The Infamous Rakes

by Amanda Scott

  “I have never before been to Ranelagh,” Dorinda said. “The lighted walks through the garden looked particularly inviting, do you not think so? And they say there will be a grand display of fireworks after supper, you know, before the dancing begins.”

  Corbin’s deep voice sounded from behind Thorne. “The walks are mighty fine indeed, Miss Ponderby. If you would care to stroll about, I should be pleased to act as your escort. We can join the throng going round and round the Rotunda promenade, or we can amble to the bottom of the garden and visit the Temple of Pan near the river, or have a look at the Mount Etna exhibit. They say that real lava flows from it into a pool of fire.”

  Dorinda did not attempt to hide her annoyance at the interruption, but Thorne said, “She would enjoy it, Corbin. Do go with him, Miss Ponderby. He knows a deal more about the place than I do. My mother is motioning to me to join her, so I must beg you to excuse me.” But although he turned toward the duchess, he did not go to her. He wanted to talk to Gillian.

  She was still engrossed in her conversation with Crawley. They were standing near his mother and sister, who were chatting with Lady Marrick, the duchess, and the elegant Lord Dacres. Dacres, though he stood beside the duke, seemed enraptured by Belinda Crawley. Thorne told himself that he did not doubt his ability to detach Gillian from the others, but he suddenly feared to put it to the touch. It would be better to wait until later, he decided, when he could be private with her without causing a stir. Altering his course accordingly, he joined his father, who was looking particularly bored at the moment.

  The orchestra played from a flower-decked platform beside a small stage that faced the queen’s box, and when a company of children began to dance Spanish dances on the stage, Thorne and his companions retired to their supper boxes to be served with collared beef, collared veal, ham and tongue, sandwiches, Savoy cakes, pastries, and fruit, as well as tea, coffee, lemonade, ice creams, jellies, and biscuits. Thorne, looking over the vast spread, thought cynically that there was certainly no indication there that members of Parliament were spending every waking hour discussing the scarcity of food, and trying to discover practical methods of remedying the many grievances caused by that scarcity.

  In no mood for lemonade, and knowing that the duke would likewise reject it, he caught the attention of a passing waiter and ordered several bottles of wine. Matters had been arranged so that Gillian had been seated in the next box, and since Thorne was certain he recognized the fine hand of his cousin Dawlish in the design for the evening, he determined to have a word with that young man before very much more time had passed. At the moment, however, Dawlish seemed interested only in the little dancers and was completely oblivious to his annoyance.

  During the supper, Mr. Ashley played his bassoon, and a fat young woman sang several ballads. Glees and catches were sung by the children from recesses on each side of the stage, and out of respect for the duke, who actually wanted to hear the music, the others in his party lowered their voices, though others around them did not. The concert ended with a spirited rendition of “God Save the King,” for which the entire company respectfully rose to their feet, and when it was done, the royal party turned toward the back of their box, for the curtains at the Rotunda’s many tall windows had been swept back by the waiters so that everyone inside could watch in comfort the magnificent display of fireworks about to begin in the garden.

  Part of the effect was lost due to the skies remaining overcast, but the display was brilliant nonetheless, for besides the usual star bursts and Catherine wheels, there were twenty illuminated sailboats on the canal from which skyrockets were discharged. The effect was dazzling, but at last it was done and the company turned back to the activities inside the Rotunda.

  Many more people had arrived, most of whom were masked and wearing dominoes or costumes. The orchestra struck up again, playing a martial tune as a signal that the queen and the princesses with their retinue were ready to depart. A number of red-coated waiters cleared an aisle from the royal box to the exit, and a train of carriages, accompanied by a party of the Horse Guards, came up the long walk to collect them. Everyone else remained standing until they had been driven away.

  “What a pity,” Dorinda said, “that they cannot stay for the dancing. I am sure they would enjoy it.”

  Thorne smiled politely at her. “The royal family makes frequent appearances at public functions such as this one, Miss Ponderby, and I’m quite certain that there are at least two royal dukes present tonight who will remain for several hours, but it will be a long while before it is thought suitable for any royal princess to be present at a public masquerade.”

  Gillian, turning in time to see Thorne smile at Dorinda, stifled a sigh and turned away again. It was surely no business of hers if he chose to join the other gentlemen in making a cake of himself over her beautiful stepsister. Noting that many more people had joined the throng inside the Rotunda, she wondered why her uncle was not there. She had been expecting him ever since her own arrival, but had not caught so much as a glimpse of him.

  The floor was cleared for dancing, and the orchestra struck up for a Grand March. Domino hoods were adjusted and loo masks lifted into place, and suddenly the Rotunda was alive with masqueraders. Gillian danced only with the men from her own party at first, telling herself it did not matter that everyone but Thorne asked her to dance. She saw him lead Dorinda out, then Belinda Crawley, and then the duchess, who accepted his invitation with a laugh and an engaging twinkle. The duke had disappeared toward the card room, evidently believing his wife would be well looked after without him for a time. Even Estrid was dancing. Gillian did not know her partner, but evidently Estrid had recognized the tall, slim gentleman in the black domino who had approached her and murmured an invitation to her to honor him, for she had blushed like a girl in her first Season and had gone with him without so much as a blink.

  The numbers increased inside the Rotunda until it became clear that people without tickets had managed to slip past the gatekeepers. The numbers of people and the candles in the many chandeliers that lighted the room combined to make the temperature uncomfortably hot after a time, and so crowded did it become that Gillian wondered if she would find her way back to the box when her present dance was ended. She was with Crawley, and she had every confidence in his being able to see her safely back to her stepmother’s side, but she had long since lost sight of Estrid—and of Thorne and most of the others, for that matter.

  The pattern of the dance carried her away from Crawley for a moment, and when she turned back, she bumped into a tall, broad figure in a black domino who caught her hand and quickly pressed a folded note into it when she would have pulled away from him.

  When she got near enough, Crawley bellowed into her ear, “Who the devil was that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, then repeated it louder when he indicated that he hadn’t heard her. She showed him the note.

  “Open it,” he recommended when they paused for a moment.

  She did so, and frowned. “It says I should come to the gravel walk behind the Mount Etna exhibition at midnight if I would find my heart’s desire.” She looked at him. “Who can have given me such a foolish note?”

  He shook his head, letting his eyes roll up, as though he had not the least notion and thought the whole thing absurd, but Gillian had a sudden feeling that he knew all about it. Though the man who had given the note to her had been large enough to have been Thorne, she was nearly certain it had not been he, but Corbin was almost as tall, and she had felt from the beginning that the whole evening had been planned by Thorne’s friends to bring the two of them together in some way or other. Smiling at Crawley, she tucked the note into her indispensable and let him skip her down the line.

  Thorne had given up dancing and sat in his supper box with the duchess and Lady Crawley, watching the merrymakers. The Rotunda was so crowded now that it was nearly impossible to find anyone he recognized from their party, and the din was so great th
at conversation with his companions was impossible.

  Lady Marrick suddenly appeared before them, blushing behind her black loo mask. She swept into the box and turned as though she meant to speak to someone behind her, then exclaimed, “Oh, how naughty of him! But that is always the way with masquerades, is it not, Duchess? One’s partners never stay to make themselves known.” She fanned herself rapidly with a program picked up from the table and looked around with a helpless air.

  Thorne had risen to his feet when she entered the box, and he leaned down to his mother and said close to her ear, “Would it be dreadful of us, Mama, if we were to take a turn in the gardens? I am rapidly—”

  But there was no need to finish, for the duchess leapt to her feet and said in a tone that carried to the other ladies despite the roar of noise around them, “We are going to take a turn in the garden before I swoon from this dreadful heat. Can we send a waiter to you with some lemonade, do you think?”

  Both the other ladies accepted the offer with gratitude, and the duchess, placing her hand on Thorne’s arm, fairly pulled him away from the box and around the flurry of dancers to the nearest exit. Once safely outside, she said, “Dearest, do see if you can capture one of those red-coated waiters and command him to take some lemonade to the box. There is one now. Catch him!”

  Thorne did so, gave the necessary orders, then turned back to the duchess, who beamed at him and said, “That will hold them. We have been very clever, I think, dearest. Neither could offer to come with us, for they were bound to remain where Belinda and the other girls could find them, and for that I am thankful, for if anything is worse than enduring Amelia Crawley’s chattering, it is attempting to remain gracious whilst Lady Marrick attempts to pretend she is unimpressed by my rank. The poor woman only makes me want to snatch her bald-headed!”

  Chuckling, Thorne squeezed her hand on his arm and began to relax for the first time that evening. They were not the only ones to have sought the cooling river breezes. People wearing dominoes and carrying loo masks could be seen everywhere in the gardens. A band played from the temple-like structure near the canal, known as the Chinese House, and it was pleasant just to stroll. The garden’s main walks were illuminated by the lamps hanging from the branches of the trees, but a few of the lesser walks had been left in discreet darkness.

  A shepherdess carrying a crook ran past them, shrieking as she tried to elude a Harlequin in hot pursuit. Across the green lawn, a stately Cleopatra walked with a Roman-robed Anthony, and Queen Elizabeth strolled beside Sir Francis Drake. There were others in similar imaginative costumes, but many more wore dominoes. They looked, Thorne thought, like a host of colorful butterflies. And moths, he reflected, noting the vast number of black dominoes amongst the other, brighter colors.

  There were also gawkers, those members of the public who for a small sum had purchased tickets of admission that, while they did not allow entrance to the Rotunda, did allow them to watch the glittering activity in the gardens, to enjoy the music and the beauty of the lights reflected in the river Thames, and to stroll beneath the elms and oaks that lined the gravel walks.

  Thorne caught a flash of rose pink and turned to see a young woman who he was certain must be Gillian, her hand on the arm of a man in a black domino, strolling away from them some distance ahead. She lowered her mask carelessly and turned her profile, and he saw that it was indeed Gillian. When she laughed, twinkling up at her partner, Thorne realized he was gritting his teeth and promptly returned his attention to the duchess. The band music grew louder near the bottom of the garden.

  Thorne’s patience was wearing thin. He found himself wondering about Gillian’s chilly attitude, and for the first time it occurred to him that she might not have sent the note he had received. Surely, he thought, if she had, she would have cast at least one speaking look his way during the evening. He had been led by that note to believe she would greet him with some warmth, at least. Instead she seemed to avoid looking at him at all, and he had not managed to get a word with her. It was almost as if his friends, having conspired to throw them together, were now in a conspiracy to keep them apart until the appointed hour.

  If, indeed, she had not sent the message herself, he realized that it would behoove him to tread carefully. His first message to her, apologizing for having lost his temper, had got short shrift. His second had been politely received, however, and she had agreed to meet him. At least that was what he had assumed when her note had come, apparently in reply to his.

  What if that was not the case? What if she remained cold toward him and came to the rendezvous, as perhaps he did himself, believing what was not true. What if the timing of the note he received had been only a coincidence? He could scarcely ask the others outright what they had done, in case he was wrong about the whole and they had done nothing. He wanted to find Gillian, to have things out with her and discover the truth, but he could scarcely walk away and leave the duchess in the garden.

  Gillian had found her uncle. In truth, he had found her when she had been on the point of leaving the floor with Crawley. He had come upon them, unmasked, indeed wearing nothing over his normal evening attire but the sort of plain black domino that so many gentlemen wore. Gillian had greeted him with delight, dismissing Crawley and agreeing at once to take a turn in the garden with Mr. Vellacott, but she had scolded him as soon as they were outside, where she could make herself heard.

  “Where have you been, sir? I have been on the watch for you ever since we arrived. You missed a very fine supper.”

  “Oh, I had my supper,” he said airily. “Why the devil were you dancing with Crawley? Man’s a fortune hunter. Needs an heiress more than I do myself. Well, stands to reason he does, since I don’t need one. Wasn’t born without a shirt, even if m’ father did see fit to leave the bulk of his wealth to your mama. Never bothered me a whit. My Millicent came to me with a fine dowry, and so, for all her faults, did Grace. I’m well fixed now, damme if I’m not, so I needn’t ever again fall into a parson’s mousetrap. I can just enjoy myself. Crawley, now—”

  “Don’t concern yourself, sir,” Gillian said, twinkling at him. “I do not believe for a minute that Crawley seeks to capture me or my fortune. Indeed, I think he acts more out of friendship than from any other motive.”

  “Oh, does he now? And what makes you think that, m’ dear?”

  “Well ...” She wrinkled her nose, wondering if she ought to take him into her confidence. When he twinkled back at her, looking like a child awaiting a treat, she decided that in such a crowd as this one she would be extremely foolish to wander about at midnight without an escort. Laughing, she said, “Oh, very well, but I tell you only because I will need an escort and I do not want to spoil fun by demanding that one of the others go with me. I am very nearly certain that Crawley, Dawlish, and Corbin are all in a string to mend matters between Thorne and me.”

  Vellacott gave her a straight look. “Do you want things mended between you, m’ dear?”

  Giving back look for look, she said, “I do, sir. I have been most unhappy since our quarrel.”

  “Then go to the lad and tell him so,” Vellacott recommended.

  Gillian bit her lip. “How can I? The last time I saw him privately he shouted at me, and the only time I have seen him since, he had Dorinda on his arm and didn’t so much as bid me good evening. But if the others are doing what I think they are, it must be because they believe he wants to mend matters just as much as I do, so will you come for me at midnight, sir? The assignation is to be in the walk behind the Mount Etna exhibit.”

  “Very well, m’ dear, but now let us stroll back toward the Rotunda. There is a particular beauty who deserves just a few more minutes of my time before I must abandon her for you.”

  Gillian laughed and let him take her back inside. They were intercepted by Lord Dawlish before they reached the box, and when he asked her to dance, she accepted readily, hoping he might say something to reassure her that he had things well in hand. He didn�
�t say a word that she could pretend had any double meaning, but neither did he say anything to dash her hopes.

  Thorne had lost sight of Gillian and her cavalier, and in order to hurry the clock, he guided his mother to a deserted table in a pavilion near the water, where they could watch the lights and the boats sailing on the canal. Waving to a strolling wine seller, he purchased a bottle of Madeira and poured a glass for each of them. Less than a half hour later, they were joined by lords Corbin and Crawley.

  Taking a seat and stretching his legs, Corbin said, “Found Crawler by the canal but dashed if we haven’t lost Mongrel and the others. The beauteous Dorinda gave me the slip a half hour ago, and I’d not seen the rest for some time before that.”

  Crawley said, “My sister’s with Dacres, strolling down the long walk, and I thought I saw Lady Gillian across the canal, walking near the Mount Etna exhibition with her uncle Vellacott. It’s nigh onto midnight, so they will soon be serving a late supper. People are already coming out of the Rotunda in droves, so I daresay the dancing is done for a time and the others will be ready for something to eat or drink. What say you look about for the others, Corbin, while Josh and I go see who is still sitting in the supper boxes? Don’t wander about for long, though. Most likely, their last partners will deliver them safe and sound to Lady Marrick’s box. Just hope she’s still there,” he added. “Seen her dancing more than once tonight, always with the same skinny fellow in a black domino. Wears a full mask, so I can’t say who he is, but it’s my belief Marrick ought to spend less time at the tables and more time dancing attendance on his wife—begging your pardon, I’m sure, your grace.”

  The duchess smiled at him. “Never mind about my pardon, sir. Just go and find the others. I shall be perfectly content to remain here with Corbin until you and Josiah do so. We can have our late supper here, in fact. It is growing a trifle chilly, but I refuse to set foot back inside that hotbox.”