Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind

by Heidi Ashworth

  “Miss Delacourt..” the squire began, but Ginny would not allow him to continue.

  “Why, Squire Barrington, is that not a Rosa Gallica Agatha just the other side of that arch? It is one of my favorites. They say that Josephine Bonaparte had one in her garden”

  “Well, I daresay she did,” the squire blustered in confusion. “She had one of everything. A sad waste when her collection was destroyed, a sad waste indeed.” The squire mourned, allowing himself to be pulled along the path to the Gallica rosebush.

  Ginny refrained from mentioning the fact that Grandaunt Regina disdained such a common rose and refused to have one in her garden. It was enough she had turned the squire’s thoughts to coveting Josephine’s roses rather than those at Dunsmere. It was a pity the man spent so much time lusting after what he did not have instead of appreciating the truly impressive collection he had already acquired.

  It was shocking to walk under the archway groaning under the weight of a vigorous climbing rose only to emerge into a peaceful little courtyard alive with the sounds of bees humming, water rippling, and Mrs. Barrington’s secauters clicking away with frightening regularity. At her feet lay a pile of luscious pink blooms at their peak of glory.

  “My precious life, what are you doing?” the squire wailed.

  Mrs. Barrington turned unseeing eyes upon him. “I am pruning the roses, my husband,” she said. The insatiable clicking resumed.

  “But, my love, why? Why?” The squire remained rooted to the spot.

  “Perhaps she is not feeling quite the thing,” Ginny suggested. In fact, she looked a bit mad, chopping away at the perfect roses with such calm fortitude.

  It was when the newly formed buds began to fall to the blade that the squire was spurred into action, running across the courtyard through the man-made pond to the other side, where he gripped his wife’s wrists against further violence to his roses.

  “It is all your doing!” Mrs. Barrington struggled for control of the secauters, bursting into tears when her husband won the battle. “All you care for are your roses, and look what it has gained you! Lucinda is to marry a mere baronet instead of an earl, and we are shut up in the house for days on end because you insisted on picking up your fellow rose lover!” She cast a venomous glance on Ginny. “And someone,” she screamed, “someone continues to make themselves free in our home in the middle of the night! Have you nothing to say for yourself, sir?”

  The squire put an arm around his sobbing wife’s shoulders and turned to Ginny. “The kitchen door was found to be unlocked again this morning. I believe it has all been too much for her. I shall just take her to her room”

  “Of course,” Ginny replied. She retrieved the secauters from where the squire had dropped them on the ground and surveyed the damage. With judicious pruning she hoped the bush could be coaxed into blooming again before autumn.

  It was a miracle she did not inadvertently clip away the two remaining buds, just opened, that lay deep within the center of the bush. With shaking fingers Ginny drew the perfectly formed buds closer. Their stems were entwined almost as if they had their arms about one another, protecting each other from the disaster that befell their fellows.

  If only she could stand with Sir Anthony’s arms around her, thus.

  “Miss Delacourt?”

  Ginny whirled about to find Lord Avery standing in wait, his arm outstretched. She felt her face fall and hoped the disappointment did not show. “Lord Avery. What can I do for you?”

  “I have come to escort you back to the house. The squire regrets that he left you so abruptly and feared you may be suffering from shock, considering the circumstances.”

  Ginny took Lord Avery’s arm and turned with him toward the house. “I am surprised he said so much on the subject. It doesn’t seem fair to Mrs. Barrington, poor woman.”

  “Oh, all of us in the downstairs part of the house could not be prevented from hearing every detail. Mrs. Barrington has such a lively voice, so full of clarity and…volume.”

  Ginny felt worried by the restraint in his reply. “I hope you do not blame yourself too much, Lord Avery! It is not only your broken engagement that troubles her. She is very upset about the intruder.” Pensive, Ginny bit her lip. She hadn’t thought Sir Anthony had left the house last night, but she had slept with such profound exhaustion, no doubt she would not have heard him leave even if he had.

  “Yes, I had it of the squire. Once again the door was found unlatched, but nothing was missing.” Lord Avery spoke without his accustomed flair, a thoughtful expression on his face. Ginny hoped he was not putting any pieces together with regard to Sir Anthony’s nocturnal activities and was relieved when his next comment was unrelated.

  “It is such a fine day, let us talk of something else. When I learned you were without companionship, I was most gratified by the opportunity to speak with you privately.”

  Ginny no longer felt relieved. Lord Avery’s tone was too serious, too formal. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning, my lord.”

  “You have spoken of my broken engagement” Lord Avery averted his face to hide a trembling chin.

  Ginny knew a moment of hope. Surely he still wanted Lucinda. How could she convince him to pursue her? “Yes, I feel it is a very sad case.”

  “Then, you feel for my emotions, you understand my plight?”

  “Yes, I think perhaps I do” How could she not when his sweetheart was now engaged to her own?

  “I cannot say that I am totally sorry things have happened the way they did.”

  “No? But you love her!”

  He sighed. “I must make the best of things. There are other ladies whom I greatly admire.”

  Ginny glanced away. Could he be courting her? She mustn’t encourage that! How to get him thinking of Lucinda? “There is one who has greatly admired you as well, my lord!”

  “Truly? In what way?” Lord Avery’s face fairly glowed, breathless for her answer.

  Ginny thought back to the comments Lucinda had made about Lord Avery in the past. “Well, there is your shining hair. And your beautiful eyes.” Had Lucinda nothing to say about his character? The closest she could come to a trait of that kind was when Lucinda had gloried in his ability to rhapsodize on her various features. “Oh, yes, and you are a man of many wellphrased observations.”

  Ginny had expected Lord Avery to be pleased but was much taken aback when he fell to his knees on the cobbled path and clutched her hands in his.

  “Miss Delacourt, you do not know how happy you have made me. It was too much to hope my regard could be so reciprocated.”

  “Well,” she hesitated. “It has been” Which was in keeping with the truth even if that regard had shifted.

  “Then fly with me this very night. Oh, Ginny, Ginny,” he said with a groan, turning her hands palm up and burying his face in them. “Say that you will.”

  Amazed and speechless, Ginny found the only thought she could formulate was a hope that Lord Avery did not begin sniveling when her hands remained so close to his nose.

  “I have my traveling coach with me,” he mumbled, almost inaudible. “It would be no difficulty at all to have it readied in a trice. I would be most happy to journey as far out of the way as Dunsmere if you wish to retrieve more suitable clothing.”

  Ginny glanced down at the green-sprigged muslin gown Nan had helped her into this morning. It had been quite suitable before Lord Avery had clutched several folds of it in his hands and wrung it tight without mercy. Had everyone suddenly run mad?

  She forced herself to reply. “I … I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, snatching her hands away in anticipation of tears. “I will have to think on it.” She dared not refuse him outright. The man was clearly unbalanced, and there was no telling what he might do.

  He tipped his head back and gazed up at her. “You need only say the word. I shall be ready every night. Only make it soon” A shadow crossed his face. “There is a matter of business I must attend to. A matter of hono
r. It could cause a delay for us. You would not mind, would you, dearest?”

  Ginny shook her head, afraid to say anything that might set him off. The man was a loon! It was with a feeling of gratitude that she achieved the house and could confine herself to her room. But first, she rapped on Lucinda’s door.

  “Come in,” Lucinda called, sounding gay and carefree. Ginny entered the room and found her seated at the dressing table, brushing out her long golden curls.

  “I thought you might be worried about your mother,” Ginny snipped. She was finding it more and more difficult to be civil to the girl. If Sir Anthony was unable to find a way out of this coil, she was likely to become his wife, and for that she could not forgive her.

  “Don’t you have a care for your mama?”

  “Oh, Mama is all right.” Lucinda made a moue in the mirror and admired the result. “It seems the door was unlatched because that little maid of yours, Maren, ran away last night.”

  “Maren ran away? Are you sure?” Ginny’s heart broke for the girl. She had been so happy with her lot as Ginny’s abigail. Yet she found she could not blame her for not wanting to return to being the water girl, carrying those hot, heavy cans over those too-thin shoulders.

  “Of course I’m sure. They say she is nowhere to be found. Besides, all of her things are gone” Lucinda shrugged into the mirror. “She was just a servant girl. Don’t forget, we are to do our soliloquies tonight. Have you decided on one?”

  In truth, Ginny had forgotten all about it. “No, I haven’t. Do the others remember, do you think?” Could the others possibly care?

  Lucinda looked struck. “Perhaps not. I shall run and tell Sir Anthony now.” She tripped over to Ginny by the door. “We are to be married, you know.”

  Ginny quelled the pain she felt at Lucinda’s words and forced herself to smile. “I have been expecting it. I wish you much happiness.”

  “Thank you,” Lucinda chirped, then pranced down the hall to Sir Anthony’s bedroom door. Could she really be so happy at the prospect of marrying him? What of Lord Avery? There was something here that did not quite meet the eye.

  Full of confounding thoughts, Ginny hurried to her room. She must begin now to find the perfect soliloquy before tonight, one that would put Sir Anthony in no doubt of how she felt about him, how much she loved him. She tried not to think what might happen if he was unable to stop the engagement from being made public. It would be very difficult to cry off once that happened, nearly impossible. In the meantime, she would have to trust him.

  Sir Anthony heard Lucinda’s tripping gait traveling from her room to his. He had hoped she was only heading for the stairs and forced himself to be very still, afraid to make a noise in case she was seeking him. When she knocked a second time and called, “Sir Anthony, I know you are in there,” he realized the futility of his actions and opened the door.

  “Yes, Miss Barrington, what is it?”

  “You must call me Lucinda now that we are to be married.”

  Sir Anthony closed his eyes. “You might recall that I have not offered for you as of yet, Miss Barrington.”

  “But you will,” she insisted. “You know you will. You said, `as of yet,’ which means that your offer is forthcoming.”

  “I regret my choice of words.” Oh, did he ever regret them! No doubt she would cause him to regret every word he had ever uttered in her presence. How such an empty-headed creature could be so clever was beyond his scope of comprehension.

  “Well, anyway,” she continued. “I came to remind you about the soliloquies. You do have yours prepared?” She smiled, overtaxing her once-enchanting dimples. “I trust it is something … suitably romantic?”

  “It will be something suitable, all right.” Actually, he had clean forgotten about the whole thing and wondered that she had not. Nevertheless, somewhere there had to be a passage that would say for him all that he wanted and needed to say. Something that would make Ginny know how he felt and who he truly wanted, regardless of to whom he might find himself engaged.

  “In exchange, you must do something for me, Miss, er, Lucinda.”

  She smiled prettily up at him. “But of course! What is it?”

  “Promise me that you won’t allow your mother to put the announcement of our engagement in the papers.”

  “See!” she cried with the maddening clapping of the hands. “I knew it was just a matter of time before you offered for me!”

  “Er, yes. I thought it would be far more romantic to wait until the ball, don’t you agree?”

  “Oooooooh, yes! Yes! Whyever didn’t I think of that? I shall go and tell Father right away. Mother is feeling poorly. Good-bye, my darling,” she called, and pranced down the hall to the stairs.

  Sir Anthony shut the door and thanked his maker. He had dodged a bullet. True, he had agreed to be Lucinda’s intended, but in exchange he had won the agreement not to put the announcement in the paper. Feeling the battle half won, his thoughts moved to his choice of soliloquy. Ginny would not be best pleased when she heard from Lucinda that he had actually “proposed,” no matter how negligently, but after tonight no one would be in any doubt as to who it was who held his heart.

  Sir Anthony entered the music room and found a comfortable chair. He longed to sit by Ginny, knew he was expected to sit by Lucinda, and so opted for a wellpadded seat by the door where he could make a quick escape in case the room erupted into fainting, flailing, or flames, as it had been wont to do in the past.

  He noted that, with the exception of Mrs. Barrington who was looking a trifle wan, the occupants of the room were fairly bristling with suppressed excitement. It was a wonder what a period of total confinement could do for one’s sensibilities.

  Sir Anthony found he was greatly anticipating the evening as well. For once in his life, he was going to say what was on his mind. He was going to say it hiding behind a mask of Shakespeare’s making, but at least it was not one of his own this time.

  Squire Barrington made his way to the front of the room, his buttons bursting with pride. “For tonight’s entertainment we shall have to devise a means by which to determine who should go first, and so on and so forth. Does anyone, anyone at all, have a suggestion?”

  Lucinda waved her hand in the air. “I do, oh, I do.”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “We should pull straws from the housekeeper’s broom and make each smaller than the next. The one who picks the shortest shall go first. Or is it the one who picks the longest?” She pouted, rolling her round blue eyes in indecision.

  The party at large adopted the suggestion with great gusto, almost as if it were the work of genius. No doubt it was the manner in which the Barringtons settled all their little disputes.

  The squire pulled the aforementioned straws from his coat pocket. “Now,” he said, “Whoever pulls the shortest straw shall go first, and so forth. Lucinda, you shall be first to draw.” He held the little bundle of straws out to her.

  Lucinda clapped her hands and squealed with delight. Sir Anthony wondered how she could be so happy in light of her engagement to himself when it was Avery she loved. With a coy glance around the room, Lucinda closed her eyes and tugged at the straws. “I have the short one!” she cried.

  The squire cleared his throat. “We shall have to see, have to see. Someone else’s could be shorter, my dear.”

  “Oh,” Lucinda said.

  Sir Anthony groaned. How could he possibly endure being leg-shackled to such obtuseness for the remainder of his days? Ginny might sometimes seem a shrew, but she had a lively mind and a sharp wit, and he loved her for it. Before the night was out he intended for her to know just that.

  Ginny was next to pull a straw, then Avery, and finally Sir Anthony. As it turned out, Lucinda’s was indeed the shortest straw, followed by Avery, Ginny, and himself.

  Lucinda scampered to the front of the room. She arranged the skirts of her pale blue gown, laced her fingers together, and adopted an expression of supreme misery. “I am
Juliet,” she said in sepulchral tones and launched into her memorized speech. “Oh, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, from off the battlements of yonder tower…”

  Sir Anthony felt his heart complete a leap of its own, but the sensation of joy was short-lived. The look of pure contempt she radiated at Avery made it clear to whom she was addressing this diatribe. The fact that she had to turn her head to glare at him over her shoulder diluted the impact not one whit.

  “Or walk in thievish ways,” she continued. “Or bid me lurk where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears..

  He closed his eyes and entertained a vivid image of Lucinda chained to a cage in the royal menagerie at the Tower of London, her eyes brimming over with tears, gazing in terror at the moldy old bear kept captive there.

  “Or shut me nightly in a charnel house, O’ercover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a newmade grave..

  Now there was an idea …

  “And hide me with a dead man in his shroudThings that to hear them told have made me trembleAnd I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstained wife to my”-she paused to turn a brilliant smile on Sir Anthony-“sweet love.”

  Lucinda smiled and curtsied as if the room had burst into applause after her performance. In reality, the squire was the only one who had the presence of mind to applaud his daughter. Mrs. Barrington was too occupied with dabbing at her tear-filled eyes to clap, and Avery seemed to have eyes only for Ginny.

  Sir Anthony mechanically brought his hands together and glanced at Ginny. She sat like a statue with the same look of polite interest she had worn since Lucinda began. When had she learned to do that? He felt sure she was laboring under the influence of some strong emotion, and it was not like her to keep her feelings from at least surfacing across her expressive features.

  She must have felt his gaze upon her, for she turned in his direction, allowing him to see the wealth of sadness lingering in her magnificent eyes. A moment later, she was clapping and had turned to Lord Avery.