Tangled Reins and Other Stories

by Stephanie Laurens

  Absent-mindedly she picked up the bowl of Witchett’s special tisane. Sipping it, she relaxed in her chair, the warmth of the fire welcome as night fell. Thinking back, she could not recall a single incident where he had seriously professed any devotion. That had been one of the factors that had drawn her to him. Beside all the others and their protestations of undying love, his calm authority had been a welcome relief. Instead, if she had been able to think clearly where he was concerned, she would have seen the true meaning behind that peculiar warmth which shone in his hazel eyes, the care he had continually shown her, even, as she had discovered the morning after, to the extent of hiring a bodyguard to watch the stairs during the night at that inn. It was not hard to believe her grandmother’s view. But oh! What she would give to hear it, clear and unambiguous, from his lips.

  She stared into the fire as if in the flames she would find his face. She had no firm idea of what was to follow and, as she yawned again, realised she was too tired to accurately assess the possibilities. They would have to wait until morning.

  Trimmer entered and unobtrusively removed the tray. She helped Dorothea change, then silently withdrew.

  Lying in the depths of the feather mattress, Dorothea heaved a deep sigh and snuggled down in the bed. Under the subtle influence of Witchett’s tisane, she dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  DOROTHEA AWOKE early the next morning, refreshed but strangely lethargic. She stayed in her room, staring out of her window at the cherry trees in the Park, now in full leaf. At nine o’clock she emerged from her bedchamber and descended to the morning-room. Cecily, she was informed, was spending the morning with the Bensons in Mount Street and had cancelled their morning ride with Ferdie. Relieved of two worries, Dorothea gave silent thanks to be spared the traumas of satisfying her sister’s curiosity. Having drunk a cup of coffee and nibbled a piece of toast, she decided it was still too early to go up to her grandmother. On impulse, she called for Trimmer and went for a walk in the square.

  The sun was shining, and a light breeze blew wispy clouds across the sky. Revelling in the fresh air, she walked through to the other side of the park, paused to glance briefly at the silent mansion opposite, then briskly returned to Merion House. By now Lady Merion would have left her bed. Ascending the stairs, she was surprised to see Ferdie on his way down.

  Having received his cousin’s note, Ferdie had decided that if Dorothea was not to be told of the danger then it was high time someone informed her ladyship of the threats to her granddaughter. He had also been able to set Lady Merion’s mind at rest regarding the inevitable gossip arising from the incident in the Park. At the party he had attended the previous night he had found this had incurred little attention, and what comment there was had described it as just a lovers’ quarrel.

  As luck would have it, Lady Jersey had witnessed the encounter. She had immediately afterwards attended a select tea party at Mrs Drummond-Burrell’s and, of course, had bubbled over with the news of Miss Darent’s odd behaviour and the Marquis’s likely response.

  While there had been more than a few disapproving comments, the tone had been set by Mrs Drummond-Burrell herself. A friend of Hazelmere’s, she had been impressed by Dorothea and heartily approved the Marquis’s choice. In response to a disparaging remark that Miss Darent had properly cooked her goose, as Hazelmere would never stand for such behaviour, that most steely of Almack’s patronesses had coolly observed, ‘Dear Sarah, I really don’t think you fully appreciate Miss Darent. How often have any of us seen Hazelmere so much as thrown off balance?’ The ensuing silence had assured her that she had captured the attention of the room. ‘I cannot help thinking,’ she had continued, ‘that any young lady who can shake that gentleman’s calm deserves our congratulations. If she can make the Marquis realise that he cannot control absolutely everything, I for one will applaud her.’ Thus Dorothea’s actions had come to be regarded as a successful attempt to defy his lordship, with the likely result being no more than a tiff.

  Pausing to exchange greetings with Dorothea, Ferdie said, ‘I’ll call for you at three.’

  ‘Oh, Ferdie, I don’t know that I can.’

  ‘Not a matter of can or can’t, you must,’ answered that knowledgeable gentleman. Realising that she did not understand, he suggested, ‘Go see your grandmama. She’ll explain.’

  And with a nod and a wave he descended to the hall and, accepting his hat from Mellow, quit the house. Dorothea surrendered her pelisse to Trimmer and entered her ladyship’s sanctum.

  Lady Merion had already had much to think about that morning. The news that Dorothea had been the subject of two abduction attempts had shocked the old lady. But, considering the steps already taken to protect her, she could not think of anything more that could be done. She had rejected Ferdie’s suggestion that Dorothea be warned, informing him that his cousin was already the cause of enough turmoil in Dorothea’s life, without adding this to the account. Hazelmere’s absence was not comforting. On the other hand, it would give Dorothea time to adjust to his idea of her future.

  She had been pleasantly surprised and not a little relieved to hear of the lack of speculation over the scene in the Park. She particularly appreciated Ferdie’s offer to ride with Dorothea in the Park that afternoon. ‘Won’t do for her to hide away, you know,’ that young gentleman had sapiently remarked.

  When Dorothea entered the room Lady Merion smiled and waved her to the comfortable chaise. ‘You’re looking a great deal better, my dear.’

  ‘I feel a great deal better, Grandmama,’ replied Dorothea, dutifully kissing her cheek and then gracefully sitting beside her.

  Noting her calm and confident manner, Hermione nodded. ‘I think it’s time we had some plain speaking.’ Having made this promising beginning, she paused to marshal her arguments. ‘To begin with, I expect you’ll admit Hazelmere has seriously engaged your affections?’

  Smiling at the careful phrasing, Dorothea responded easily, ‘I’ve been in love with Lord Hazelmere for some time.’

  ‘As I said, he’s already told me he intends offering for you. In his own good time,’ continued her ladyship. ‘But what I want to know is, how will you reply?’

  A gurgle of laughter escaped Dorothea. ‘Oh, Grandmama. Do you really think I’ll have any choice?’

  Lady Merion snorted. ‘To be perfectly honest, my dear, I doubt it. Hazelmere is well aware of your feelings. And, from what I saw in the drawing-room yesterday, your verbal agreement is merely a formality.’ She watched her calm and cool granddaughter blush rosily. ‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘it’s a nuisance, having a husband who knows too much, but you can’t have everything. Still, I don’t think it’s a bad bargain—his father was just the same, and Anthea Henry was the happiest married woman in town.’

  To Dorothea, it seemed safest to accept this assurance in silence.

  Deciding that there was nothing more she could do to aid Hazelmere, Lady Merion continued briskly, ‘Very well. Now we must decide how you should go on. You must not give the gossips any reason to suppose that anything other than the mildest of disagreements has occurred between you.’

  Dorothea’s brows rose in a thoroughly haughty manner.

  ‘Quite!’ nodded Lady Merion. ‘But you’ll be guided by me and Ferdie in this matter. Ferdie is so useful at times like these; he always knows how things will appear and what one must on no account do. You must continue to appear at all your engagements as usual, and you must appear entirely your normal self.’ Looking at her granddaughter, she remarked acidly, ‘That doesn’t seem to be causing you any great difficulty at the moment.’

  Turning huge green eyes upon her grandmother, Dorothea smiled in a serenely confident way, which, under the circumstances, Lady Merion found oddly disconcerting. ‘Grandmama, I promise I’ll behave at all times in a befitting manner. But you really cannot expect me to be the same as I was before the Diplomatic Ball.’

  Lady Merion, not entirely sure of its portent, accepted the qualified
assurance. ‘One last thing. Ferdie told me Hazelmere has gone out of town until Tuesday, to one of his estates. Not,’ she continued in response to the question in Dorothea’s eyes, ‘because of your quarrel. He’d already told his friends he meant to depart by yesterday evening.’

  Digesting this news, Dorothea decided that, all in all, a few days to polish her newly discovered public persona without distraction would not go amiss. Besides, she was beginning to feel that there were a few tricks left to be played in the game between herself and the arrogant Marquis. When he next appeared, she intended to be well prepared.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FERDIE AND DOROTHEA arrived at the Park and joined the groups of ladies and gentlemen milling about, exchanging greetings and the latest on-dits. More than a few eyes were directed Dorothea’s way. Chatting in a relaxed and animated fashion with Lord Peterborough, riding beside her on his bay, she had herself well in hand. To all who were interested, she appeared entirely at ease.

  Mrs Drummond-Burrell, sitting haughtily in her barouche, waved to them to attend her. As they drew up she complimented Dorothea on her looks and then embarked on a conversation with all three. At no time did she refer to the most noble Marquis of Hazelmere, nor the incident in the Park. Looking into the cool blue eyes, Dorothea smiled warmly, acknowledging the message.

  Released from her side, they next fell victim to Lady Jersey. In stark contrast, she tried by every means possible to extract some comment from Dorothea on Hazelmere and what had happened after they had left the Park. Dorothea’s practice in verbal fencing with his lordship left her well equipped to deal with opponents like Sally Jersey. She successfully turned aside all that lady’s probing questions. As she accomplished this with an amused tolerance, very reminiscent of Hazelmere himself, Lady Jersey was more entertained than enraged by her refusal to be outwitted. Finally escaping her clutches, they rode on.

  ‘Phew!’ exclaimed Ferdie as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘Never seen Silence so hell-bent on getting an answer!’

  While they encountered a number of ladies similarly intent on learning the details of Dorothea’s last meeting with the Marquis, Lady Jersey’s inquisition was by far the most comprehensive, and Dorothea easily handled these less inveterate busybodies.

  On returning to Merion House, having parted from Lord Peterborough at the Park gates, Ferdie confessed to being thoroughly satisfied with Dorothea’s performance. Overhearing this remark, addressed to her grandmother, Dorothea’s eyes twinkled. ‘Why, thank you, Ferdie,’ she said meekly.

  Not sure how to take this and finding her confidence slightly alarming, Ferdie assured them that he would call at eight to escort them to the evening’s rout, and made his escape.

  During the following days Dorothea found Hazelmere’s friends keeping a protective watch over her and was amused by their endeavours to conceal this. Intrigued, she quizzed Ferdie for the reason and finally, in desperation, he retreated behind his absent cousin. ‘Best ask Hazelmere if you want to know about it.’ Correctly understanding this to mean that his lordship had left instructions that she was not to be told, she refrained from pushing Ferdie further. Finding that the words ‘Hazelmere said so’ acted as a talisman, Ferdie used the phrase increasingly. He fervently hoped his cousin would not be out of London longer than anticipated.

  As she had all of Hazelmere’s closest friends dancing attendance on her, Dorothea used the opportunity to lead them into describing their many interests and amusements. In so doing, they often gave her information on Hazelmere, and she slowly built up a more complete picture of his complex personality. For their part, his lordship’s friends found the task of guarding her a pleasure. More than one found himself mesmerised by those large green eyes. Her natural assurance was much more apparent in Hazelmere’s absence and, added to that, she now gave the impression of being fashionably distant, as if waiting for something or someone. However, not one of them found anything in her manner to suggest that she was other than completely content with Hazelmere’s suit. So, roundly cursing his lordship’s infernal luck, even the volatile Peterborough succumbed to her subtle invitation to be friends, and then the entire crew were her devoted slaves.

  Fanshawe, viewing proceedings from the distance of his pursuit of Cecily, now close to success, could think of only one reason for Dorothea’s serene manner. But, having heard from Ferdie of their last meeting, and knowing from Cecily’s silence that Hazelmere had not proposed and forgotten to mention it, he was left wondering. From their friends’ behaviour, he guessed Dorothea had succeeded in the not inconsiderable feat of adding them to her circle of doting admirers. Hazelmere would get something of a shock when he found to what use she had put his watchdogs. Luckily he was more likely to be amused at their susceptibilities than annoyed at her success. Life was going to be interesting when the Marquis returned to town.

  For Dorothea, the time passed in a dull whirl she would readily have traded for the sight of his lordship’s hazel eyes, preferably smiling at her. She was not entirely looking forward to her next private meeting with him, foreseeing a certain awkwardness in explaining why she had behaved as she had. But she would rather have faced it sooner than later. Unfortunately she could do nothing but wait and, with so many people endeavouring to please her, she felt it would be churlish to complain, even though her enthusiasm for fashionable pursuits had waned.

  The only truly dreadful moment occurred at the Melchetts’ ball on Saturday night. She might have guessed, had she thought of him at all, that Edward Buchanan would, like a distempered ghost, return to haunt her. He had heard of the encounter in the Park and had listened with interest to the speculation on the outcome. To his mind, Miss Darent’s options were rapidly diminishing.

  He accosted her as she stood by the side of the dance-floor in company with Lord Desborough. Unfortunately the musicians had had a slight accident, and in the unexpected interval the guests were strolling about, conversing in small groups. Desborough had not previously met Edward Buchanan and so accepted at face value his claim to acquaintance with Dorothea. Knowing she would be mortified by Mr Buchanan’s gallantries, Dorothea asked Desborough to fetch her a glass of lemonade, hoping in the interval to dispose of her unwelcome suitor. Her plans backfired, and instead she found herself in a small ante-room with Edward Buchanan again pressing his suit.

  ‘I have, after all, got your guardian’s blessing. And now there are these rumours about your behaviour with Hazelmere. What I say, my dear, is that none of your fancy beaux will have you now.’ He cocked an eyebrow at her and his ponderous voice gained in weight. ‘Too top-lofty, that lot. You’ve queered your pitch there, right enough. You’d do well to lower your sights, my girl. Hazelmere and his set are out of your reach now. You should consider my proposal, indeed you should!’

  Rigid with anger, Dorothea struggled to control her voice. ‘Mr Buchanan! I will tell you for the last time: I do not wish, in any circumstances, to marry you! I trust that is plain enough. I will not change my mind. It was unwise in the extreme for Herbert to have encouraged your suit. I’m sorry, but I must return to the ballroom.’

  She moved to sweep past him where he stood, his back to the door. As she did so Desborough, who had been looking all over for her, appeared there. Sheer relief showed on Dorothea’s face. At the same moment Edward Buchanan grabbed her by the shoulders and attempted to kiss her. She struggled frantically, averting her face.

  Almost instantly Buchanan was bodily plucked from her and thrown roughly against the wall. In considerable surprise he slid down to sit on the floor, his legs splayed out in front of him and an idiotic look on his face. Desborough, adjusting the set of his coat before offering his arm to Dorothea, turned at the last moment to say, ‘Be thankful it was me and not Peterborough, Walsingham, or, God forbid, Hazelmere. Any of those three and you would be nursing rather more bruises and, very likely, a few broken bones as well. I suggest, Mr Buchanan, that you trouble Miss Darent no longer.’ And, with that, he ushered a deeply g
rateful Dorothea back into the ballroom.

  The upshot was that Hazelmere’s friends never, ever, left her unattended again, whether in the ballroom, the Park, or any other gathering of the fashionable.

  HAZELMERE’S ENTIRE ATTENTION was devoted to controlling the frisky bays as he threaded through the crowded streets of the capital. Once they had passed the village of Hampstead and started over Finchley Common he dropped his hands and the bays shot forward. With the horses driven well up to their bits, the curricle rocketed past coaches travelling at conventional speeds. Jim Hitchin, hanging on grimly behind, kept his lips firmly shut and prayed that his master’s customary skill did not desert him. As the evening wore on and the shadows started to spread, throwing inky patches across the road, concealing pot-holes and ruts, Jim expected their pace to ease. But no change in speed was detectable as they left Barnet behind and raced onwards up the Great North Road towards the George at Harpenden, where they spent the night on such trips as these.

  Jim kept silent, more from fear of distracting the Marquis than from reticence. But, when Hazelmere overtook the north-bound accommodation coach just before St Albans on a tight curve with less than inches to spare, Jim, in considerable fright, swore roundly.

  ‘What was that, Jim?’ came Hazelmere’s voice.

  ‘Why, nothing, m’lord,’ replied Jim. Unable to help himself, he added, ‘Just if you was to be wishful to break both our necks I could think of few faster ways to do it.’