“Your fears are entirely unfounded, ma’am,” he said in a low tone, pulling her toward him. “My intention is to protect you from any and all danger.”
“As you are blind to my greatest danger, my lord, you must excuse me if I place absolutely no dependence on your protection.” So saying, she broke from him and turned to flee, only to be met with Sir Joshua Stiles.
“Mrs. Breckinridge! I have found you at last.” He bowed, taking up her hand. “They play another waltz, and you know I will waltz with only one lady here.”
“How pleasant, Sir Joshua,” she said, aware that her cheeks were blazing. “Let us go and find her.”
He chuckled unconvincingly and swept her away from the refreshment table and into the ballroom. Leaning his head slightly down to her, he murmured, “I am at a loss to understand why you should encourage such a man as Lord Montrose.”
“I am at a loss to understand why you should think I encourage him!” she hissed back.
“You stand talking amiably with him for several minutes, allowing him to fan you and give you refreshment. Is this not encouragement?”
“I hardly know whether to be affronted or diverted at your staying to observe me so long, sir! But if this is so, and if you were in the least astute, you would have seen that he stole my fan, that he obliged me to take the glass, and that his part in the conversation only was what you would call amiable.”
His jaw tightened. “Then you should be all the more careful.”
Painfully conscious of the little leap of her heart at his solicitude, she stifled it. “I appreciate your concern, sir, but I know what I am about,” she said.
“I hope you do, for you have Lenora to consider.”
His words felt like a slap, and for some moments all her energies were bent upon retaining some semblance of composure. They stood without speaking on the side of the room while the previous dance finished, and she half expected him to leave her again, but when the orchestra struck up the waltz, he led her onto the floor. His face remained grave throughout the dance, however, and though his claim that he would waltz with only one woman flitted enticingly into her mind, she easily dismissed it as the excuse of the moment, to bring her away from Lord Montrose, and she could not enjoy the second waltz as she had the first.
After the ball, Tom met Mr. Ginsham at Limmer’s, an appointment the latter found strange, as the former was most eager to secure it on that night and at such a late hour. They were met, however, and Ginsham was made even more wary by Tom’s tightly wound mood.
“What’s made you so rusty, Tom?”
“I’m worn out by care,” said Tom grimly. “Too young by half to be looking after my sister like that. What she needs is a husband,” he said, taking his drink in a gulp and signaling for another. “Not only must she dance with half the loose screws in town, she’s so green she lets one of ‘em take her out on the balcony alone! It’s enough to fret me to flinders! I’ll tell you truth, I could use a good turn up after this evening.”
Mr. Ginsham gauged his friend's potations with an experienced eye. “At that speed, I’d say you’re likely to get your wish!”
“Devil a bit, my friend,” said Tom, as he tipped back the second drink without a pause. “But with a sister like mine, none could blame me for going a little up in the world.”
“Well, I would!" answered Ginsham bluntly. "What the deuce makes you drag me out here just to watch you get drunk? Dashed waste of my time!”
Tom disclaimed, and though his protestations seemed fully comprehensible, Ginsham looked indecisive, but as he had been on tenterhooks regarding his future happiness, he relented after a moment. Leaning forward and gripping the edges of the table, he said urgently, “Were you able to speak to your sister about Miss Chuddsley and—and—you know,” he finished impatiently, unable even to speak the traitor’s name.
Tom sat up straight in his chair. “I have, and you, sir, have been going about it all wrong,” he said, punching a finger toward Ginsham’s nose. “That hunch I had was right—well nearly—and what it comes to is this: you ain’t romantic enough.”
“Ain’t romantic enough?” cried Ginsham incredulously. “Well, I ask you, what more can I do? I take her to the theater and the opera and to al fresco picnics and for drives in the park. I bring her flowers and treat her like a queen—”
“No, no, that’s all well enough for everyday love making, and I daresay you do it very creditably,” said Tom, waving away his friend’s exclamations like so many gnats, “but you, sir, you are not romantic enough.”
Mr. Ginsham’s mouth turned mulish. “Well, if all you’ve got to tell me is that I’m not good enough for Miss Chuddsley, I’ll thank you to keep your mouth shut, or I’ll be obliged to shut it for you.” He pushed stormily to his feet. “Good night, you—”
“Must I always beg you to take a damper, Greg?” Tom rolled a long-suffering eye at his friend, tugging at his immovable elbow. “If you’ll only attend to what I’ve got to say—But see, if you want to go, I’ll bear you company as far as Berkeley Square.” Ginsham was inclined to object, but Tom put a hand firmly through his arm and walked him from the hotel and onto the street. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes.” He gesticulated largely as he spoke. “After wading through mountains of flummery—all on your behalf, I’ll not scruple to remind you, Greg—I have been made to understand that females of Miss Chuddsley’s stamp define ‘romance’ differently than such gudgeons as you and I, my friend.”
Mr. Ginsham gave a low moan. “What am I going to do?”
Tom patted his shoulder bracingly. “No need to despair. Possessed as I am of new knowledge, I am equipped to enlighten you.”
“Then I wish you would,” was the sullen response.
“Stand buff, man!” Tom poked his finger into his friend’s chest. “Lenora tells me that you have every chance with Miss Chuddsley,” his friend’s head came up with a start, and he stared hungrily at Tom, who continued with a smile, “provided you humble yourself.”
The eyes widened. “Humble myself?”
“Yes. Humble yourself. Miss Chuddsley has no interest in a man whose title and fortune make his way easy.”
“You’re shamming it.”
Tom went on without mercy. “You must struggle.”
Mr. Ginsham halted, glaring at his companion. “You're foxed.”
“I assure you, I am in complete possession of my senses, sir.”
“But you’re talking fustian!”
“If what I say is fustian, it is because I repeat the words of a goose of a female,” Tom replied reasonably. “Be that as it may, what I say is true. You must humble yourself through struggle. Oh,” he said, raising a finger into the air, “and you must not take glory to yourself for any heroic deed you may be called upon, by honor, to perform.”
Mr. Ginsham curled his hands into fists, but before he could rid himself of his most deservedly gathered spleen, two shadows flew forward from the darkness of an alley, brandishing weapons and hurling themselves at the two gentlemen. Ginsham, though taken utterly by surprise, was by this time perfectly ready for a good set-to and, thrusting away from Tom, he threw up an arm to block the blow of a cudgel aimed at his head, while Tom was made to grapple with an assailant armed with a glinting knife. Mr. Ginsham, who regularly boxed at Jackson’s Saloon, made quick work of his attacker with a series of solid jabs, but upon dropping the man to the ground, he turned to find Tom dodging the wide swings of his attacker’s knife.
Leaping to his aid, Ginsham seized the man’s knife arm and tried to wrench the weapon away, but the assailant spun with astonishing dexterity and plunged the knife toward Ginsham’s forearm. Ginsham blocked the blow, but not before the tip of the knife penetrated into his muscle, and an outraged yell escaped him. Tom jumped toward them and grasped the attacker’s knife hand, wrenching it up and back, and Ginsham thought, but could not be certain, th
at he heard Tom hoarsely whisper to the man, “Enough!”
The fight seemed to go out of the man, and he turned, fleeing into the darkness, and a scuffle and pounding of footfalls behind them proved to be his accomplice on the run as well. Tom strode to Ginsham’s side and examined the blood that welled alarmingly from the wound, and Ginsham was disturbed to see his friend’s eyes light.
“Thank God! I thought he’d overdone it—” Tom said rather breathlessly, then he grinned. “It’s a capital wound, Greg! Just the thing!”
“You’re mad!” gasped Ginsham, pulling his arm out of Tom’s grasp and taking off his coat. “Why the devil did they attack us?”
His friend shrugged, helpfully tearing off the tattered sleeve of Ginsham’s shirt. “I expect we seemed likely victims. Here, I’ll tie it up. The bleeding’s already slowed.”
“You don’t seem at all put out, Tom,” Ginsham observed, a disquieted frown on his face. “Almost as if you expected it.”
Tom’s eyes flicked up to his for a brief moment, then back at the makeshift bandage he was tying over the wound. “I told you I needed a good turn up tonight.”
Ginsham’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your game, Tom?”
Satisfied with the bandage, Tom turned an innocent gaze on his friend. “You’ll want to put some basilicum powder on that, Greg. Lucky thing it’s not deep.”
“Yes, very lucky,” said Ginsham, his jaw tight.
Tom draped Ginsham’s coat over his shoulders. “Now, we’d best get you home.”
Ginsham whirled on him. “I won’t budge an inch until you tell me what you’re playing at, Tom! You thought he’d overdone it?” he sputtered. “This was a setup, clear as day! And don’t tell me to take a damper!”
“Well, you’d better take one or you’re going to faint, you cawker!”
“Out with it!”
Tom put up his hands in resignation. “Alright, alright! I’ve made you romantic, Greg, that’s the long and short of it.” Ginsham gaped at his mentor, who took a bow. “You’ve struggled through adversity, and now all you need do is puff it off as nothing, a mere scratch, and if a certain young lady must know, if she drags it from you, it was done to save the life of the young man who is almost a brother to her.”
Finding his voice, Ginsham gasped, “You—those men—plunged a knife in me—could’ve been killed—” His eyes rolled back and he wilted.
Tom caught him by the shoulders, holding him up. “Now you’ve gone and made yourself light-headed.” Ginsham swayed a bit more, but he blinked his eyes, and Tom congratulated him. “That’s the dandy! You’ll be all right and tight, no harm done.” Supporting his beleaguered friend around the waist, Tom turned him in the direction of his lodgings. “We’ll get you home, get some brandy into you, and then off to bed.”
As they shuffled along, Ginsham’s strength gradually reasserted itself. “You’re a rascal, Tom,” he said.
“That I am,” Tom replied cheerfully. “But only for the greater good.”
“What if they’d killed me?”
“Well, I’ll own I was a trifle anxious for you, but they’re professionals, after all.”
“You should be ashamed.”
“I’m sure I shall be, but not yet. I feel rather heroic, actually.”
Ginsham eyed him with dislike. “You’ll never persuade me you’re not drunk as a wheelbarrow, Tom.”
“It don’t signify. You’ll thank me after Miss Chuddsley sees you.”
“Best not lay odds,” said Mr. Ginsham, darkly.
The next morning found Miss Chuddsley and Miss Breckinridge together in Lady Cammerby’s sitting room, where Elvira rather mournfully received her friend’s exciting description of the previous evening’s ball. Other than a few rather pointed animadversions on Lord Castleton’s unwanted attentions, Lenora had nothing but raptures to share.
“There were dozens of amiable gentlemen there, Elvira, and even though Tom was horridly protective, I never lacked a partner. Indeed, at one particular moment, no fewer than three gentlemen asked me to dance! I felt like a queen, with dozens of suitors at my feet!”
“Oh, I wish I had been there!” said Elvira wistfully. “But my aunt is not a friend of Lady Wraglain.”
Lenora pressed her friend’s hand. “I’m ever so sorry you were not, Elvira, for I would have enjoyed it more had you been—but you know that!”
“Indeed,” answered Elvira, looking as though she very much doubted it. “You are my bosom friend.”
Her bosom friend at last perceived that Elvira was not in spirits, and asked her the cause.
Miss Chuddsley toyed with the tassels on a cushion nearby. “Have you heard that Barnabus has gone from London?”
“Yes, he told me he was to go.” At Elvira’s look of surprise, Lenora hastened to explain. “Did I not mention it? He was at the ball last night.”
Elvira gaped. “But he does not dance! Mr. Ginsham told us, ever so long ago! That is why we have never seen him at Almack’s!”
“Nevertheless, he was there,” Lenora said, acknowledging Ginsham’s authority with a toss of her shoulder. “Barnabus came with the Oslows last night, but he did not stay long. And he most specifically asked after you, and wished he could have seen you, to take leave, for he planned to go this morning early.”
Elvira plucked harder at the tassels under her fingertips. “It was Ginsham who told me Barnabus had gone. Perhaps I should have expected that he would deceive me.”
“He must merely have been mistaken.” Lenora plumped herself down on the sofa next to her friend, perceiving danger to Mr. Ginsham. “He is the perfect gentleman!” she said soothingly. “He would never knowingly deceive anyone.”
“But he told me Barnabus was gone home, so he might not join our party yesterday to Hyde Park, but we both know he was not yet gone! And he insisted Barnabus does not dance, and yet, why else would a young man attend a ball?” Elvira turned brave but brimming eyes toward her friend. “If that is not deception, what is?”
Lenora bit her lip. “It is black against him, indeed, but—Elvira, Mr. Barnabus did not dance last night. Indeed, he told me his only purpose in coming was to take his leave!”
Her friend’s face wore a stubborn frown. “Perhaps he simply did not wish to dance with you.”
“Perhaps not,” Lenora conceded, though nettled, “but he did ask me to go down with him to supper!”
“And I suppose he took leave of you?”
“I told you he did.”
Elvira could not hide her envy at that. “Then you have made the conquest, my friend! Let me be the first to congratulate you! Though why you should feel the right to him, I don’t know, as I was the first to meet him!”
“You are wrong, my dear, for he was first introduced to me!”
“You are wrong, my dear, for Ginsham introduced him to me, and you very rudely spoke first!”
Lenora leapt up. “Because you could do nothing but stand and gape at the poor man!”
The cushion on her lap fell to the floor as Elvira jumped to her feet. “Mr. Ginsham brought him to meet me, no matter which one of us responded to the introduction!”
“Mr. Ginsham obviously intended Barnabus for my escort, as he knew you would not attend him alone into the maze!”
“I distinctly recall his referring to the both of us in his invitation into the maze—”
“And as he had so flatteringly paid you particular attention in the previous weeks, it was to be expected that he would bring a stammering, stoop-shouldered, poverty-stricken young man to guide you into the maze, while he intended to squire me!”
“Oh!” Elvira stamped her foot. “That you could pretend preference for dear Mr. Barnabus with one breath, then with another refer to him in such a way! For shame!”
“You only admire him because he stammers!” Lenora retorted.
&
nbsp; Flushed, Elvira gathered her things. “I will not stay another minute to hear such a noble young man’s character belittled.” She stopped at the door to fling back, “I never thought you, Lenora, of all people, could be possessed of such a cold heart.”
Slamming the door, Elvira flounced from the house and rushed home, flying to her aunt’s drawing room in search of comfort. But here she was drawn up short—Mr. Ginsham sat in conversation with her aunt, and as he stood to greet her, all her feelings of anger and hurt became focused on the hapless young gentleman. Fortunately, the excessively uncivil words on her tongue died unspoken when she glimpsed Mr. Ginsham’s arm reposing interestingly in a sling.
“Ginsham, you are hurt!” she cried, dropping her reticule in her shock.
Ginsham, justly discomposed by the baleful stare he had first received, managed, “It—it’s nothing, Miss Chuddsley. A—a mere scratch. Do not regard it, I pray you.”
“But will you tell me what happened?” she asked with such melting sympathy in her eyes that he was quite unmanned, and allowed himself to be led to the sofa and pulled down to a seat beside her.
Much flushed, Mr. Ginsham put even Barnabus to shame with his stammered responses to her searching inquiries, encouraged by the dawning realization that Tom had been absolutely correct in his assertions that a mere wound would prove the turning point in Miss Chuddsley’s affections.
Her eyes glowed as he haltingly described his adventure of the night before, and she paled dramatically when he explained his poor part in saving Tom’s life at the hand of the desperados. When he reached the point of his taking the wound, her hand reflexively darted out to clasp his own, only to release it in a flutter of pretty confusion.
“Oh, Mr. Ginsham, how thankful I am that you are safe!” she uttered, pressing hands to her glowing cheeks. “What courage you displayed, and under such duress! I cannot imagine how Tom feels toward you at this moment!”
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