Improper Ladies: The Golden FeatherThe Rules of Love

by Amanda McCabe

  It made him want to laugh, as well, even though he had no idea what they were talking of.

  Then he heard his mother’s words.

  “... and there he was, running down the drive without a stitch on, while his nursemaid chased after him.”

  Oh, dear Lord. Was she telling that old story about the time he was three years old and went dashing about in the altogether again?

  She must be. Mrs. Aldritch was looking at him with mirth sparkling in her dark eyes, one lavender-gloved hand pressed over her mouth, holding in her laughter.

  His mother continued. “And all the tenants were walking home from the farm at that hour. I would vow that every single one of them saw that tiny dimple just above—”

  “Mother!” Justin interrupted desperately, “I am sure you must be boring Mrs. Aldritch with my childhood exploits. Not to mention how improper it is.”

  Caroline took her hand away from her mouth and said, “I found it to be an extremely diverting story, Lord Lyndon. Extremely diverting, indeed.”

  “And you are not one to be lecturing about propriety, Justin,” his mother added. “That is the least of the stories I could tell about you, my dear. Why, there was the time you and young Harry broke into the wine cellar....”

  Justin had the unhappy feeling that this talebearing could go on for hours. He wanted Caroline Aldritch to like him, to be impressed by him. Not think he was some wild ’un who always ran about without his clothes as a child.

  He stood up quickly and said, “I do believe you expressed an interest in seeing the, er, wheel, Mrs. Aldritch.” Is that what they called the steering mechanism of yachts? A wheel? Justin certainly hoped so. He couldn’t afford to look any more foolish.

  She looked up at him quizzically, with a half smile that said she knew exactly what he was doing. “Did I? Yes. I would like to see the, er, wheel.”

  With a last word for his mother, she rose and took his arm, allowing him to lead her along the deck. They went past the three young people, who were watching one of the sailors demonstrate knot making, and stopped in the relatively quiet stern.

  Caroline leaned her arms on the rail and looked down at the water below. “You are not fooling me one bit, you know,” she said, laughter still lingering in her voice.

  Justin also leaned on the rail, inches away from her. “Not fooling you about what?”

  “I never asked to see any wheels. You merely did not want me to hear any more of your childhood exploits.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he admitted blithely. “They cannot be very amusing to anyone but my mother.”

  “Oh, no. I found them vastly amusing.”

  “Then it is not fair. No one is here to tell tales of your childhood, Mrs. Aldritch.”

  “Indeed not. Phoebe is so much younger that she does not recall much. And a good thing it is, too. I had a dull country childhood.”

  “Nothing about you could possibly be dull,” he said, without thinking.

  She looked at him from beneath her bonnet, her expression unreadable. “On the contrary. I am very dull, I assure you.” Then she turned from him, leaning her back against the railing while she watched her sister.

  Justin sensed her drawing away, pulling back inside herself. He wanted desperately to bring her back, to bring back the lightly teasing woman. But he did not know how.

  So he said, “My mother told me she invited you to the concert with us on Saturday.”

  “Yes. I hope that is quite all right?”

  “Certainly. I look forward to it.”

  “Phoebe is very excited. She has already changed her plans for her ensemble four times!”

  “And you, Mrs. Aldritch? Are you excited about the concert?”

  She turned back to look at him, but before she could reply a chilly wind swept across the deck, pushing back her bonnet. She clutched at the silk brim and looked about worriedly.

  Justin only then noticed that the sky, so blue when they set out, had become overcast. He had been so engrossed in talking with Mrs. Aldritch that everything else had faded about him.

  Now he saw the captain coming toward them, trailed by his mother, Harry, Miss Lane, and Miss Bellweather. “It looks as if we might be in for a bit of a shower, my lord,” he said. “Might be best if you all went below for a while.”

  “Is it dangerous?” Mrs. Aldritch asked in a tight voice.

  “Not at all, ma’am,” the captain answered. “We just wouldn’t want you to be getting damp.”

  Justin offered her his arm again and said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, “I am sure it is nothing at all, Mrs. Aldritch. Let us go down below, and we can have our luncheon.”

  She nodded and smiled, but her grasp was hard on his arm.

  Caroline did not like this one bit.

  It was not a real storm, but the soft sound of rain falling on the deck underlay the merry chatter of the party. The boat rocked gently, causing wine and lemonade to slosh against the sides of glasses.

  Her stomach wouldn’t allow her to partake of the picnic luncheon spread across a table, and she feared her smile at the others’ sallies was rather strained. She had no desire to ruin their fine time, so she was very glad when Phoebe suggested a diversion.

  Even if that diversion was a game of cards.

  Caroline watched warily as Harry dug a pack of cards from the bottom of the hamper and shuffled them deftly. Just the sight of the brightly colored pasteboards brought back unwelcome memories of the Golden Feather.

  She steeled herself against those memories now and forced herself to smile as if she had not a care in the world. You survived Lady Lyndon’s card party, she told herself sternly. You will survive this.

  But the card party had felt somewhat different. There had been so very many people about, all of them eminently respectable, and there had been no stakes. This was more intimate, just her, Lord Lyndon, Harry, Phoebe, and Sarah seated around a table, while Lady Lyndon watched.

  She felt absurdly as if all eyes were on her, judging, waiting for her to slip.

  Then she laughed inwardly at herself. No one was watching her at all! Indeed, Harry and Phoebe were so busy giggling at each other that they saw nothing else.

  Caroline lightly touched the pile of cards, and said, “What shall we play, then? Whist?”

  “Oh, no!” Phoebe cried. “That is far too stodgy for being among friends. Let us play Speculation.”

  “Jolly good!” said Harry. “I shall be dealer.” He proceeded to pass out three cards to each player, then put the card to trump faceup in the center.

  And, as Caroline looked down at the cards in her hand, the old coolness she had once known when she played dealer at the Golden Feather stole over her again. It was unbidden and unwelcome, but she knew only one thing—she wanted to win.

  Justin watched in wonder as Mrs. Aldritch once again produced the highest trump and took the pot. He thought he had never seen a woman so intent on a friendly game of Speculation before, or so good at strategy and winning. She would stop at nothing to secure the trump card!

  “Oh, Caro, you win again,” Phoebe said with a laugh. “How very unfair! I had no idea what a cardsharper you are.”

  Caroline froze in the act of collecting her winnings, her hands suddenly still. She looked at her sister as if she had never seen her before.

  “What did you say, Phoebe?” she said quietly.

  “I said I had no idea what a cardsharper you are! Why, you have trounced us all. I vow I will never play a quiet game of piquet with you in the evening again.”

  Phoebe’s tone was blithe, but Caroline looked oddly stricken. Justin watched, puzzled, as she pulled her hands back as if burned. She stood up suddenly, her face pale.

  “What is the matter, Caro?” Phoebe asked, her bright smile turning to a worried frown. “Are you ill?”

  “It is very warm in here,” said Justin’s mother. “Do you feel faint, my dear?”

  Justin rose beside Caroline, reaching out a hand to steady her
as she swayed a bit. “Let me pour you some wine, Mrs. Aldritch.”

  She turned to him as if startled to see him there. “Oh, no, thank you. I-I think I just need some air. If you all will excuse me for a moment.”

  “Shall I come with you?” Phoebe said, laying down her own cards on the table.

  “Oh, no, Phoebe dear. Stay here and enjoy yourself.” Caroline gave a vague smile and turned to climb the stairs back to the deck.

  Amelia came to Justin and whispered in his ear, “Perhaps you should go with her, Justin. She does not look well.”

  He nodded and went to follow her up the stairs. She stood beneath the eaves of the cabin, watching the light rain that still fell. She rubbed at her arms, as if chilled beneath the thin muslin of her lavender-and-white gown, but she didn’t seem to notice her actions. Indeed, she didn’t seem to notice anything as she stared out at the deck.

  Justin removed his coat and slid it over her shoulders.

  She started a bit, as if surprised to see him. Then she gave him a regretful, grateful little smile and drew the warm wool of the coat closer about her.

  “How foolish you must think me,” she murmured.

  “Not at all,” he answered. “It was rather close in there.”

  “I don’t know what came over me. I suddenly did not feel like myself.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, turning her face into the brisk breeze. Little droplets of water clung to her eyelashes and cheeks.

  Justin wanted to brush them away, to touch the ivory of her cheek and see if it was as soft as it appeared. Instead, he took her arm through the layers of his coat and her gown and led her to one of the benches.

  As they sat down there, out of the rain, he had a sudden idea as to what had brought on her odd behavior. “It was the cards, wasn’t it?” he said.

  “What!” She drew away from him, looking at him with wide eyes. “The cards?”

  “Yes. I knew Larry, remember? I know he had . . . difficulties controlling his card playing.”

  “Oh.” She sat back again cautiously. “Perhaps that was it.”

  Justin felt like an utter cad. He should have known that perhaps she disapproved of cards and gambling, even among friends.

  And he wondered with a pang if her lovely face would cloud with disapproval if she ever found out what a rake he himself had been, so long ago.

  He did not know!

  For one agonizing instant, Caroline had feared he knew the truth. When he asked her if it was the cards that had bothered her, she had been sure he had guessed.

  She had been very silly to get so caught up in the game. At the Golden Feather, winning had been her business, and she took her games there very seriously indeed. Today, for a brief while, she had forgotten that her life was different now. A friendly game of cards was just that.

  She looked at Justin, at his handsome, worried, admiring face. It would be terrible to see that admiration turn to disgust at the truth.

  She would not be so foolish as to forget herself again.

  “Tell me more about this concert we are to attend on Saturday,” she forced herself to say lightly. “I am so looking forward to it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “ ‘When Nature made her chief work, Stella’s eyes, In color black, why wrapp’d she beams so bright? Would she in beamy black, like painter wise, Frame daintiest lustre, mix’d of shades and light?’ ”

  As the soprano sang out, Justin looked down at the woman who sat beside him, her brown eyes cast down to read her program, and reflected that the words could have been written about her.

  As indeed could all the songs, a cycle based on Sir Phillip Sidney’s Astrophil and Stella. Mrs. Aldritch was very like Stella, the star—beautiful, elegant, remote, and out of reach. Every time he thought he began to understand her, like at the picnic, she slid out of his grasp again. Like on the yacht.

  She slowly raised her “beamy black” eyes to look at the soprano, and he was surprised to see that they were suspiciously bright. Her lips moved gently, molding around the words.

  The program trembled in her gloved hands.

  She was obviously in a world of her own, made of the beauty of the language and the imagery of perfect, elusive love.

  “ ‘Both so and thus, she minding Love should be Placed ever there, gave him this mourning weed, To honor all their deaths, who for her bleed.’ ”

  The soprano finished her song amid applause and stepped back for an intermission.

  Mrs. Aldritch wiped quickly at her cheeks with the tips of her fingers and smiled at him. “Is the music not beautiful?”

  “Exquisite,” he said, meaning more than just the music.

  “I have never heard the poems set to music before, but it is very well done. It suits the words well.”

  “You know Astrophil and Stella, then?”

  “Oh, yes! I used to—” She broke off with a strange little laugh. “That is, when I was younger I had a great deal of time for reading. Sidney was a favorite.”

  Justin grinned at her. “You mean you did not prefer Henrietta’s Revenge, as your sister does?”

  She grinned back. “I fear not. I have tried to tell her that Shakespeare and Sidney are full of the things she loves to read about, but she does not believe me.”

  “You mean revenge, curses, and star-crossed love?”

  “Indeed. You are familiar with the Elizabethans, then, Lord Lyndon?”

  “I will tell you a secret, Mrs. Aldritch. I read them at Cambridge, and adored them. But I did it secretly. It would never have done for the dons to know; it would have ruined my reputation as a n’erdo-well.”

  She laughed. “Heaven forbid! Then, tell me, which of the Astrophil poems do you prefer? I like ‘Some lovers speak, when they their muses entertain.’ ”

  Justin thought for a moment, then, gazing steadily into her eyes, quoted, “ ‘A strife is grown between Virtue and Love, While each pretends that Stella must be his: Her eyes, her lips, her all, saith Love, do this, Since they do wear his badge, most firmly prove.’ ”

  She watched him with wide, dark eyes, and whispered, “ ‘But Virtue thus that title doth disprove, that Stella—’ ”

  “ ‘O dear name that Stella is That virtuous soul, sure heir of heav‘nly bliss.’ ”

  They looked at each other in silence, all the chatter and activity around them fading away, leaving them alone on an island of poetry and silence.

  Then she broke the spell by giving a small smile, and saying, “Oh, my. You do have hidden depths, Lord Lyndon.”

  “I could say the same of you, Mrs. Aldritch,” he answered.

  “Indeed you could,” she murmured, looking back down at the program. “Indeed you could.”

  Justin’s mother leaned over, from where she sat on Justin’s other side. “My dears,” she said, “do tell me what is meant when the song says ‘Till that good god make church and churchmen starve.’ It sounds most unpleasant.”

  Mrs. Aldritch also leaned forward and launched into a most erudite explanation of Neoplatonic theory. But he heard not a word of it. Her hair brushed against his throat as she leaned forward, and a scent, sweet and exotic at the same time, floated up to him. Jasmine, he thought, breathing it in deeply.

  How it reminded him of India! Of warm, thick nights, filled with the rich scent of this same flower and dry earth, and with the sounds of music and chanting.

  It suited her perfectly.

  Caroline tried to pay strict attention to the singer when the music resumed, but although the song was lovely, her mind kept drifting.

  To the man beside her.

  His warmth seemed to reach out and curl around her; the scent of his soap was clean and spicy. Every once in a while, as he turned over a page in his program or leaned to whisper a word to his mother, his arm and shoulder would brush against her. The superfine of his sleeve touched, just barely, the half inch of bare skin between her glove and her puffed muslin sleeve; then it slid away.

  Caroline opened her p
ainted silk fan and waved it in front of her face, disarranging her carefully made curls. Really, they should ventilate the concert rooms better!

  And she should stop mooning over Lord Lyndon. She was far too old to be behaving like a love-struck schoolgirl; she had more important things to concern herself with.

  Such as Phoebe. She looked about until she found her sister, seated at the end of the row with Harry and Sarah. The three of them were whispering and giggling, obviously paying no attention to the music or anything else.

  As Caroline watched, Phoebe peeked up at Harry from beneath her lashes and gave him a flirtatious little smile. Harry blushed and grinned.

  Caroline frowned.

  When she had hoped for a match for Phoebe in Wycombe, Harry Seward was not at all what she had in mind. Far from being a quiet, respectable vicar or squire, Harry was young and wild. She remembered the fight on her last night at the Golden Feather, and grimaced.

  Life with Harry would not be the secure one Caroline wanted for her sister.

  But then, Phoebe was not exactly quiet herself. Perhaps no calm squire would have her.

  “You are frowning, Mrs. Aldritch,” Lord Lyndon whispered in her ear, his warm breath stirring the curls at her temple. “Do you disapprove of the song?”

  “Not at all,” Caroline answered, with one last glance at Phoebe. Then she turned back to smile at him. “It is quite fine.”

  “But you feel you must keep a stern eye on your sister.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “Not at all. I have also been watching Harry. But I think we need not fear that they will run away to the shore again. Not after the scoldings we gave them.”

  “Indeed not! Phoebe was all that was contrite.”

  Lord Lyndon gave a small sigh. “As was Harry. But it is very wearing, is it not, Mrs. Aldritch, to always have to be the responsible adult?”

  Indeed it was. Caroline reflected that if she were still the reckless, romantic girl she had been before she wed Lawrence, she would not be sitting here so quietly. She would be trying to lure Lord Lyndon to the shore.