“My maternal serenity is shattered, sir!” she replied, reassuming her composure. “Pray, what has Tom done to his friend?”
“Merely caused that he should be set upon and wounded by would-be thieves, in the name of romance. Do not alarm yourself, ma’am. Mr. Ginsham is quite recovered and will bear no long-term effects from his injury.”
Shaken by this disclosure, Genevieve looked keenly at him before replying, for she was not a little anxious regarding his true feelings on the matter, but his countenance was grave as ever, and gave her no clue as to his innermost thoughts. In light of his open disapproval of her mothering, she feared this kind of escapade must reflect even more poorly on her, and in an attempt to recover herself, she said, “But, dear sir, even you must own that much may be forgiven in the name of romance.”
He merely remarked, “I suspect Miss Chuddsley was somehow the object,” in a very somber tone.
“I apprehend that Tom is then in a way responsible for Ginsham’s prosperous love,” she said lightly, in the hopes of soothing any censorious thoughts he may be entertaining. “For myself, I find the intervention quite timely. Poor Mr. Ginsham was in a fair way to throwing himself in the river.”
“It is true that a man can withstand only so much indifference when his emotions are engaged. Miss Chuddsley, were she any less innocent, would have much to answer for. I sincerely trust Lenora will play no such games in her turn.”
Genevieve bent industriously to her needlework again. “Though she does have a lamentable taste for fantasy and romance, Lenora is quite level-headed.”
“Then one may depend upon her being steadfast once her interest has been fixed.”
She found her vision obscured by sudden tears and, blinking rapidly, turned to search in her sewing box for thread she did not need. With strong effort and much inward remonstrance, she had presently composed herself enough to straighten and say, “You may be sure I depend upon it as well, sir.”
Despite Sir Joshua’s convictions, Mrs. Breckinridge could not lay the specter of Lord Montrose, to the effect that Miss Breckinridge knew no respite from her guardians. She thought little of the matter, however, having been assured by Miss Chuddsley that maidens never walked alone in town, and neither girl was possessed of enough worldly knowledge to comprehend the other as a fitting chaperone. With such an understanding, Lenora walked happily down Bond Street some days after her visit to Montagu House, arm in arm with Elvira, and followed dutifully by a footman.
Elvira was ecstatically relaying news of Mr. Ginsham. “He rode all the way to Richmond to get them, Lenora, fresh from the fields! Simply because I mentioned one day how I adore wildflowers!”
“A truly romantic gesture, I think,” commented Lenora, secretly pleased at the young man’s capabilities. A few more of such gestures and he would need no more of her help. “But perhaps they had wilted, after such a distance.”
“Oh, they had, but not to signify!” Elvira hastened to assure her. “I thought them lovely, and put them directly in water, and will press them when they begin to wither.”
“That will be the most fitting tribute to his sensibility, Elvira,” approved her friend. “You may place them alongside those of Mr. Barnabus.”
Elvira glanced quickly at her. “I have none from Mr. Barnabus.”
Lenora glanced innocently at her friend. “Did Mr. Barnabus never give you flowers?”
“No,” said Elvira, wistfully.
“He never—” began Lenora, in tones of amazement, then artistically clamped her lips shut on the words. “Well,” she said, after some moments composing herself, “I have no opinion of men who court favor while withholding tokens of affection.”
“But he didn’t,” murmured Elvira, with downcast eyes. With some difficulty, she said, “He never singled me out, Lenora, no matter how I wished he had. I see now that I imagined his partiality for me. He was always gentlemanly to me, but no more.”
Lenora allowed this admission to hang between them in the air, long enough for it to sink in fully, then squeezed her friend’s arm. “Well, I say flowers from Mr. Ginsham are better than none from Mr. Barnabus.”
Elvira smiled shyly. “Of course, they are, Lenora! I’d have to be a simpleton to think otherwise.” She looked down at her feet. “I think Mr. Ginsham very sweet.”
“Only sweet? He seems excessively thoughtful as well.”
Her friend blushed. “Yes, he is that. Only yesterday, at the Chisholm’s picnic, when the breeze picked up, he fetched my shawl, without a word from me.”
“And when he met us on the street Wednesday last, he turned back only to carry our packages,” Lenora added with a satisfied air.
“Yes, that was so kind of him.” Elvira ducked her head. “I thought his new brown coat handsome, did not you?”
“Decidedly.” Lenora smiled archly at her friend. “And while we are enumerating all Mr. Ginsham’s fine qualities, I wish to point out that, unlike a certain other gentleman, he is settled in town for the remainder of the season, which, besides being a mark of great intelligence, is exceedingly convenient.”
“Now you are quizzing me,” Elvira complained laughingly, but she blushed more deeply.
“And we must not forget what a fine dancer he is, unlike a certain other gentleman,” pursued Lenora mercilessly. “Has he reserved a dance with you yet for tonight?”
“Oh, yes! He has engaged me for two waltzes, Lenora! For Mama gave me permission, if Lady Jersey thought it suitable, and she did, you know, on the last occasion of our being at Almack’s. Oh, how Mr. Ginsham sweeps one around the room! It’s like to flying!”
Lenora hugged her friend’s arm to her, smiling warmly and widely upon her raptures, and feeling in perfect charity with Mr. Ginsham and his great good sense.
A cough from the footman stopped the young ladies, and they turned inquiringly to him.
“Begging miss’s pardon,” he said, his cheeks ablaze as he snatched the cap from his head, “but I only just remembered I was to pick up a gum plaster for poor Oliver—the groom, that is, miss.” He stood twisting his cap in his hands. “He’s been so poorly that I’d hate to see him worse, which he would be if he’s made to wait.”
“Oh,” said Lenora, surprised that she knew nothing about this errand, or the malady that occasioned it, but moved by compassion for the unfortunate groom. “He must certainly not be made to wait a moment longer than need be. John, you may turn back to the apothecary and purchase the plaster, while Miss Chuddsley and I walk on. We are not so very far from home, and shall be quite safe together.”
“Miss is very kind,” he said, smiling shyly at her. “If you please, miss, the next turning will be a shorter way home.”
Lenora inclined her head graciously. “Thank you, John. Do not you worry for us.”
The grateful footman whirled abruptly and jogged back toward Bond Street, the young ladies gazing thoughtfully after him.
“I wonder that he did not think of his errand while we were in Hookham’s,” mused Lenora.
“It must have slipped his mind, with so much to look at,” said Elvira, in perfect understanding. “There is such a bustle here, I declare if I have not forgotten my own head sometimes!”
Lenora laughingly agreed, and they turned the corner onto a short alley connecting to Curzon Street. They had walked only a few steps past a loafer lounging against the wall, when he pushed himself upright and began to follow them. Lenora watched his movements over her shoulder with growing uneasiness, for he seemed to be watching them rather greedily.
“Perhaps we should move more quickly, dear,” she whispered to Elvira, who had noticed the man as well.
With anxious glances behind and forward to the end of the alley, they hastened toward Curzon Street, but just before they reached it, the man grabbed Elvira’s wrist, and pulled her backward. She cried out, letting go Lenora’s arm, and Lenor
a turned back to see her friend tightly gripped around the shoulders by the man, who pressed an evil-looking knife to her side as he stared back with wild eyes.
“If you like your friend, you’ll come with me quiet-like, love.”
Lenora’s heart leapt to her throat, but she found courage enough to demand, “Unhand her, villain.”
The man laughed. “Villain, am I? That’s rich. I ain’t done nothing, not yet.” Elvira whimpered, and he turned his head to sputter in her ear, “No squawking, you, or I’ll have call to be nasty, and your pretty friend there won’t have a friend no more.”
Lenora stood her ground, but her face drained of color as the man dragged Elvira backward. “I shall scream,” she warned, her voice high with terror.
“Not if you like your friend,” he said, with an ugly chuckle.
Elvira’s eyes widened with fear, and Lenora hazarded a swift glance behind into the street, but no one was near enough to whom she could signal. There did not seem to be anything she could do but follow the man, so she stepped once more into the alley, following with halting steps, and many frightened glances toward either of the streets where assistance might appear, as he backed toward a sinister-looking doorway.
Suddenly, a movement on Curzon street caught Lenora’s eye, and she spun to see the door to the nearest house opening. A figure appeared, walking jauntily down the steps, and as all three tense persons in the alleyway watched, the gentleman glanced over at them, and Lenora was shocked to recognize the man as the stranger whom she had met on three separate occasions.
He stopped on the stoop, blinking at her in surprise, then tipped his hat and smiled, calling, “Ma’am! So, we meet again!”
Lenora’s mouth opened but, under the injunction of silence, she dared only look in mute terror from him to the man who held Elvira. The stranger’s eyes followed hers, and with lightning clarity seemed to grasp the direness of the situation. In a moment, he had leapt the railing and advanced with quick strides toward Elvira and her captor.
“What’s this, then?” he asked amiably, withdrawing a short sword from his belt.
The man holding Elvira froze for an instant, the knife trembling against her ribs, but as his eyes flitted from the gentleman with the sword to the young lady nearly bursting to scream, he seemed to think better of pressing his case and, releasing his prisoner, he turned and fled down the alleyway. Elvira, swaying where she stood, gave a gurgle of a sigh and collapsed in a faint, falling neatly into Lenora’s arms, who had stepped forward to catch her.
The stranger was at her side in a moment, relieving her of her fair burden. “Good gracious, ma’am! What a near thing!”
“Oh, sir!” cried Lenora, nearly overpowered by the relief flooding through her body. “Oh, thank you! That hateful man—he—oh!”
“It was nothing, dear girl, nothing at all. I am only glad you are unhurt.” He laid Elvira gently down onto the flagway, where Lenora, having quickly knelt, received her head onto her lap. The man patted his pockets. “Have you any smelling salts, or vinaigrette?”
Lenora searched through her reticule, but to no avail. Instead, she began to chafe her friend’s hands, all the while animadverting on the deplorable state of a city whose constables were forever ambling wherever they were not needed while dangerous cutthroats roamed at large on even the most civilized of streets. At length, she glanced up at their rescuer, whose head bent next to hers, and experienced a fair amount of astonishment at how worn and dissipated he looked at such close quarters.
The stranger met her gaze and smiled encouragingly. “She will recover soon enough, I’ll wager. I wish I could offer somewhere to lay her until she regains her senses, but I am new to this district, and a man’s lodgings are nowhere for a young lady, sensible or not.”
“Indeed, sir, but I am much obliged for your kindness,” said Lenora, blushing. The thought occurred to her that here was another gentleman of heroic, if advanced, qualities. “If you would be so good as to call a hack to convey us home, my mother will care for her there.”
“An admirable plan, young lady.” Instantly, he rose and strode into the street, raising his arm to a hack just then coming up the street, and when it had stopped, hastened back to lift the still insensible Elvira into his arms. The jarvey opened the door and the gentleman deposited Elvira carefully on the seat, then turned to hand Lenora in.
“Oh, sir, how can I thank you?” she said, her fingers gripping his. “Such a providential thing for you to come out just as you did.”
“I ought to say I felt a premonition, but as I am a truthful man, I will not. Merely, I am glad to have been of service, ma’am.” He tipped his hat again. “If you will give me the direction, I shall command the driver, and speed you on your way.”
Lenora pressed his hand with her fingers. “You are too kind, sir, and with so little inducement! We are strangers to you, but we are everlastingly grateful! I only would that I could repay you!”
“Oh, I have a very good reason for what I have done, ma’am,” he said, smiling secretly up at her. “But as for payment, perhaps you will allow me to introduce myself.”
“Without hesitation, sir! You have certainly earned the honor. I am Lenora Breckinridge.”
The hat was removed and placed over his heart. “And I am Carlisle Dupray, your obedient servant.”
Lenora smiled gratefully and, murmuring the direction of Lady Cammerby’s house, she settled onto the forward seat of the hack and allowed the step to be folded up and the door closed. The hack lurched forward, causing Elvira to roll on the seat, and Lenora leapt across to support her friend. Elvira’s eyes fluttered open.
Lenora took her hands. “Elvira, are you well?”
Her friend moaned and closed her eyes again.
Lenora patted her cheek. “Elvira!”
“Oh!” The girl opened her eyes once more and, absorbing her surroundings, struggled upright. “Lenora! Where are we? What happened?”
Lenora moved to the seat next to her, putting an arm about her shoulders. “You fainted, my dear, but that kind Mr. Dupray helped me care for you and called us a hack, because I had no smelling salts, and now we are on our way home.”
“Mr. Dupray? Is that his name? How do you know him?”
“He met us on the street, and in Hookham’s, do you not recall?”
“Perfectly,” murmured Elvira, a hand to her head. “But I do not recollect his being introduced.”
“He was not, though I have seen him once more after that, at Montagu House,” admitted Lenora. “It is perhaps irregular, but I thought it proper that we should be introduced after he rescued us.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Elvira shook her head as if trying to clear it. “Oh, dear, what an ordeal! I am convinced we should have been murdered, had that horrid man succeeded in dragging us into the doorway!”
“I have no doubt we should have been dreadfully harmed, if Mr. Dupray had not come out of his house just then. What a lucky chance!” Lenora shivered.
“To think that we happened to be there, on the street where he lived! Oh, Lenora, I’m trembling all over!”
Lenora rubbed her friend’s arms and hugged her against herself. “Now, do not worry, Elvira, we shall be home in a trice, and Mama will set you to rights again. A little tea and some bread and butter, some cosseting and care, and you’ll be right as a trivet!”
Elvira smiled thankfully, leaning into the welcome embrace. Presently, she said, “Mr. Dupray is quite heroic, is he not? Though he is rather old.”
“Much like Sir Joshua.”
The girls giggled, and Elvira said, “I suppose this proves we mustn’t fancy only one kind of hero, or we should miss all kinds of romantic adventures!”
Sighing in agreement, Lenora was glad to relapse into silence for several minutes. As they swayed in the poorly sprung hackney, musing over their frightful experience, Lenora was
unable to refrain from mentally following the awful possibilities had they been trapped in the alley, until an odd idea occurred to her. She said suddenly, “Would it not be strange if Mr. Dupray is actually the evil Duke? This could all be a take in, you know. Like with Tom and Ginsham and the fight. We could be playing directly into the evil Duke’s hands.”
Elvira laughed. “And next time we meet he will ravish us? Oh, Lenora, you must be funning. He would not rescue us and send us home if he meant to harm us. Such goodness as he has shown cannot be pretense.”
“I am persuaded you are right, my dear.” She looked out the window at the darkening street as the minutes passed by. “My, but it seems a long way home.”
Genevieve had spent the afternoon harassed by excessively uncomfortable thoughts. That Elvira Chuddsley was on the brink of making a very respectable match both delighted and disturbed her, for on the one hand, she liked Mr. Ginsham very much, and thought the couple extremely well-suited, and could no more wholeheartedly have approved the match had she been Mrs. Chuddsley. On the other hand, however, Elvira’s approaching marriage would naturally increase Lenora’s desire for her own, which would very probably hasten events of which her mother would rather not think seriously until absolutely necessary. Not all the forbearance in the world could resign her at any time within the near future to Lenora’s marriage to Sir Joshua, and she did not trust herself as of yet to act with composure upon his applying to her for permission to address her daughter.
She had tried valiantly to suppress her feelings. Indeed, after Vauxhall she had been too mortified even to acknowledge them. But Sir Joshua’s continued friendliness to her acted as a perverse balm to her embarrassment, lulling her into comfort while in his presence, then abandoning her to disheartening reflection when he had gone. He always managed to disarm her when he visited, and in spite of her resolve to treat him as a brother, their conversations danced into the realm of what she considered to be flirtation far too easily for her comfort. When left alone, she knew that he could not view their interactions as she did—how could any man wish to flirt with a worn out, old woman when a vital, young girl welcomed his attentions? Surely, his aim was nothing more than to develop an easy relationship with his prospective mother-in-law. With this conviction, she tried to rejoice that in such a relationship, she could expect many more opportunities to join in delightful repartee, and strove equally to believe this was all to which she looked forward in his company. But the pleasure she felt in his notice, and the general depression of her spirits on contemplating the future, gave the lie to her hopes.
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