Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind

by Heidi Ashworth

  Outside her Grandaunt Regina’s door, Ginny stood, hesitating to knock. She heard voices deep in conversation and though she had been sent to summon the dowager duchess to the drawing room, Ginny could not bring herself to interrupt.

  As Sir Anthony had not yet appeared, she had to assume the masculine voice she heard through the door belonged to him. Perhaps he was discussing his dilemma with Grandaunt, that of being engaged to Lucinda but loving another. She knew it was rude in the extreme, but she must hear what they were saying. She put her ear to the door to listen. As fate would have it, the door was slightly ajar and Ginny was able to widen the crack.

  “Does she know?” she heard Sir Anthony say.

  “No, she does not, and I would thank you to keep it that way. Before I arrived I hadn’t thought she would care. However, after speaking to her this morning it occurred to me how humiliated she would be if she were aware of the situation.”

  Sir Anthony gave a harsh laugh. “Yes, I can well believe that. As am I!”

  What was it she was meant not to care about? What was it that was so humiliating to the both of them? Ginny felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach.

  “Grandmama, how could you do such a thing? Those two are idiots and might have done us serious harm”

  Harm? Idiots? Who could he be speaking of? What had Grandaunt Regina done?

  “Seb and Dobbs?” the duchess cried. Ginny froze. “They wouldn’t hurt a fly! They are actors from the traveling troupe. I am sorry if you were frightened, but it seemed the only way to throw the two of you together.”

  Ginny began to tremble, and her hand on the door felt like ice. What did it mean? Why would Grandaunt ask someone to do such a thing? She wasn’t sure what the answer was, but she did know things somehow weren’t as they seemed a few moments ago.

  “Well, Grandmama,” Sir Anthony said. “You should be congratulated! You have surpassed yourself!”

  Ginny felt her heart stop. Grandaunt had manipulated the both of them, and he sounded so angry! So lost was she in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the heavy footsteps cross to the door until it was too late. He swung open the door to find her hovering in the hall. She could see that he was angry, more angry than she had imagined. He didn’t look at her and said nothing, only swept past her and out of sight.

  Recovering herself quickly, she stepped into the room. “Grandaunt Regina, it is time to meet in the drawing room for dinner.” She prayed her grandaunt didn’t realize she had been eavesdropping.

  “Ah, darling girl, you look scrumptious! A pink wig! Well I never! It has been years since I have seen one of those. Come, take my arm and let’s be off!”

  Ginny was grateful for her grandaunt’s continuing prattle, as it gave her time to think. She knew how Sir Anthony felt about having been thrown together by his matchmaking grandmama. Didn’t she feel the same humiliation? He, however, was so angry. Would his feelings about what had happened transfer themselves to her? Would it be too much on top of his reticence to callously jilt Lucinda? Was it all too much for a newfound love to endure?

  Soon she found herself in the drawing room with all the other players in this drama: Sir Anthony, who looked angrier than a polite gentleman should at dinner; Lucinda, who hadn’t been shaken from her resolve to marry him, in spite of the psuedo-duel; the Barringtons, who were still adamant that Sir Anthony should do the pretty and make their daughter an honest woman; and Lord Avery, who was looking far too delighted to see her than should a man who was in love with another.

  The moment they arrived, the bell was rung and they all proceeded into dinner in order of precedence: Grandaunt at the fore with Lord Avery, Mrs. Barrington as the hostess, on the arm of Sir Anthony, Ginny on the arm of the squire, and Lucinda trailing along behind. Somehow, she was placed across the table from Lord Avery at dinner. Sir Anthony was both across table and one seat down, too far away to make polite conversation.

  She felt rather numb through the soup course. Her confidence that Sir Anthony would be able to extricate himself from his engagement before it was announced at the ball began to wane. For what had he been waiting?

  She felt positively miserable through the meat and fish course. Would an already humiliated Sir Anthony be willing to bring more humiliation down on his head? As a result, would he find it too distasteful to humiliate Lucinda?

  By the fruit and cheese course, she had resigned herself to any possibility. As the female of the species, she could only deny or accept an offer of marriage; she could not make one happen. Before this jaunt into the country, she had been persuaded that there was no one she could care for as much as her life at Dunsmere with her books and roses. However, compared to a life with a man she loved, who challenged her yet loved her just as she was, it now seemed a dreary prospect indeed.

  Finally, by the dessert course, she felt angry enough to fight. She knew she could not get Sir Anthony out of his predicament, nor could she force him to offer for her hand. What she could do was disappear. Not forever, of course, just long enough for Sir Anthony to feel that wanting her was his own idea, not his grandmama’s. Long enough for him to know that being without her felt far worse than any scandal or humiliation at the hands of scheming females. Long enough for him to decide what he wanted most: to be accepted by the rigid codes of society, or to be loved, wholly for himself, by her.

  She only needed to get as far as Dunsmere, but who could she get to help her escape? Such a short distance she could manage on her own, but it was late and soon would be dark. People would be arriving for the ball, and she didn’t want to be spotted walking along the road; therefore, she needed a carriage. Stealing one was out of the question, as was asking for permission. No one must know she was leaving. They would only try to stop her.

  There was no one she could turn to, unless…. Lord Avery! If he were expecting to hear Lucinda’s engagement to another man announced to the county, he no doubt planned to leave Rose Arbor soon anyway. He had asked her to fly off with him, had said to only name the time. She hoped a short flight would satisfy him.

  With all the courage she could muster, Ginny leaned across the table and said, “My lord. It is time.”

  Sir Anthony wondered what Ginny could possibly have said to Avery to turn his skin so deathly white. True, he was always rather pasty-faced but never quite so colorless, even when looking down the barrel of Sir Anthony’s pistol. Why, the man looked positively ill.

  His alarm grew when Lord Avery gasped, choked, and coughed for a full three minutes, forcing Grandmama to halt her discourse on the rare forms of roses to be found in the Dunsmere gardens.

  Ginny’s behavior was equally puzzling. She at first appeared to be unaware her dinner companion was suffering any distress whatsoever. After a full minute of choking and coughing, she seemed unable to ignore it longer and offered him a napkin, saying, “There, there. You will be fine in a moment.”

  When the moment had passed and he had not recovered, Ginny actually seemed almost angry. She forced a glass of wine into his hand and bade him drink. He obeyed, too hastily, which only deepened his distress.

  By this time Grandmama had stopped speaking and the occupants of the table gave up pretending they were unaware of Lord Avery’s difficulties. Sir Anthony supposed it was pure embarrassment that finally gave Avery the strength to force air into his lungs again.

  “Are you quite all right, Avery?” Sir Anthony asked.

  Avery nodded his head vigorously, his hand clamped tight to his mouth.

  Ginny, looking self-conscious, became suddenly very interested in the contents of her plate. Sir Anthony felt sure she hadn’t eaten a bite since she sat down, but the food was now disappearing with amazing alacrity.

  “You seem to have recovered your appetite, Miss Delacourt,” he observed. And he had recovered his equilibrium. He had been angry with Grandmama, but when Ginny entered the drawing room, so lovely in her pink-and-green costume, he had felt his anger melt away.

  To his amazement, she dropped
her fork with a clatter and folded her hands in her lap. “Actually, I am not very hungry.”

  “You must eat,” he insisted, “if you are to dance with me at the ball.” He most desperately needed to speak with her and a waltz would give him the perfect opportunity for a private conversation.

  He was startled when five more forks clattered to their china plates. Grandmama glared at him, Lucinda pouted into her lap, and her parents stared at him in open amazement.

  “Sir! Your engagement to our daughter is to be announced, I say, announced this very evening at the ball!” the squire protested.

  Lord Avery took up choking into his napkin again, the claiming of it having necessitated the dropping of his own fork.

  “It would not be appropriate,” Mrs. Barrington added, “to be courting another young lady under the circumstances!”

  It was difficult to know how to respond to that, but Ginny came to his rescue. “I should be honored to save a country dance for you,” she said. “Lord Avery has already requested the waltzes.”

  Lucinda gasped with dismay, and Avery, whose face had begun to take on some of its usual color, turned purple.

  “You seem to be suffering from some kind of distress, Avery. Perhaps another napkin will do the trick. Here, have mine,” Sir Anthony said, passing the snowwhite cloth down the table.

  “Perhaps you should rest for a bit in your room, Lord Avery.” Ginny gave him a meaningful glance. A bit too meaningful, Sir Anthony thought. “The guests will be arriving for the ball shortly.”

  Avery nodded and hastened from the table, a perfect picture of misery while Lucinda watched him go, looking utterly lost. Then she gave herself a little shake and turned to her fiance.

  “Anthony, you haven’t complimented my costume.”

  “It is very lovely. Just the color of your eyes” He smiled the appropriate smile, all the while watching Avery. He had just reached the door when Avery stiffened and turned to look at Lucinda over his shoulder. He nodded, then left the room.

  Something smoky was afoot. Sir Anthony was determined to discover what, even if it meant horning in on one of Avery’s waltzes. Especially if it meant horning in on one of Avery’s waltzes. He’d be hanged before he sat on his thumbs watching some other man spend the evening with the woman he loved.

  Sir Anthony cleared his throat. “Your costume is very lovely also, Miss Delacourt” Well, that certainly didn’t come out right. Lucinda was wholly eclipsed by Ginny. He wasn’t sure about the wig-he much preferred the chestnut of Ginny’s curls-but the gown suited her to perfection. She looked like a princess from another time, like a pink confection of homespun sugar. Then again, there was something about the way the lines of the gown hugged the curves of her excellent figure that was not quite so innocent. The word “goddess” came to mind more than once.

  “I … thank you,” Ginny replied, her eyes fixed to her plate.

  “Anthony,” Lucinda began in a plaintive voice, but he was saved from hearing her request by Grandmama’s announcement that dinner was over.

  “Oh, so soon?” Mrs. Barrington asked, clearly bewildered by this takeover by the dowager duchess.

  “Yes. It is time we left the gentlemen to themselves. The other guests will be arriving within the hour, and we mustn’t deprive these two of the taking of their port.”

  Sir Anthony suppressed a smile. How many years had the old termagant been after him to give up drink? She wouldn’t wish to see him suffer the misery of gout as had countless Crenshaws before him. Apparently the taking of port was permissible if it afforded him the opportunity to speak with the squire about releasing him from his obligation to his daughter.

  “Anthony, do take your time,” she called. She sailed out of the room with Ginny and Lucinda in her wake, a befuddled Mrs. Barrington trailing along behind.

  “Well, my boy,” the squire said with a sigh. “It has come to this, to this.”

  “Yes, sir, I believe it has” What it had come to was perhaps a bit beyond what the squire had anticipated. Sir Anthony rather expected the squire was prepared to speak of dowries and the like, not the possibility of his daughter’s second broken engagement in almost as few days. “You spoke of the announcement to be made at the ball tonight.”

  “Yes, indeed, indeed. A ball is a wondrous time to announce an engagement. Why, my lovely bride and I announced the news of our marriage at just such an event”

  Sir Anthony leafed through the pages of his personal code of honor for the proper way to disabuse the squire of the notion that he would ever marry his daughter. Unfortunately, the only help it could proffer was the insistence that he follow through and marry Lucinda as would any proper gentleman in his position.

  With the accustomed pang one felt at such a time of loss, Sir Anthony rose to his feet and lifted his drink high. “Squire Barrington. I will never marry your daughter.” With that, he quaffed his drink in one gulp and tossed the goblet into the fireplace.

  The squire stared at him in unblinking surprise, than said, “You needn’t have broken the crystal. It is very dear, you know, very dear indeed.”

  Crystal? The man was concerned about broken crystal? “Sir, we are speaking of a broken engagement. Are there to be no repercussions, then?”

  “Well, Mrs. Barrington is sure to put up a bit of a fuss. That could get a bit nasty, a bit nasty, but I daresay there is something you could do to alleviate my suffering. Life has been so full of woe since my cuttings were left to wither amidst all the ruckus after the duel”

  “I see. Would a few fresh cuttings make up for your troubles in that regard?” Getting them out of Grandmama would be almost as bad as wedding Lucinda, but he would face worse for a lifetime of happiness with Ginny.

  “Ahhh” The squire leaned back in his chair, much content. “That will take care of my lady wife. As for myself, I have suspected there was some trouble between you and Lucinda. Neither of you behave the least bit loverlike. With the exception of the other night, that is.”

  “Yes, I feel I should explain about that”

  Squire Barrington waved Sir Anthony’s protestations aside. “Not at all, at all. It has taken some time, but I have determined that my Lucinda suffers from a major fault.”

  “Which would be?” Sir Anthony was aware of quite a few but was alive with curiosity to know to which of the many the squire referred.

  The squire leaned forward and glanced about to ensure total privacy. “This is a matter of great confidentiality, of course, of course”

  “Of course” Sir Anthony nodded.

  The squire pursed his lips. “My daughter has a shocking habit of throwing herself at her suitors.”

  “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” Sir Anthony politely lied. And for the very last time.

  Inside the ballroom, the strains of a waltz were wafting in the air. Where was Ginny? Fortunately, Lucinda and her mama were far across the room. To his chagrin they lost no time in spotting him and rushing to his side, relief written across Mrs. Barrington’s face.

  Had she suspected that he might turn tail and run? Not that it was such a bad idea. His code of honor may have worn out its usefulness, but at least he had known how to proceed prior to consigning it to perdition. Having commited the ungentlemanly sin of breaking his engagement, he had no idea what to do next. As the Barrington ladies drew ever closer, running was looking better with every passing moment.

  “Ah, Mrs. Barrington, Miss Barrington.” He greeted them with the hope that he still remembered how to hide his nervousness.

  “That is no way to treat your intended, Sir Anthony. I am sure Lucinda has given you leave to use her first name. But really, that is nothing to leaving her to her own devices for so long. Truly, Lucinda.” Mrs. Barrington turned to her daughter. “I do not think you should marry such an insensitive creature!”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Sir Anthony said. It was all so much easier than he had feared, and, even better, he had just spied Ginny deep in conversation with Avery ac
ross the room. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe Ginny owes me this dance.”

  He suspected Mrs. Barrington was imitating a blowfish and Lucinda was most likely stamping her well-shod little foot, but he dared not linger long enough to confirm it. The woman he loved had been waiting long enough. Waiting for him. For the real Anthony Crenshaw.

  He was across the room in a dozen quick strides, but not soon enough to claim her hand before Avery. Jerking him away by the shoulder, he said, “Pardon me, man, but this is my dance.”

  Ginny’s response was one of pretty confusion. “But I…really, I believe … I’m sure I mentioned my waltzes were taken” She stared at him through the eyeholes of a black mask. Along with the pink wig and unfamiliar gown, it was as if she were a stranger. A beautiful stranger to whose heart he had no claim. He felt his earlier anger make a reappearance.

  “Yes, they are! By me! Take yourself off, Avery. I believe Lucinda is lacking for a partner.” Sir Anthony wasn’t sure how he should feel about the expression of dismay on Ginny’s face when Avery complied. Rather than decide, he drew her into his arms and they began to dance.

  He tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the music while willing his fury to recede. It had been a difficult evening, but now that he had Ginny in his arms, things were sure to get better.

  “I hear you had a talk with your gandmama today,” Ginny said.

  Sir Anthony didn’t want to think about Grandmama. He found he was still angry with her, but what was a newly made man to do, er, say? Ginny would see through any polite fiction that came out of his mouth. At the same time, Grandmama would never forgive him for telling Ginny about Grandmama’s plot to send them off together on her madcap errand and on through to wedded bliss.

  “Yes! We, er, we talked.” It was the best he could do. He could feel himself frowning, but it seemed he was powerless to stop himself.

  “I hope she didn’t scold you! I know how Grandaunt Regina can be”

  “Why should she scold me?” he snapped. Surely Grandmama was the one who deserved the scolding.