Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind

by Heidi Ashworth

  It was just as well. At least, she thought so until the next pair of arms caught hold of her. She was just gaining the upper hallway after being most careful not to trip on her skirts on the darkened stairway, when a figure darted from the shadows and crushed her in a viselike grip.

  For one brief moment her heart fluttered wildly in her breast. She could almost hear Sir Anthony’s voice saying, “Mere friendship is not enough for me, Lucinda.”

  Lucinda? It was another moment before she realized the voice had been real and it had not been Sir Anthony’s. She peered into the darkness not realizing how close her captor was until her nose came in contact with something hard and sharp.

  It was Lord Avery’s enormous diamond stickpin and his voice saying, “I can scarce believe you dared to meet me, my flower.”

  Somehow Ginny was not surprised. No doubt Lucinda took after her parents in that respect. “If it is Lucinda you wait for, Lord Avery, I suggest you unhand me before she arrives. I do not think she will forgive you for starting without her.”

  Lord Avery’s hands fell from her as if she were made of live coals. With a yowl he jumped back, colliding with a pedestal holding an urn. He made a noble effort to catch it before it hit the ground but, sadly, botched the job.

  He had only time to replace what was left of the urn on the righted pedestal before Lucinda’s light step was heard on the stair. “Eustace, is that you?”

  Instantly, Ginny moved into the shadows to the left of the stairs, while Lord Avery hid behind the broken statuary. “Eustace,” Lucinda whispered. “Where are you?”

  For some reason Ginny could not fathom, Lord Avery made no response. She knew she ought to tiptoe down the hall to her room as fast as she silently could, but she did not like to be discovered hovering in the shadows a hair’s breadth away. She would wait until Lucinda found him, leaving her free to slip away with relative ease.

  To Ginny’s horror, when Lucinda gained the top of the stairs, she turned left. “Eustace, what did you wish to talk to me about?” she implored, stretching forth her hands to steady herself. Before Lucinda made contact with Ginny’s non-Averylike form, she spun on her heel and moved down the hall as quietly and quickly as possible.

  Just as Ginny was about to turn the handle of her room, a hand shot out of the darkness and closed tightly about her wrist. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep voice drawled.

  “Oh, really! I have simply had enough of this. Why shouldn’t I enter my own room?”

  “Because I have already searched it for the slipper and it is not there”

  Ginny gasped. “Do you mean to tell me, Sir Anthony, that you entered my room and searched it?”

  “Hush-they mustn’t hear us! Best to let nature take its course”

  Ginny forgot her former question for a new one. “Do you not care if Lucinda is compromised by Lord Avery in a game of Hunt the Slipper?”

  “Avery is a romantic. I doubt he knows what a golden opportunity is his just now. And Lucinda, I daresay she has no inclination of what his purpose is. She is very innocent.”

  “Innocent?” With that practiced lisp and plunging neckline? Ginny resisted the temptation to stamp on Sir Anthony’s foot. “So, it does matter to you? What happens to Lucinda, I mean”

  “It shall all turn out in the end, Miss Delacourt, never you fear.”

  “Fear? What have I to fear? It matters not to me how this all turns out!” she hissed.

  “Doesn’t it?” With his hand still gripping her arm, she could feel him move closer so his breath fanned her cheek. “What you have to fear is losing.”

  “Losing! To Lucinda?” How dared he!

  “Naturally. If we don’t hurry, they will find the slipper ere do we, and I had it of the housekeeper the prize is an entire blancmange”

  Ginny felt unaccountably relieved. She choked on the bubble of nervous laughter that welled up inside her. “In that case, we had best hurry and find it. I most especially love blancmange.”

  In the end, it was the squire who found the slipper under his own bed when he had gone up to take a snooze after his tryst with his lady in the linen closet. It seemed Mrs. Crandall thought it a great joke to lay the slipper in place of the master’s own. To compensate for the difficulty of the task, she made a small blancmange for each participant.

  “That was very well done of her,” Ginny commented to Sir Anthony. He was seated to her right at the dinner table yet failed to hear her. He appeared to be wholly consumed with every detail of Lucinda’s toilette. They were in silent communication, it seemed, for Lucinda had only to point to a certain aspect of her gown or jewelry for Sir Anthony to give a slight nod and the ghost of a smile in her direction.

  It was positively disgusting and most shockingly rude, to say the least. And there was Lord Avery seeing all of it, looking as if he were about to water his blancmange with his tears.

  “Lord Avery,” she said hastily, not wishing to see Mrs. Crandall’s efforts washed down the table. “Would you consider favoring us with some of your poetry tonight?” Even as she said it she wanted to bite her tongue. But what was done was done, and Lord Avery looked so pleased.

  “Yes, my dear Miss Delacourt, it would be a pleasure beyond bearing.” Indeed his face shone with an almost insupportable joy.

  “That is,” she amended, “if the others are of a like mind.”

  Murmurs of assent went all around the table. It was difficult to tell the genuine smiles from the forced, but Ginny suspected there were some of each.

  Lord Avery jumped up from his chair. “Then it’s settled! Let us forgo the port and have at it.” Taking Ginny by the arm, he propelled her to her feet. “I would be delighted to escort you to the front-row seat, Miss Delacourt.” He tucked her arm in his and hurried her out the door.

  Ginny realized, with some trepidation, that Lord Avery was using her to make Lucinda jealous. If so, matters could only go from bad to worse.

  The evening had taken a turn for the worse. Lord Avery’s enthusiasm was hard to stomach, but his souful expression as he stood before them at the front of the music room was enough to turn one off one’s food. Sir Anthony supposed the facial arrangement to be intentional but doubted the hangdog face of a professional mourner was the desired result.

  “Oh, you look exactly like Lord Byron,” Mrs. Barrington exclaimed.

  “Yes, indeed.” Lucinda clapped her hands. “You could be twins!”

  Never mind that Lucinda had never laid eyes on Lord Byron, Sir Anthony thought, not to mention that Byron was dark of hair and eye.

  Lord Avery seemed not to care for that little detail. “Ladies, you honor me” He bowed and drew a packet of papers from deep within his waistcoat and cleared his throat. “Light, if you please”

  Mrs. Barrington twittered and hastened forth with a brace of candles. She placed them on the pianoforte next to where Lord Avery stood, his hand caressing the smooth cherry finish.

  He once again peered at his papers and in a moment of great transparency moved the candles ever closer to his side. Lord Avery’s pale locks flared into glorious gold tresses in this new proximity to the flickering flames. The poetry had not even begun and Sir Anthony could feel his stomach churning.

  He stole a glance at Ginny, seated near the front of the room, from his preferred chair at the back where the light was dim and he could slip into slumber undetected. It also had the added advantage of providing him with an excellent view of Ginny’s reaction. At the moment she was giving every indication of being eager to hear Lord Avery’s drivel.

  “Cornflower eyes, like dawn arise,” Lord Avery intoned.

  Sir Anthony had no trouble determining for whom this poem was written. Certainly there was no doubt as to who the author was though he wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Avery had fallen prey to the temptation of plagiarism. Lord knows he would under such circumstances. The poem continued at agonizing length, delineating each and every charm Miss Barrington possessed. After listening to them descri
bed in Lord Avery’s words, Sir Anthony was inclined to view even “dimpled cheeks, as well as elbows,” in a bad light.

  At length the poem ended. “Bravo!” Ginny cried, clapping her hands a la Lucinda.

  The squire and Mrs. Barrington were equally impressed. “Can’t think, no, can’t think why we haven’t had you read for us before now,” the squire pronounced. His lady merely smiled and turned a coy look on her daughter, who sat blushing down at her hands in her lap.

  Thank goodness it was over, at least. “Very fine, Avery.” Sir Anthony began to rise from his chair but was stopped cold by the sound of Ginny’s voice.

  “Pray, do another,” she begged.

  Avery had the arrogance to look gratified and pulled a second sheaf of papers from his pocket. “The subject of this poem is quite a different one, as I am sure you will discover for yourself ere long” With a lingering glance at Ginny he took a deep breath and plunged into passionate recitation.

  “Gray-eyed lady in the dark, can you hear my pounding heart? Still it, still it, with a kiss. Turn my fever to my bliss.”

  Sir Anthony had no wish to hear the words that followed and was mercifully spared from doing so by the incessant pounding of blood in his ears. How dared that dog write a poem about Ginny! What right did he have? What claim? If anyone were to write an ode to her gray eyes, it should be himself. The thought had certainly crossed his mind more than once.

  In horrified fascination, Sir Anthony watched Lord Avery sway to and fro in the grips of poetic passion. The pounding in his ears increased, and he felt almost as if he were in a world far removed from the scene he watched: Lucinda pouting; the squire and Mrs. Barrington, puzzled smiles glued to their faces; Ginny, smiling through her tears; Lord Avery swaying, ever swaying, exposing his golden locks to the flicker of the candles.

  Sir Anthony exploded from his chair just as Lord Avery’s hair burst into flames. “Avery, watch out!” he cried. As he sprinted across the room, he heard a crash and a scream, but he hadn’t time to reflect on its cause.

  Ginny arrived at Lord Avery’s side before him, a bowl of roses in her hands. Together they hefted the large bowl over Lord Avery’s head and dumped the contents.

  Lord Avery no longer swayed. With an acute disregard for his near disaster or the state of his clothing that Sir Anthony could only wonder at, Lord Avery fell to his knees at Ginny’s feet. “My Goddess. My Benefactress. My Protectress. I am your servant, now and forever!”

  Sir Anthony could not abide the fact that the blush rising in Ginny’s cheeks was caused by someone other than himself. Since when could anyone but he cause her cheeks to turn so delightfully pink? Since Lord Avery, his hair scorched, dripping wet, and strewn with roses knelt at her feet, it would seem.

  “There is no need, my lord” Ginny plucked at the roses cascading like water down Avery’s length. “I did very little, really. It was Sir Anthony who first alerted us to what was happening, and besides, I could never have lifted that water over your head without his aid.”

  Sir Anthony turned his head from the sight of the blubbering Avery with distaste. Lucinda swooning on the floor was hardly a more cheerful prospect, but it restored his good humor to have something useful to which to apply himself.

  “My poor darling girl.” Mrs. Barrington patted Lucinda’s hand while the squire attempted to ply his slender body to the task of lifting her.

  Sir Anthony knelt by Lucinda. “Did she hit her head, do you know?”

  The squire looked at him with alarm. “Oh, no, sir, no indeed. She fainted! The sight of Lord Avery in flames undid her.”

  “Then I daresay she will be all right presently. I shall be happy to carry her to her room for you. With your permission, of course.”

  “Of course, of course,” the squire babbled.

  Belatedly, Sir Anthony realized his coat was not tailored for such activities as scooping maidens from the floor. Lucinda was a bit heavier than he knew and his coat a bit tighter than he thought but he would worry about that slight tear in each armhole sometime after he had rid himself of Miss Barrington.

  Ginny watched Sir Anthony leave the room, Miss Barrington cradled in his arms. The tenderness with which he shifted her about, so cognizant of her comfort, caused a curious deflation of her spirits. For some reason she did not care to examine, she wanted Sir Anthony to find her admirable beautiful, and charming, but it seemed little had happened to change Sir Anthony’s opinion of her since that first conversation in Grandaunt Regina’s library. Was she still so distasteful to him?

  There were moments when she thought not. There was a quickness of wit in their conversation and at times an intangible connection between them that bespoke a lively attraction. A look in his eye that was sometimes present… Could he be unaware there were moments when his social facade melted away to reveal glimpses of something much more?

  Breakfast was more restrained than it had been the morning previous. Lucinda was still in her chamber when Ginny entered the breakfast room. Squire and Mrs. Barrington seemed greatly shaken. Sir Anthony was inscrutable as ever, his face a mask of indifference and very white, except where the brown and purple bruise spread along his forehead.

  Lord Avery, his hair no longer curling in waves to his cravat, seemed more concerned with other matters than his shorn locks. “I must insist all the servants be questioned.”

  A pained expression crossed Mrs. Barrington’s face. “We have already done so. They were much aghast at the loss of so valuable a piece.”

  “Loss? Loss you say? One does not lose a diamond of that size.”

  “Of course not,” the squire assured him. “No doubt it was taken by somebody. Indeed, I had it of Mrs. Crandall that she found the kitchen door unbolted this morning, not to mention Grandmama’s broken urn. We are very concerned about it, very concerned”

  “Are you trying to say somebody entered the house, came to my room, and stole my diamond stickpin without so much as glancing at any of the other valuables in this house?”

  “You forget the urn,” Mrs. Barrington retorted.

  Lord Avery blanched.

  Ginny had to agree with Lord Avery. It seemed unlikely that someone from outside the house was the culprit. “I see Lord Avery’s point. The door was most likely left unbolted by someone on the inside.” Ginny hardly knew what she was saying until it was said. With a start, she remembered Sir Anthony’s midnight rides and her promise not to reveal him.

  Did he catch her slip? His dark head was bent and his gaze on his plate. Surely he wouldn’t allow one of the servants to fall under suspicion for his own folly. Ginny waited for him to speak, but he did not.

  “No” Mrs. Barrington shook her head. “Mrs. Crandall locks and bolts that door every night before she goes to bed. There is no need for anyone to use it after that. Ah, Lucinda,” she said. “You have joined us at last.”

  “Yes, Mama” Lucinda quickly filled her plate and sat across from Lord Avery. She darted a venomous look at Ginny, which she could only credit to the fact that her beau had gone up in flames in her honor, so to speak. Life would certainly settle down when Lucinda decided that the love of one man was preferable to the attentions of all. Ginny hoped it would be soon.

  “Oh, Eustace,” Lucinda said, “I nearly forgot. I found this in my room this morning.” She placed the diamond stickpin on the table. Then she picked up her fork and began to eat, blithely unaware how everyone stared aghast at the diamond. Even Sir Anthony betrayed a hint of surprise.

  Mrs. Barrington, her eyes fastened on the stickpin and her breath coming in little gasps, found voice to rend the air with a screech.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the squire demanded. “How did this, I say, how did this get in my daughter’s room, my lord?”

  Lord Avery began to blubber. “I-I don’t kn-know. I haven’t set foot in there”

  “I should say not!” Mrs. Barrington cried.

  “And for what reason would you have done so, my lord?” demanded the squire.
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  “How did your diamond come to be in my poor dear’s room if you weren’t with her?” Mrs. Barrington wailed. “Lucinda, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “No, Mama. I don’t know how it came to be in my room. It was simply there, and I’m ever so glad I didn’t step on it. I almost did and I think it would have been very painful for I had on no shoes at the time.”

  Mrs. Barrington’s eyes rolled up into her head. “Lucinda, how could you speak of such things? To your room at once!” She jumped to her feet and shooed Lucinda out the door. A silence fell on the room, pierced here and there by diminishing wails from Mrs. Barrington.

  “Avery, you must marry my daughter!” The squire came to the point in a minimum of words. It was evidence of his great anger, as if the crimson face and bulging eyes weren’t enough.

  “Come, Miss Delacourt,” Sir Anthony said. “I believe there is a splendid art gallery on the second floor you have not as yet seen” He held his hand out to her.

  She allowed herself to be led from the room but not without a backward glance for poor Lord Avery. She felt sorry for him. It was bad enough to be shackled to Lucinda for life without the engagement occurring under such unsavory circumstances.

  “Do you think they are guilty of wrongdoing, Sir Anthony?”

  “Those two? Hardly. Innocent as two lambs”

  “Yes, but, there comes a time when innocence ends. Who’s to say the moment when it all occurs?”

  Sir Anthony gazed down at her and shook his head. She could see he was amused. She was learning to discern the subtle clues. “Believe me, my dear,” he drawled. “There are signs. If there was anything haveycavey going on between them we should all be the wiser.”