Earl's Invention

by Diana Campbell

  The doorbell pealed, and Bonnie listened for the tap of Kimball's footsteps in the vestibule. But the house was still, and she shortly remembered that the servants attended church together on Sunday mornings. She sighed, lowered her injured foot to the floor, struggled up, and hobbled to the door.

  “You are walking!” Francis said cheerfully. “That is a marvelous sign indeed, but you mustn’t strain yourself. No, permit me to assist you.”

  He removed his hat, again exposing his unfortunate hair, and more or less dragged Bonnie from the foyer to the library, where she sank back on the Hepplewhite sofa. She was relieved to note that he had not brought another box of candy, for she feared she was, in fact, suffering from an excess consumption of chocolate. She had eaten nearly half of David’s box after dinner and had felt distinctly queasy when she wakened—

  “You look splendid!” Francis said, lowering himself to the armchair. Evidently, Bonnie reflected wryly, her gluttony did not show on her face. “Just as I told your friends last evening. That is why I came,” he added. “I was sure you would wish to know what transpired at Lord Blanchard's assembly.”

  To say the truth, Bonnie had almost forgotten Lord Blanchard's ball. But she fancied it would be impolite to say so, and she essayed a grateful smile.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “I should offer you some tea, but all the servants are at church.”

  “Yes, I am en route to church myself,” Francis said piously. “I merely stopped to tell you that I had conveyed your messages. Beginning with your message to Lady Pamela. I sought her out straightaway and assured her you were recovering from your injury.”

  “And what was her response?” Bonnie was becoming keenly interested in the conversation after all.

  “She said you must take care not to suffer another such mishap in future.”

  A wonderfully ambiguous remark, Bonnie reflected. Her ladyship might have been obliquely admitting that her father and brother had arranged Bonnie’s “mishap’' and would order another at the earliest opportunity. On the other hand, she could have been implying that—while the Everetts had not commissioned the attack in Bond Street—they were perfectly prepared to engineer a like assault when Bonnie was up and about again.

  “After that,” Francis said, “I spoke with your other friends Lambeth and Varden and the rest of them. They were delighted to learn you were faring so well, and several of them inquired whether you were ready to receive callers. Mama advised

  them that despite your remarkable improvement, you should rest a day or two more.”

  “Umm,” Bonnie grunted. She was still attempting to decipher Lady Pamela’s words.

  ‘‘They were disappointed, of course,” Francis went on. ‘‘However, they all agreed you should be left in peace until you are fully recovered from your accident.”

  ‘‘Umm,” Bonnie mumbled again.

  She had perceived yet a third interpretation of Lady Pamela's statement, and she gazed down at her hands. Perhaps her ladyship had merely glimpsed a chance to endow her empty threats with some degree of credibility. If—as David insisted— Lord Haverford and Lord Walsingham would never do violence to a woman. Lady Pamela had known from the outset that she could not cause Bonnie any physical harm. But she had cleverly created the impression that she might have instigated an attack in Bond Street and, more to the point, could arrange a similar one whenever she chose.

  Yes, this interpretation made perfect sense. Except for the circumstance that it compelled Bonnie to admit that her mishap had been just that—an evil stroke of fortune—and she had been so sure . . . She peered at Francis through her lashes and impulsively decided to test her theory on him. A somewhat diluted theory, she amended: she would not mention Lady Pamela’s possible involvement. But she would tell Francis of the man who had followed her and the deliberate way she had been shoved in front of the coach. And if he agreed with David that she had permitted her imagination to trick her, she would put the incident entirely out of her mind.

  “I’m not altogether sure it was an accident,” she said, raising her eyes. “My ... my accident, that is.”

  She had got off to a very bad start, and Francis, not surprisingly, frowned with confusion.

  “What I meant to say,” Bonnie continued doggedly, “is that I am inclined to believe my mishap was not an accident. A man had been trailing me from the time I left the house. . .”

  She related the gist of the story, and when she had finished, Francis shook his head.

  “A crusher,” he said. ‘‘One sees them every day. Men dressed in all their finery and following women about the streets in hopes of making an improper advance. Which is why,” he added severely, ‘‘you should not have been in Bond Street alone.”

  Bonnie judged this a point best left ignored. ‘‘He was not dressed in finery,” she protested instead, ‘in fact, his clothes were exceedingly shabby—”

  “A robber then,” Francis interposed. “But neither a crusher nor a robber would deliberately push you into the street. No, it was a passing pedestrian who tripped you up, and I wish I could profess to be astonished by such rudeness. However, I cannot, for I myself was quite upended in Piccadilly last autumn. I must own that the street was slick with rain at the time, but I should not have fallen had a most uncivil fellow not sent an elbow into my ribs.”

  “I daresay you are right,” Bonnie murmured. “Uncle David is persuaded that is what happened as well. The most ironic aspect of the situation is that I probably should not have noticed the man at all had he not chanced to look familiar.”

  "You thought him to be someone you knew?”

  “No one I had actually met,” Bonnie replied, “but I initially thought I had seen him before. Later I realized that he only resembled someone of my acquaintance. He was tall and lean and had unusually thick hair. Dark hair. And very blue eyes, I believe.”

  “I ... I see.” Francis abruptly leapt to his feet. “Well, I must depart at once if I’m to reach St. George’s prior to the start of the service. Do not trouble yourself to show me out.

  He clapped on his hat and bounded into the vestibule, and Bonnie shortly heard the creak of the front door, followed by an indistinguishable rumble of voices. The door clicked closed again, and even as she reached for her book, the earl appeared in the library entry.

  “Francis!" he snapped. “I am excessively tired of my nephew's constant skulking about.”

  Bonnie could hardly term two brief visits “constant," but she bit back a sharp retort. Not that she would have been granted an opportunity to deliver one, for David had already whirled around and begun to stomp up the staircase. His miftiness was really growing most irksome, Bonnie reflected, glaring in his wake. But in the interest of preserving whatever slight harmony remained between them, she hoped Francis would not call again tomorrow.

  9

  Papa had frequently included quotations from the classics in his sermons, and one of his favorites had been Aesop's statement that we would often be sorry if our wishes were gratified. Bonnie had occasion to remember this the next morning when—as she had hoped—Francis did not call, but Lady Hellier appeared in his stead.

  “Good day, dear," her ladyship trilled, sailing into the library. “I hesitated to come before noon, but Francis assured me you are an early riser. That is a very commendable quality and one you will discover to be most advantageous when you are mistress of your own household. Why are you lounging about, Kimball?" she snapped. “Pray bring us some tea.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  The butler scurried away, and Lady Hellier sank into the armchair.

  “I am excessively pleased to see that Francis' information was correct.” She favored Bonnie with an excessively pleased smile. “It is clear you are making a remarkable recovery

  Inasmuch as Bonnie had been seated since her ladyship s arrival, her bandaged ankle hidden from view, she did not see how this could be clear at all. But she nodded and reluctantly laid aside the Fanny Burney novel she had
been reading.

  “Thank you. Aunt Judith,” she murmured. I deeply appreciate your concern."

  “Which is not to suggest that I am surprised,” Lady Hellier said. “Our family have always been a hardy lot, quick to rebound from illness and injury alike. That is another quality you will find enormously helpful when you are married and have a family to care for.”

  Evidently, Bonnie thought wryly, her ladyship was composing a list of her niece’s many virtues. An interested duke or marquis would soon be assured that not only was Miss Carlisle reasonably handsome and monstrous rich, but a “hardy,” energetic young woman as well.

  “Of course,” Lady Hellier continued, “a strong constitution means nothing if one lacks the proper spirit. And you, dear, have displayed the most wonderful courage in the face of adversity.”

  Courage, Bonnie added to the list. Miss Carlisle was also exceedingly brave.

  “I firmly believe that a mishap such as yours is often beneficial.” Her ladyship did, indeed, sound quite firm on this head. “Hardship gives one the opportunity to build one’s character, does it not? And in your case, yet another benefit accrued. Had you not chanced to suffer an accident, you would have been caught up in the festivities of the Season, and I daresay you and Francis would scarcely have exchanged a word. Fortunately, however, your confinement has enabled the two of you to become close friends.”

  Bonnie would hardly have deemed Francis Hellier a “close friend,” but she was compelled to own that he had been admirably attentive to his alleged cousin. So attentive, she recollected, as to vex his uncle beyond all reason. “Yes," she rejoined aloud. “Yes, Francis has been extremely kind.” “How I wish we had had cousins!” Lady Hellier lamented. “David and Cornelia and I, that is. Well, as you no doubt know, there was rumors that Josh the footboy was our cousin. Compliments of our rakeshame Uncle Albert. Josh and several other children in the neighborhood. But we had no legitimate cousins, and I was fearfully lonely ...”

  Lady Hellier chattered on in this vein for some fifteen

  minutes, her discourse only briefly interrupted by Kimball’s delivery of the tea tray. Cornelia and Lady Amanda Rawlins had been inseparable companions literally from infancy, Bonnie learned, and David had befriended every boy for miles around—from the finest young gentlemen to the sons of the lowliest servants. But though Lady Hellier had made friends of her own from time to time, these relationships had invariably, inexplicably, died an early death; and she had spent her childhood largely in solitude. Had Bonnie not recalled Nell’s advice that Miss Judith was a wicked child, she would have been driven nearly to tears by her ladyship’s tragic narrative. As it was, she sipped her tea in silence and tried to incline or shake her head at all the appropriate points in the story.

  “But you will happily be spared such unhappiness,’’ Lady Hellier concluded with a tremulous smile. “Since you have a cousin, and since you and Francis have grown so fond of one another, you can always be confident of having at least one friend in England.”

  “I was confident of that from the outset,” Bonnie said politely. “But it was very good of you to come and . . . er . . . reinforce my confidence.”

  “That is not why I came.” Lady Hellier returned her empty teacup to the tray on the sofa table. “I came to see for myself that you will soon be entirely recovered from your injury.”

  “I do hope I shall,” Bonnie said. "My ankle is considerably stronger today than it was yesterday—’’

  “Because I have conceived the most wonderful idea. Her ladyship flew on. “I should like to conduct an assembly in your honor."

  Bonnie's first reaction was one of utter astonishment; she would have been somewhat less surprised by an announcement that the Prince Regent had at last divorced his estranged wife and offered for Miss Carlisle's hand. But even as she shakily set her own cup and saucer on the tea tray, she realized that such a proposal was quite in accordance with

  David’s prediction: a come-out ball would afford Lady Hellier the opportunity to present her niece to only—and all of—the most desirable partis in the realm. The assembly, while relatively small, would therefore have to be prodigious elegant, and Bonnie had no doubt the earl would ultimately be saddled with the bills. Which meant that she must nip her ladyship’s “wonderful idea” in the bud at once.

  “What . . . what a generous notion,” she stammered. “But Mama didn’t intend me to have an actual debut. She recognized that I am too old for a come-out—”

  “As you are,” Lady Hellier interposed, “and I do not intend to give you a debut either. I merely thought to invite a few of our friends—Robert’s and Francis' and mine—to meet our lovely colonial relative. An intimate gathering; perhaps Fifty people. Or seventy-five. A hundred at most.”

  Her ladyship’s “intimate gathering” was growing more costly by the second, and Bonnie groped for a discreet way to say so.

  “I couldn’t dream of putting you to such trouble,” she protested at last. “To say nothing of the”—she essayed a delicate cough—“the expense.”

  “It will be no trouble at all!” Lady Hellier said cheerfully. “I adore to plan parties. And why should you suppose expense to be a problem? You will learn when you have a home of your own that bills trickle in very slowly and can be just as slowly paid.”

  Or not paid at all until one’s brother could no longer bear the embarrassment, Bonnie thought grimly. She cast frantically about for another objection and, miraculously, found one.

  “I daresay an assembly would be most pleasurable,” she said. “Except that there is no time to have it.” She tried to sound regretful. “Uncle David has mentioned that there is an event scheduled every night for the remainder of the Season.”

  “There was” her ladyship said smugly. “By a great stroke of luck, Mrs. Maitland has been forced to cancel her ball, which was to take place this Friday evening. Her sister unexpectedly took ill and died within four-and-twenty hours.”

  Only Lady Hellier could regard sudden death as a “stroke of luck,” and Bonnie was hard put to quell a laugh But she kept her countenance carefully straight because her ladyship had unwittingly provided further grounds for opposition. It was impossible to arrange an assembly in four days, and Bonnie parted her lips to point this out.

  “Indeed, were it not for Mrs. Maitland’s cancellation. I could not arrange an assembly so quickly.” Lady Hellier might have been reading Bonnie’s mind. “However, in the circumstances, I shall be able to engage her orchestra and her florist and her caterer; they will be eager for substitute employment. And inasmuch as her ball was to be one of the grandest of the Season, I fancy virtually the whole of the ton is now free Friday night.”

  She paused a moment, tapping one long fingernail against her teeth. “So perhaps it would be best to invite them all,” she finished with a martyred sigh. “I should hate to wound anyone’s feelings.”

  Good God! Within the space of five minutes, her ladyship’s cozy assembly had become the grandest ball of the Season, and—worse—Bonnie’s every hope of preventing it had been dashed. Her mouth was still foolishly hanging open, and she glimpsed only one other avenue of escape.

  “Permit me to ... to discuss it with Uncle David,” she mumbled. Surely the clever earl could fabricate some inarguable objection to his sister’s plan. “Yes, let me be sure Uncle David approves—”

  “Be sure I approve of what?”

  Bonnie had not heard David’s approach, and she started and spun her head toward the library entry. She could not determine whether the earl was leaving the house or returning; his immaculately tailored black pantaloons, his charcoal frock coat and dove-gray waistcoat, the beaver hat in his hand, merely indicated that he had dressed with the intention of going out.

  “David!” Lady Hellier said brightly. “We are speaking of an assembly. I wish to conduct a ball in Bonnie’s honor, and while she has agreed it is an excellent idea, she wants to secure your consent.”

  Agreed? Bonnie’s mouth f
ell open again, but before she could issue a denial, she realized that she might, in fact, have appeared to concur in her ladyship’s proposal. Yes, she had carelessly remarked that an assembly would be most pleasurable. At the time, of course, she had spoken with the objective of forestalling the ball, but it was scarcely surprising that Lady Hellier had misinterpreted her words. She looked desperately at the earl, hoping somehow to signal him; but his eyes were on his sister, who was now describing the “lucky” circumstances that would enable her to conduct an assembly Friday night.

  “How could I conceivably decline to approve?” he said frigidly when she had finished. “It is clear that you and Bonnie have anticipated and resolved every problem."

  “Oh. I was certain you’d consent!” Evidently Lady Hellier had failed to register his tone, for she clapped her hands with delight and leapt to her feet. “I shall begin writing the invitations at once. Naturally, dear”—she turned her attention to Bonnie—"I wish you to participate in the planning, but I shan’t tax your limited strength by insisting you come to Orchard Street. No, we shall use Francis to carry messages back and forth between us.”