’s brother, then you will see him often, and he will fall passionately in love with you, but will never show it, because of the disappointments of his past. His heart will not bear it!”
“I have no doubt you would be right, Elvira, but—”
“Oh, Lenora, it needs only an evil Duke to make the story perfect!” insisted her friend, turning excitedly toward her.
“Elvira,” cried Lenora, grasping her friend’s wrists. “I must tell you that Sir Joshua is rather old.”
“Old? But—how old?”
“Of an age with my mother, at least.”
“Oh.” Her friend wilted a bit. “It is a pity, but older men can still be romantic, can they not?”
“Certainly, but recollect, advanced age is more often a characteristic of the villain.”
Elvira grabbed her hand. “Do you think he could be a villain in disguise, and his rescue was merely a ruse to gain your trust?”
Lenora’s eyes widened. “His reserve could certainly hide evil intentions. Oh! What danger may be lurking in the future? We will be thrown together often, as you said. I must be on my guard!”
Elvira met her friend’s wide gaze, and they stared horrified at one another for a pregnant moment, then they burst into giggles, and went on to make their purchases, which they were obliged to hold themselves, as the footman’s arms had overflowed—giving them to feel exceedingly satisfied by the success of the expedition.
When the young ladies came out of the bazaar, they perceived Lady Cammerby’s barouche drawn up down the street, and in making their way down the crowded flagway toward it, Lenora was jostled by a passerby, and a parcel was knocked from her arms. With a cry of dismay, she attempted to shift the rest of the parcels so that she could bend to pick the one up, but a gentleman close by, recognizing her plight, retrieved it for her.
“Allow me, ma’am,” he said, holding it out, but as Lenora tipped her face up to meet his gaze, his eyes narrowed, and he stared at her with an intensity bordering on incivility.
Unaccustomed to garnering attention from members of the male sex in general, and especially when her pretty golden-haired friend was nearby, Lenora blushed and took the parcel with downcast eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she said, peeping up at him through her lashes. He was an older man, but well-preserved, with good shoulders, a handsome, if lined, face, and a decided air of fashion.
Her words broke whatever spell had seized him and, sweeping off his hat, he bowed gracefully over it. “Forgive my rudeness, ma’am, but it is not every day that I meet with such loveliness.”
Lenora’s color deepened and she looked away, but Elvira gasped, “You are impertinent, sir.”
Affording barely a glance at her friend, the gentleman favored Lenora with a charming smile and began to expostulate, but the appearance of Lord Cammerby’s footman, who had been signaling the coachman, checked him mid-sentence. The young ladies surrendered their parcels to be packed into the chaise, then turned back to the stranger, who had schooled his countenance to one of polite indifference and, replacing his hat, bade them a civil farewell, and took himself off.
Elvira craned her neck to watch his progress down the street, and tugged at Lenora’s arm. “What do you think of that?” she whispered urgently.
Lenora bid her hush, allowing the footman to help her into the coach, but as soon as they were settled, their packages filling the forward seat and spilling onto the floor, Elvira nudged her. “Well?”
Lenora looked askance at her friend, still pink with pleasure. “He was an exceedingly fine-looking gentleman.”
“And he could not tear his eyes from your face!” declared Elvira. “I do not know whether to be shocked o
r gratified, for I did say you have beauty, did I not, Lenora? Does this not prove me right?”
Lenora’s eyes danced as she returned, “Indeed, dearest, but he was old enough to be my father.”
Taken out of stride for only a moment, Elvira pointed out, “Did we not just agree that older men can be romantic?”
“Yes, but we also came to the conclusion that, more often, they are villains.”
Elvira put out her hand to grip Lenora’s and turned bodily to face her, her eyes round. “Oh, do you think it can be possible? Is he our evil Duke?”
“With such a rakish air? I should say, undoubtedly. Why, he flirted with a complete stranger in broad daylight!”
“Good heavens!” whispered Elvira, changing color. “What must we do?”
“Elvira! You look as though you did not wish to find our Duke!” When her friend’s answering glance told her this was exactly so, Lenora laughed, putting an arm about her. “There is nothing to fear if, indeed, he is our evil Duke, for we shall surely never set eyes on him again!”
Not quite put at ease by this piece of common sense, Miss Chuddsley required the whole of the ride to her aunt’s house, where she and her numerous parcels were put down, to be persuaded that the romance of the meeting was of far greater moment than the possible danger of it. Lenora, on the other hand, felt only giddy satisfaction, and when the coachman drew up in Hill Street, she snatched one of the bandboxes and tripped up the stairs, leaving the footman to contrive transport of all the remaining parcels into her apartment.
Lenora found her mother in the drawing room, a billow of muslin over her lap and her sewing box much disturbed by her side. The young lady collapsed into a chair, sighing dramatically.
Unmoved, Mrs. Breckinridge continued sewing. “I trust that you do not intend to throw yourself about the room when in polite company, Lenora.”
“Mama! Indeed, I do not. Only Elvira and I have had such a day at the bazaar, and I am quite done in!”
“Is it too much to hope that you recollected my errand?”
“Mama!” she cried again, in an injured tone. “Have you no curiosity?”
“On the contrary, I have a great curiosity to know whether you have procured the ribbon I need for your dress.”
Sighing gustily, Lenora opened the bandbox on her lap, extracting a length of ribbon and handing it over to her mother. “They had not any pale blue, but I am persuaded this will do, Mama.”
Mrs. Breckinridge took the ribbon, inspecting it critically. “Indeed, it will do better. Well done, my dear.” She placed the ribbon in the sewing box and took up her needle again. “Now, what has happened to do you in?”
“The strangest thing!” Lenora started in, sitting up with sudden energy. “I dropped a parcel on our way out of the bazaar, and a gentleman picked it up for me.”
“That is not strange, I hope.”
“No! It was not that, Mama. But when he saw my face, he positively stared in the rudest way. He tried to cover it with a compliment on my beauty, but I know that to be a plumper,” she said with maidenly modesty.
“Lenora, love, far be it from me to administer to your vanity, but you are a very well-looking girl, and, I think, not far from beautiful.” She held up the dress she had been stitching—a white muslin walking dress with a scalloped hem and puffed Marie sleeves. “What do you think?”
Lenora, gratified, so much forgot her fatigue as to spring up, taking the edges of the skirt into her hands and spreading it full before her. “Oh! Mama, it is lovely! You do such fine work! You always have, you know.”
“Not always, my love. I fancy even you would have groaned at my samplers.” But she smiled complacently. “You are merely the happy benefactor of necessity, which has taught me to persevere. Did you find gloves to match it?”
“I did!” Lenora cried, her spirits entirely restored, and the two ladies happily whiled away the rest of the afternoon with plans for toilettes, and in discovering any accessory that may still be wanting.
The next morning, feeling the loss of the country for the first time since coming to town, Mrs. Breckinridge and Lenora betook themselves to the Green Park, intent on fresh air and exercise, independent of shops. As they wended their leisurely way past the lodge and beside the reservoir, they encountered few people, it being early yet, excepting the milkmaids who were to be found tending their little herd. The ladies stayed a while to sample the fresh milk served to them in tin cups, delighting in the merry tinkling of bells as the cows plucked up the tender grass, turning serene bovine eyes upon them as they went on their way.
Following the perimeter of the park, they turned toward Buckingham House then, unwilling to complete the full circuit of the park just yet, struck out across the lawns toward the pond. On the other side of a small hill, they came to a tree, upon the lowest branch of which, nearly two feet off the ground, they found a small boy scrambling to reach another branch well over his head.
“Young man, what do you think you are doing?” Mrs. Breckinridge ran to him, plucking him down from his precarious perch.
The boy squirmed in her hands until she put him down, then he pointed up into the branches of the tree. “My ball!”
Mrs. Breckinridge followed the direction of his pudgy little finger and saw a small ball wedged neatly into the crook of a branch about ten feet off the ground. “It’s too high for you to reach, my young man. Too high for anyone, I daresay! I’m afraid you shall have to give it up.”
“But I need it!” he cried, his face puckering.
Lenora came forward to pat his shoulders comfortingly, while her mother looked about with concerned eyes. “Where is your nurse? Or your mama?”
“Nurse is with baby,” the boy said, pointing to the rise of the hill on the other side of the tree.
“Then we must do what we can not to upset her, for she has enough to occupy her,” said Mrs. Breckinridge, and she turned to consider the tree. The branches were fairly evenly spaced, and she felt sure she could easily climb two or three and reach the ball down. It would be simple and quick, and no one need be the wiser. Casting a look about at the deserted vicinity resolved her, and she leaned down eye-level with the boy. “If you stay just here, like a good boy, I shall retrieve your ball for you.”
He nodded solemnly, and Mrs. Breckinridge approached the tree, setting her foot on the lowest branch. Lenora inhaled sharply. “Take care, Mama!”
“I used to climb the trees in the park at Crandon.” She looked over her shoulder at her daughter, her eyes twinkling. “There is no danger, I assure you, Lenora. The simplest thing in the world.”
She pulled herself up to the second branch, stretching out her fingers toward the ball, but it was still out of reach. Stepping onto the third branch, she heard it creak ominously as she laid her full weight upon it, but the ball was almost within reach, and when she stretched her fingers up, they pressed against it. But the ball would not dislodge. She hopped onto her tiptoes, poking firmly at the ball, and had the satisfaction of feeling it move, but as it rolled free there was a tremendous crack, and the branch gave way, and Mrs. Breckinridge found herself draped by the waist over a high branch, about eight feet from the ground.
Lenora shrieked, “Mama!” her hands flying to cover her mouth, but the little boy went happily to his ball, catching it up in his hands and running off to rejoin his nurse, whose calls, tinged with panic, could now be heard on the other side of the hill. Mrs. Breckinridge twisted herself and, with an effort, came to a seat on the branch, blinking down at her daughter below.
“Oh, dear,” she uttered, a little breathlessly. “What have I done?”
Lenora took an agitated step closer to the tree. “Are you hurt, Mama? Oh, how will you ever get down?”
“Only my pride is hurt, dear love. To think I am bested by a tree!” This attempt to lighten the mood did not seem to impress her daughter, who continued to
gesticulate ineffectually beneath her. Reflecting that it behooved her to find a way down, if only for the well-being of her daughter’s mind, Mrs. Breckinridge looked up and down the trunk of the tree. The branch that had caused her predicament had cracked near the trunk and hung down from a small nub. “Perhaps if I can—” she said, reaching her toe toward the nub.
But Lenora shrieked again, “Mama! Don’t, I beg you! I shall swoon if you fall!”
Mrs. Breckinridge pulled back her foot. “Such solicitude would comfort me immeasurably, my love,” she said firmly, “but it would do neither of us any good. Do not fear, we shall brush through this.” She scrutinized her situation once more, musing, “How we shall, I do not yet know, for I can see no safe route to the ground, apart from risking a broken ankle, and a shocking display of my legs.”
Though she kept her tone matter-of-fact, she was fully cognizant of the impropriety of her situation, and inwardly chastised herself for acting so rashly in such a public place. If anyone were to see her—but someone must see her, for she could not rescue herself, and Lenora was in no way capable of doing so.
Resigned, she looked down at her flustered daughter and said, “I fear I shall need assistance to descend, my love.” But Lenora stood transfixed, eyes wide and face pale. Her mother raised her voice and clearly articulated, “Lenora, my dear, you must go to Lady Cammerby and ask her to send help.”
“I—Oh, I cannot leave you, Mama!”
“But you must, love,” Mrs. Breckinridge patiently pointed out, “for that is the only way you are to rescue me.”
“Oh!” The tragic look on her daughter’s face was replaced by one of wide-eyed wonder, as the realization that she had been granted the opportunity to play a heroine’s part at last penetrated her brain. “Of course, Mama. I shall endeavor—Oh, my! I—I shall return presently, Mama.”
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