by Amanda Scott
“Damme, what’s toward here? Ernest, whatever are you about? Unhand Miss Hardy at once. At once, I say, sir!”
“Get out, George.” Though Carolyn had stiffened at the sound of the Regent’s voice, Cumberland did not so much as glance over his shoulder. Nor did his grip relax.
“Damme, you can’t treat her so! I’ll not let you!”
Her view was blocked by the breadth of Cumberland’s chest and shoulders, so the first awareness she had of the Regent’s intent came when his hand grabbed Cumberland’s shoulder. As soon as the duke was touched, he went rigid with fury.
“Take your hand from my shoulder, damn you, and get out!”
“Dash it all, Ernest, there are ladies outside! I came ahead to see if Frederica was here, because Charlotte expressed a wish to speak with her. Ought to have known she wasn’t,” he added. “Not a dog in sight, damme if there is.”
“I doubt there is anyone at all outside,” Cumberland said snidely, “but your presence does explain why Miss Hardy was waiting out there alone, does it not?”
Carolyn gasped, but the others paid her no heed, the Regent saying testily, “’Tis understandable that you could think such a thing, my dear Ernest, since she is most unlikely to have had the extreme bad taste to have been awaiting you.”
The taunt nearly proved his undoing when Cumberland whirled with a growl of fury, flung Carolyn aside, and leapt at him.
She heard the Regent cry out, but she was too concerned at first with the need to avoid being knocked into the pool to see what happened. By the time she regained her balance and turned, their struggle had carried them a short distance away, but just then Cumberland, with a bellow of rage, heaved the Regent backward, toward her. Catching his heel on a flagstone, he fell heavily at her feet, and when the duke leapt toward him with murder in his eye, Carolyn scrambled to get out of their way. Only when Cumberland suddenly and most incredibly became airborne, flying over the Regent to land with a gurgling shout and a very large splash in the icy pool did she realize that another combatant had entered the lists.
As Sydney Saint-Denis reached down to help the Regent to his feet, he said over his shoulder and apparently with all his usual tranquility, “Caro, are you hurt?”
“Sydney! What are you doing here?” Staring at him, she glanced at Cumberland, who staggered furiously in the water as he attempted to regain his footing. Then, still unable to believe what she had seen, she looked back at Sydney.
He had opened his mouth to reply to her when the Regent groaned in pain and fell back to the floor. Kneeling quickly over him, Sydney demanded, “What is it, sir?”
“Damme if it isn’t my ankle,” the Regent complained, trying to reach that member. “I’ve gone and sprained it, thanks to Ernest’s damned insolence and Frederica’s uneven floor. But you’d best get him out of that pond. How the devil did you do that trick, anyway, Saint-Denis? Pretty piece of work, damme if it wasn’t, but you oughtn’t to have put him in the water.”
“Just something I picked up in my travels, sir,” Sydney said, raising his quizzing glass to peer down at the duke, who had finally managed to get to his feet and, moving with care, was on the point of emerging from the water. Sydney dropped his glass and reached a hand out to him. “Here, Cumberland.”
Starting, and jerking away from him, the duke slipped again and sat down hard in the water.
“Dear me,” Sydney said, raising his glass again. “I cannot think why—Oh, there you are, Yarmouth,” he added when that gentleman appeared in the doorway. “Best keep the ladies outside, I think. There’s been a bit of an accident.”
Yarmouth, a slender bon vivant in his mid-thirties, surveyed the room with a shrewd twinkle in his eyes. “An accident, you say? The duchess won’t like this much, I’m thinking.”
“No,” Sydney agreed, glancing from Cumberland, who had emerged from the pool at last, dripping wet and grim of countenance, to the Prince Regent. “We must tidy things up a bit, but do you keep your lady and her high—”
“What happened here?” Princess Charlotte demanded, bobbing up and down on tiptoe behind Yarmouth. “We cannot see, Yarmouth. Go in or come out!”
Obediently Lord Yarmouth moved to allow the princess and his wife to enter. Lady Yarmouth cried out in dismay at the sight thus presented to her, but the princess, seeing her father sitting on the floor, nursing his swelling ankle, glared at her uncle and said, “What have you done, you vile beast?”
Cumberland, after a sidelong glance at Sydney, returned her look with one of equal dislike and growled, “I stumbled.”
“Aunt Frederica will be angry if you have spoilt my party.”
“Chit’s right,” the Regent said. “Best to put a good face on it somehow. Only trouble is,” he added ruefully, “don’t think I can walk. Bound to cause talk if I have to be carried back to the house, damme if it won’t.”
Sydney had been thinking, and now he said, “If it please you, sir, I think we can contrive a tale to fit the circumstances if his highness will agree to retire to one of the back chambers until we can send the discreet Mr. Neall to him with dry clothes. With any luck at all, no one will see him, for most of those who were out walking before will have returned by now to prepare for the evening, and any who haven’t can be fobbed off by telling them you and the princess were practicing for the ball when you stumbled over an uneven spot in the floor here. Perhaps the quadrille—No, that won’t do, but perhaps—”
“Oh, who cares what you tell them!” Cumberland exclaimed. “Tell them he was dancing the Highland fling if you like, only get him out of here. I’m sick of the sight of you all!”
Sydney said nothing, nor did he look at the duke. Instead, he gestured to Yarmouth to help him, and between the two of them they were able to get the Regent to his feet, supporting him outside and down the steps to the path. In the rose garden, they hailed two of the servants who had been awaiting his pleasure, and once the Regent was safely in their care, with the Yarmouths and Charlotte to follow him, Sydney and Carolyn were left alone.
“I must remember to send Cornelius Neall out before Cumberland catches a chill,” Sydney said, “but since the duke’s needs are hardly a priority with me, I may forget. Perhaps you will be good enough to remind me.”
Carolyn bit her lip. In her astonishment at seeing the duke fly into the pool, she had all but forgotten her own part in the scene, but that memory flooded back now with a vengeance. Thinking Sydney might have things to say to her that she had no wish to hear, she attempted a diversion by demanding to know what he had done to the duke.
“He said he stumbled,” Sydney reminded her.
“He did no such thing,” she retorted, “and I’ve a strong notion that what happened to him is exactly what happened to Salas that night. Whatever did you do to them?”
Sydney shrugged. “’Twas as I told Prinny, a trick I learned in China, no more. But, Caro—”
“I wondered why no servant ever spoke about that incident,” she said. But then she could find no more words, and he was silent too, making no further attempt to say whatever it was that he had been about to say. She watched him, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he was as angry with her as she deserved that he should be. A lump formed in her throat, and at last she said in a much smaller voice, “I am sorry, Sydney, truly I am.”
“It was not entirely your fault,” he said. His words were carefully measured and spoken serenely, but she was coming to know him better, and she knew by the way he spoke just then that Sydney Saint-Denis was as angry as any man could be.
X
FEELING SYDNEY’S ANGER, AND believing despite his words that much of it must be aimed at her, Carolyn had no wish to encourage him to say more. She knew she was behaving in a cowardly fashion and despised herself for it, but for the first time in her life, she was a little afraid of him and therefore grateful for his silence as they walked. When they came to her bedchamber door, she braced herself for his reproof.
He said, “I’
ll find Neall now.”
She nodded, watching him, waiting, but he merely opened her door for her and suggested she dress quickly. “It will not do for us to be late,” he said.
A moment later he was gone, and Maggie was hustling her out of her dress, exclaiming over its damp skirt and insisting that she make haste. “Her ladyship rang for her woman more than an hour ago, miss, and I’ve been just a-waiting and a-waiting.”
“I want a bath,” Carolyn said as she let the maid help her into her dressing gown. “Is such a thing possible in this ill-managed house, Maggie?”
“Oh, yes, miss, for Ching Ho saw to it earlier. There’s the tub all ready behind that screen there, and I’ve only to ring for a man to bring hot water. I don’t know how that Chinaman managed it, miss, but perhaps the master took a hand.”
Carolyn’s mind promptly provided her with a mental image of Sydney’s elegant, well-tended hands and the thought that he must have sent Cumberland flying with little more than the flick of a finger, at most a wrist, for he had not done anything more violent. Impossible, she told herself. No one could have done such a thing. Certainly not the languid Sydney.
“Miss?”
Startled, she realized that Maggie was staring at her, waiting for some sort of response, but Carolyn had no idea what else the maid might have said to her. Collecting herself, she said, “Ring for the water, Maggie. We have no time to waste.”
“But I did, miss. Just now. I told you.”
“Good,” Carolyn said, adding with forced calm, “Now, tell me, shall I wear my back hair in a twist tonight or curled into ringlets?” When Maggie voted for ringlets the awkward moment was gone, and there was no time for anything after that but the preparations for the Princess Charlotte’s ball.
Carolyn was no sooner attired in her pink satin ball gown than Miss Pucklington arrived to inform her that the dowager was waiting, impatiently. Carolyn snatched up her gloves and lace reticule and, gathering up her demi-train, hurried to accompany Miss Pucklington, telling that lady that she looked as fine as fivepence in her pale-lavender silk gown with its matching gloves and reticule. “Although Godmama will no doubt cast us both into the shade,” she added with a chuckle.
“She is magnificent, as always,” Miss Pucklington agreed.
And so it was, for Lady Skipton was draped from head to toe in emerald satin and diamonds. Raising her gold-rimmed lorgnette to her eyes, she surveyed Carolyn critically. “Most becoming, my dear,” she pronounced at last, “though I should have advised you to wear your pearls.”
Carolyn’s hand flew protectively to the flower necklace. “I prefer this, ma’am.”
“Oh, as you wish. There is certainly no time to be changing your mind. Let us go downstairs.”
Following her, Carolyn wondered if the afternoon’s events might have led to trouble, but there was no sign of any when they joined the others in the huge dining room for dinner. And for once there could be no complaints about the service. An attendant stood behind each chair, and the sideboards fairly creaked beneath the weight of the many dishes set out upon them.
It was well after ten o’clock before they adjourned to the ballroom, and it was not until then that she remembered the Regent would not be dancing, since those members of the royal family who were present at dinner had already been seated before she and the others entered the dining room.
He hobbled into the ballroom, supported by a stout cane on one side and the arm of his secretary, Colonel MacMahon, on the other. And although he laughed at something said to him by Lord Alvanley, also walking beside him, it could be seen as he took his seat that he was in considerable pain. His right leg, ostentatiously wrapped in white linen, was carefully propped on a satin stool by another attendant.
The Duke of York, coming up behind Carolyn, clicked his tongue and said, “Isn’t that the very deuce of a thing?”
“Most unfortunate, sir,” Carolyn said. Then, remembering that she ought to know little if anything about the matter, she said, “What on earth—”
“Ought to have known better,” York said, chuckling, “than to try dancing in that damned grotto of Freddie’s. And Ernest won’t dance tonight either, I’m told. Sulking in his room, no doubt, on account of Georgie’s ankle drawing so much attention. Just as well,” he added with a twinkle. “If he did come down, he’d no doubt kick poor Georgie just for the fun of hearing him yelp.”
“Indeed, sir?”
But York had recollected himself. “Mustn’t let my tongue run on like a fiddlestick, must I? Ernest don’t like it.”
The musicians struck up for the first dance just then, and recalled to his duties, the Duke of York excused himself to find his niece, for it was to him that the honor of leading her out had fallen. From his words, Carolyn realized that the tale Sydney had suggested to explain the Regent’s injury was the one that had been given out. No one mentioned a single detail of what really had happened, and although more than once, she saw Lady Yarmouth looking at her with an expression of mischief shared, Carolyn could not in any good conscience return the look. Whether Sydney truly blamed her or not, she blamed herself for much of what had occurred.
She saw Sydney several times during the course of the ball, but since she had no more desire to flirt with him and had decided it would be best to behave with extra circumspection, even to the point of returning to her godmother’s side at the end of each dance, it was easy for her to avoid meeting his gaze. He seemed to be paying her little heed, in any case, so it came as a surprise to her, when a waltz was called just before a late supper was to be served, to find him bowing before her.
“May I have the honor, Miss Hardy?”
His mother, seated next to Carolyn on one of the gilt chairs lining the walls of the room, frowned and said sharply, “Why do you address her so? I cannot recall your ever doing so before.”
“Can you not, Mama?” He smiled at Carolyn. “Well, ma’am? You do not answer me.”
The dowager snapped, “Don’t be foolish. Of course, she will dance. She has danced only with old men and Alvanley tonight. She does nothing to form an eligible attachment.”
“Poor Caro,” Sydney said as he guided her with a light touch to their place in the set. The waltz, being neither so slow nor so stately as the minuet that had preceded it, was a gliding dance better suited to a more highly polished floor, and for some moments Carolyn had to concentrate on her steps, until she had adapted her movements to the uncertain surface. She had heard of a new version of the dance, performed on the Continent and even sometimes in London, where the gentleman held his partner in a near embrace throughout. Looking now at Sydney and finding his warm gaze upon her, she wondered if she would like to dance that way and decided, blushing, that she would like it very much.
He smiled at her just then and she blushed more deeply and looked away, then started when he linked his arm with hers for the allemande. When the music ended and she turned to look for the dowager, Sydney said quietly, “I had hoped you would join me for supper, but I suppose you are promised to someone else.”
“No,” she confessed. “No one.” She had been asked twice but had not thought she would wish to stay downstairs so late.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and suddenly Carolyn was not sure she wanted to go with him, since the fact that he had said nothing yet about her part in the afternoon’s events did not mean he would remain silent forever. But she could not simply pull her hand away and leave him. Deciding that they would probably join other friends, so there would be no opportunity for private conversation, she went with him quietly, only to be dismayed when he led her through the crowd to a quiet corner table and signed to a footman to serve them there.
As Carolyn took her seat, watching him warily, Sydney smiled and said, “I hope you don’t mind. I have had enough chatter already tonight to last me a lifetime.”
With a mixture of profound relief and quite unexpected disappointment, she said, “It is all the same to me, I suppose.”
>
“What is it, Caro? Oh, thank you,” he added when a footman placed plates laden with food before each of them. “We’ll have wine, I think.” Then, when the man had gone and she still had not spoken, he said, “Well? Are you not speaking to me?”
She managed a smile. “On the contrary, sir. I know you must be angry with me, and I have been waiting rather uncomfortably to hear what you will say to me.”
He was silent for a long moment, and she knew by his expression that she had surprised him. Then he said, “I was vexed, certainly, though I thought I had concealed it. It cannot be necessary for me to tell you, you behaved unwisely.”
Without thinking, and rather sharply, she said, “Do you only do what is necessary, Sydney?”
“I have found ’tis the best way,” he replied. “To do only what is necessary—no more, no less than that.”
For reasons she could not have explained to herself, let alone to him, his reply incensed her to speechlessness. She glared at him, and the arrival of the footman with their wine only irritated her more. When the man had gone, she drank thirstily before resolutely turning her attention to her plate, determined to ignore Sydney. Moments later, when another footman passed by with a wine bottle, she finished what was left in her glass before signing to him to refill it.
“You will intoxicate yourself again if you drink so quickly,” Sydney said gently when the man had gone.
“And if I do, ’twill be because I wish to do so and for no other reason,” she retorted. “Therefore I daresay you will make no effort to stop me.”
“No, Caro, I won’t stop you.”
Irrationally, she snapped, “You would have stopped me when I was a child!”
“But you are no longer a child,” he said, “and I have not the least desire to treat you like one.”
The last words came out in an odd tone, almost a growl, making her feel a little foolish but, at the same time, stirring feelings within her that had never stirred before. She stared at him as she tried to sort out her emotions, then said, finally, “I do not think I understand you, sir.”