Spring in Hyde Park

by Jennifer Moore

  “But . . .”

  “Please allow me to finish. I know you well enough to know you are a kind man. However, as your friend the Duke of Mayfield will tell you, I am a bit eccentric. I should not like you to have any unwelcome surprises.”

  “I am enchanted by your charitable nature, Lady Sophronia. I do not feel I am in for any surprises, unwelcome or not.”

  “I just want to make certain. Shall we give ourselves a month’s time?”

  “A month! That seems a very long time.”

  “Not in comparison to a lifetime,” she said gently.

  He frowned, and she could not resist the impression of an unhappy baby.

  “All right.”

  “Are you fond of opera?”

  “Not above half, I am afraid. But I should be happy to escort you, if you would like to go.”

  “As I said, you are very kind. Lady Lavinia is in excessively low spirits. I thought perhaps she might like to see Così fan tutte tonight. It is a light opera—Mozart. Nothing heavy.”

  “I shall be happy to escort the two of you. Shall I call for you at eight o’clock?”

  “I think that would be lovely. Thank you so much, Lord Stephens.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Duke of Mayfield did not much like opera, but he felt that he must urge Gilbert to get out of the house and away from the whiskey bottle. Therefore, he convinced him that a visit to the opera that evening was desirable. It was necessary for him to be seen as whole of heart as possible by the ton.

  For this reason, the two men found themselves fighting the crowds at Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, until at last they reached the Mayfield box. They seated themselves in the front row of chairs in the otherwise empty box and let themselves be seen. Before long, most of the opera glasses on the opposite side of the theater were fixed on them. In response, the duke raised his own opera glasses and was dismayed to see Ladies Sophronia and Lavinia accompanied by Tubby in the Reynolds box, directly opposite. He saw them at the same moment Gilbert did.

  The duke quelled the misgivings that again rose inside of him at the sight of the pair. His dog-in-the-manger attitude was becoming absurd. He had no intentions toward the woman!

  “Tubby is quite determined. He likes opera no more than you do. I imagine Sophronia bullied him into bringing them here tonight for the same reason I brought you.”

  Gilbert sighed. “Lady Lavinia is more beautiful than ever.”

  “She droops,” the duke said. “I think she is having a bad time of it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. Those Huffington ladies will go down fighting for their principles.”

  He recalled his harsh words to the idealistic Lady Sophronia at the Academy. Why had he felt it necessary to disabuse her of her dreams of a better world for the poor? Was he really such a philistine that he believed the poor were destined to be forever cursed, generation after generation?

  He remembered the shining look upon her face and how she had appeared to him to be beautiful at that moment. Now he fancied he could feel the instant her opera glasses lit upon his face. She had tarred him with the same brush as his brother—a liar and a deceiver. Why did it bother him so much?

  He raised his glasses in defense and looked squarely back at her. She wore a gown of gold—off her shoulders, which were white and smooth and pleasing. Her petite figure stiffened in outrage at his regard. His cravat seemed suddenly too snug around his neck.

  Telling himself that he was curious how she would treat him in person, he determined that he would put her completely out of countenance by going to visit her box during the interval. For some obscure reason, he wished to defend his character. Contemplating this, he scarcely heard the opera during the first act.

  “I am sorry to inform you, Your Grace, but you are not welcome in this box,” Lady Sophronia told him as he strode inside following a brief knock. Her small features were haughty, her chin raised.

  He put on a shocked demeanor. “I thought we were friends. Besides, I came to see Tub—Lord Stephens.”

  “The box belongs to my uncle. I am certain he would not welcome your presence were he here. You connived with your brother. You knew he was misrepresenting himself to my sister, intending to marry her under false pretenses. I do not know how you dare to show your face.”

  Tubby was clearly uncomfortable. “Come, Mayfield. I was just about to get some lemonade for the ladies. Let us go.”

  “Just a moment.” Mayfield’s eyes remained fixed on Lady Sophronia's. “I want you to know that I counseled my brother from the very beginning that he was making a mistake. He loves your sister. I thought that if he was honest with her from the beginning, she might have accepted him as he is. However, he knew how she abhorred fortune hunters, so he thought she would immediately put him in that class.”

  “Where he belongs!” Lady Lavinia came up behind her sister.

  The atmosphere was becoming combative. But Mayfield could not pull himself away. He was enjoying the spark in Lady Sophronia's eye. “Did you expect that I would go behind my brother’s back to tell you his real circumstances when it would deprive him of the woman he loved?”

  Lady Lavinia said, “You mean the fortune he needed! You cannot tell me differently, Your Grace.”

  “Still, it was not my responsibility to inform you. That task belonged to your Uncle Reynolds.” Keeping his eyes on Lady Sophronia, he said, “Are you so unjust as to hold my brother’s error in judgment against me?”

  “What difference can it possibly make to you what I think?” she asked.

  “I will leave you to ponder that question with your usual perspicacity,” he said. “Come, Tubby. I think the ladies are thirsty. I know I am.”

  He left Sophronia with her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

  “So, am I to wish you joy, Tubby?” he asked his friend as they walked toward the crowded refreshment bar.

  Tubby’s usually congenial face wore a frown. “She wishes for us to get to know one another better. I am to wait a month for her answer.”

  The duke’s heart began to pound a little faster. So! The lady was still free!

  Chapter Eleven

  The opera was spoiled for Sophronia after the duke’s mystifying visit. What had he meant by his closing comment? He had not returned to the box, so she could not ask him. Why should she care what he meant? Since when had her good opinion meant anything to the man?

  In addition, Tubby had made his feelings known when the opera began once more. He had stolen an arm around her shoulders, resting his elbow on her chair back. It made her uncomfortable. It was the first time he had shown her physical affection, and she found that she did not care for it. Her instincts were to withdraw from him. That did not bode well for the married state!

  Claiming fatigue when he escorted them home that evening, she thanked him profusely for his escort and prayed that he would understand if she and Lavinia did not invite him in.

  “Of course. You have both had a tiring evening. Even I noticed all the opera glasses that were fixed on our box. Dare I hope that you will still contrive a way to be in Brighton at the conclusion of the curricle race?”

  “I am afraid not, your lordship. Lord Gilbert was to have been our escort.”

  “My parents and sisters are going. I am certain they would be happy to include you in their party.”

  Sophronia contemplated this for a moment. Did she want to complicate things by becoming on good terms with Tubby’s family? Two days spent in their company might give rise to expectations that she was not at all sure she was willing to meet. At that moment, she remembered Lady Clarice’s invitation.

  “I have already agreed to watch the start of the race with Lady Clarice Manton and Miss Braithwaite. I will be there to see you off instead.”

  “Very good. If you are certain.” He kissed her gloved hand. “The next time I see you then will be Saturday. Wish me luck!”

  “I do! Indeed, I hope with all my heart
that you best the duke and come off a winner! And thank you again for the lovely evening.”

  He squeezed her fingers and bid her good night. She quickly ran up the stairs.

  Once Sophronia rejoined her sister, she embraced her. “I am so sorry, dearest. I had no idea that Lord Gilbert would be at the opera of all things. You told me that he detests it!”

  “It was the worst possible luck.” Lavinia was trying to hold back tears with little success. “And everyone staring at us! I just wanted to shrink until I disappeared.”

  “You handled things very well. Especially with the duke.”

  “My dear,” her sister said with a sniff. “I am afraid the duke has his eye on you.”

  Sophronia's heart lurched in her breast. “Nonsense. He is simply toying with me. I expect he is competing with Tubby in some sort of male game. He cannot bear that Tubby appears to be winning.”

  “You may be right,” Lavinia said, her brow contracted in thought. “I wish we had someone to advise us. We are so ignorant about men!”

  “My dear, I am certain that anyone observing you and Lord Gilbert together would have believed him to be in love with you. He was entirely convincing. But, as for the duke, he is a cynical man, and I cannot see him demonstrating his finer feelings, or for that matter, even having finer feelings!”

  “You are probably right. Yet I find that less reprehensible than acting falsely as Lord Gilbert did.”

  “Well, dearest, it is time we were in bed. I mean to visit Lady Clarice tomorrow to take her up on her invitation to go with her to the starting line of the race. I find it quite the most exciting thing to happen this spring. I am anxious for Tubby to best the duke!”

  “I believe I shall go as well,” said Lavinia. “I do not wish to appear to the ton to be in mourning.”

  “That is the spirit!” said Sophronia.

  On Friday morning, Lavinia and Sophronia set out on their errand. They were greeted with much affability at their intention to join Lady Clarice and Miss Braithwaite the next morning. Sophronia had warned her sister to say nothing of the business with Tubby to either of the ladies, but to her surprise, Sukey Braithwaite broached the subject.

  “I saw you with Lord Stephens at the opera, dear. Is he courting you?”

  “I suppose you could say that,” Sophronia answered, blushing.

  Lady Clarice looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Well, Mayfield will give him a run for his money, and I am not talking about horse racing.”

  “The duke!” she said. “Why would you think that?”

  “He has a tendre for you, my dear child. I have known him quite a while, and it is obvious to me.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I think you are mistaken. Did you know that he thinks our literacy project is hopeless?”

  “He was but offering his thoughts. He mentioned them to me as well. I thought them very well-reasoned, and I intend to take his advice. I think we will have a better chance of success if we include our prospective students in the project. But we can discuss that later. The point is, dear, he takes the project seriously. He is engaged in it. He wants you to succeed, but being a man, he offered his suggestions in the form of criticism.”

  Sophronia thought over Lady Clarice’s words.

  “Lord Stephens is a dedicated Tory,” Sukey Braithwaite added. “He believes quite sincerely that the poor were born to the position they deserve.”

  “How reprehensible!” declared Lavinia, coming out of her shell at last. “Sophronia, you cannot marry him! And I told you the duke had eyes for you. It is obvious. The air between you last night positively crackled.”

  “I beg to differ. I hold absolutely no attraction for the duke. His type is decidedly Lady Falwell and her ilk. If anything, he is merely toying with me. He enjoys competing with Lord Stephens.”

  “I think not, my dear, but then, I have been known to be wrong.” Lady Clarice smiled. She looked down at the fat Siamese she was holding. “Would that we had your wisdom,” she said to Queen Elizabeth.

  At those silly words, Sophronia decided to discount everything the woman said. As for Lavinia, she had just taken against Tubby for some reason. But then, if by some fantastic notion Sophronia were given the choice between Tubby and the duke, which one would she choose?

  The answer did not make her comfortable. They left the ladies shortly thereafter.

  Race day’s weather was not propitious. It was raining when Sophronia woke up. The roads would be muddy, and she could not help but wonder if slippery, muddy roads would not put the teams in danger when they were traveling at high speeds.

  Unwilling to sacrifice a new dress to the weather, she donned one of her old ones—a brown Merino wool and matching pelisse, trimmed in black velvet. Her hair was dressed in a simple style under an old bonnet, and Sophronia feared that the damp weather would make the curls around her face droop unbecomingly.

  It does not matter. I am certainly not trying to impress anyone.

  Lady Clarice’s carriage met her and Lavinia at the door, and they traveled the muddy streets through the unsavory East End to where the road east to Brighton opened up. There was a tier of benches set up near the starting line. Tubby waited for them near the middle of the front row, wearing a bright yellow waistcoat with his black jacket and breeches.

  “I think these seats will be the very best,” he greeted them. “I am glad to see you brought your umbrellas.”

  Sophronia said, “Good morning, Lord Stephens. Are you not worried for your team in this weather?”

  “They are a sure-footed pair. I do not think they will have any problems. They are freshly shod, and I have given them a warm-up. I shall be the fourth pair in from where you are sitting.” From an inside breast pocket, he pulled out her handkerchief. “I take this with me for luck, as you recall, Lady Sophronia.”

  She nodded. “I send with you my very best wishes for a safe and swift win! I hope it will not be raining during the entire course.”

  “It does not matter. Johann and Frederick will do well.”

  “I wish you the best of luck, as well,” said Lavinia.

  At that moment, the duke strode up, dressed in the glaring combination of black jacket and breeches with a red waistcoat. “Lady Clarice, Miss Braithwaite, good morning. I hope you are here to cheer me on. Lady Sophronia and Lady Lavinia, I see you are here to cheer for your favorite.”

  He wore his most roguish expression—one eyebrow raised and a half smile quirking his mouth.

  “Where is Lady Falwell?” asked Sophronia. “Do you not carry her handkerchief?”

  In answer, he pulled out the scrap of lace and kissed it. “She awaits me in Brighton.”

  Sophronia gritted her teeth.

  “We wish you a safe race, Your Grace,” said Sukey Braithwaite. “The weather is not promising.”

  “I should be glad if you will carry my handkerchief, as well,” said Lady Clarice, handing him a serviceable, starched white square. “May luck be your friend today!”

  “Thank you, Lady Clarice!”

  The two men shook hands and walked away toward their teams, which were being held at bay by young men wearing waistcoats that matched their masters’. The benches were growing overly full, and Sophronia began to feel quite crowded. However, from where she stood, she could see the duke well, as he had the outside curricle on their side. As he hoisted himself up into it, he looked straight across at Sophronia and gave her a sly wink. She blushed.

  “He winked at you!” Lavinia said. “I saw that!”

  “He is only trying to embarrass me. He knows I am cheering for Tubby.”

  At last, all the gentlemen were settled. The young men moved out of the way and back behind the curricles.

  At the call “Ready,” the duke held up his reins.

  “Set!” The racers all stood.

  A gunshot blasted through the morning. Sophronia had barely registered that the race had begun when she felt a sharp push between her shoulder blades. Her arms wheel
ed through the air, but she lost her balance completely and fell straight onto the raceway.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mayfield barely registered the figure that flew out in front of his team. Cursing, he yanked back on the reins and to the right with all his strength. His blacks screamed and bucked, pawing the air. When they came down, their hooves trampled an obscure figure in brown trying to get up. He pulled them off to the side, as close to the stands as was possible.

  His groom was at his side in an instant, and he managed to yell at him to jump into the curricle. Between the two of them, they moved the powerful blacks away from the figure in the mud.

  Mayfield hopped down amid cries and screams of horror from the stands. Hastening to the downed figure, he was suddenly weak with shock as he recognized the bonnet.

  “Sophronia!” he cried. “Oh! Dear God, have mercy! Sophronia!”

  Kneeling in the churned mud, he ripped off the bonnet and was relieved to see that the white face was untouched. He felt beneath her ear on her neck and knew a moment’s relief. There was a pulse. There would be internal injuries and bleeding, but she had a chance. He began moving hands over the muddy pelisse. There were two distinct hoof marks on her back. Marveling that she hadn’t been beaten to pulp, he felt for the extent of her injuries, but couldn’t tell for certain what they might be.

  Lady Clarice and Sukey Braithwaite were on the other side of her. Lavinia knelt next to him, whimpering, “Oh, Lord, do not take my sister. Oh, God, please let her live.”

  “She should not be moved, except very carefully,” said Sukey.

  “It was a man that did this,” declared Lady Clarice. “A man who has been seen around the Academy. He has been apprehended.”

  “I will send our carriage to the charity clinic for a board to move her on. She must be moved to Guy’s Hospital. I know a surgeon there who is very skilled,” said Sukey and ran off, amazingly spry.