by Farr, Diane
A young man stopped politely at the side of the path as Tish reined in her hack, and lifted his hat to them. Chloe blinked a little at the gentleman’s attire, which was exquisite to the point of absurdity. Mr. Furbush’s addiction to the extremes of fashion was unfortunate, since his silhouette did not conform to the wasp-waisted model necessary to display his apparel to advantage. In contrast to his costume, his person was soft and unassuming. He had a pleasant, undistinguished face, and a completely vapid expression.
"Ah de do?" said Mr. Furbush, bowing.
Tish performed the necessary introductions. "Mr. Furbush is a great friend of my brother’s," she added.
Chloe looked at the young man with renewed interest. "Why, so am I!" she told him cordially.
Light appeared to dawn in Mr. Furbush’s brain. "Littlefield, did you say? You the gel he’s going to marry? Very happy to make your acquaintance."
Color flamed in Chloe’s cheeks. "Well, as to that, Mr. Furbush—"
"Not much in the petticoat line, myself, but I daresay Gil will manage to pull it off. Wedding, you know!" he explained, as the girls looked mystified. "Mob of people gawking at one, and hurling rice in one’s face and so forth. Unnerving, I should think. On an empty stomach, too! But Gil’s always been full of pluck."
Tish giggled. "You are so droll, Mr. Furbush!" she exclaimed, a compliment which seemed to surprise its recipient. "But where have you been hiding yourself? I haven’t seen you for an age."
He waved a hand vaguely. "Oh, I’ve been here and there. Round about. Walking with Jack Crawley just now, you know. He wanted to come; saw a chit last night he wished to see again. Heiress! Means to dangle after her, I suppose, though he didn’t care to call on her. I didn’t quite follow that part; wasn’t particularly attending. Delicate business! Not my cup of tea. At any rate, he fancied she’d be in the park, and here we are."
In proof of his assertion, Jack Crawley came walking round the bend. He brightened visibly when he saw his friend conversing with Tish and Chloe, and advanced eagerly upon the group, sweeping off his hat as he approached.
"Mrs. Dalrymple, how do you do? Miss Littlefield! Your servant," he said, executing a very creditable bow. "Beautiful day, what?"
The girls politely agreed. Jack beamed. Chloe had to hide a smile at the picture the two friends presented, side by side. Jack Crawley was as tall as Barney Furbush was short, and as angular as Barney was round. He was one of those young men who seem to outgrow their frames in adolescence, and spend the next decade or so catching up. His legs were spindly, his shoulderblades stuck out like wings, and his Adam’s apple was visible even through the folds of his tightly-wrapped cravat. His thin face was dominated by a nose that, were he a woman, would cause everyone to think him a witch. Chloe privately thought that if Mr. Crawley meant to catch an heiress, he would have to choose a nearsighted one. And court her from a distance.
The group conversed for a few minutes on inconsequential matters, and then, just as Tish and Chloe were preparing to ride on, Mr. Crawley looked earnestly at Chloe, swept off his hat again, and blurted, "Miss Littlefield, will you be present at Lady Bartlett’s ball?"
"Why, I hardly know," said Chloe, startled. "Tish?"
"I believe we will be there," said Tish cautiously.
Mr. Crawley had turned a little red. "I wonder if I might have the first waltz?" he stammered. "If no one else has claimed it, of course."
Chloe stared at Mr. Crawley in astonishment and dismay. "Gracious!" she said faintly. Then inspiration struck. "I think I may have promised it to Gil," she murmured apologetically, blushing for her lie.
"Then may I have the second?"
"Well, I—I—"
"She has promised the second waltz to me," said a smooth baritone from just behind her. Chloe jumped, causing her hack to dance nervously. She soothed the animal as Lord Rival drew up beside them on a showy chestnut. He touched his hat to both her and Tish, smiling lazily. Chloe’s eyes met his and she caught her breath, dazzled. She had not seen Lord Rival in daylight before. Heavens, he was handsome.
How long had he been there, eavesdropping? She had no more promised a waltz to him than she had promised one to Gil! What an audacious creature he was. She hardly knew whether to scold him or thank him. After all, she would far rather waltz with Lord Rival than poor Jack Crawley.
But beneath them, on the path, Mr. Crawley looked both crestfallen and chagrined. "Oh, well. Another time, perhaps," was all he said, replacing his hat on his head.
Chloe’s conscience pricked her. "If there is a third waltz, Mr. Crawley, you may have it," she promised. He brightened a little, bowed, and went off down the path, arm in arm with Barney.
Chloe stole a glance at Lord Rival, her mouth prim. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "No point in rescuing you, fair maiden, if you willfully retie yourself to the stake."
"You had much better mind your own business, then," she replied tartly. "Nobody asked you to rescue me."
"Come, come! Knights errant cannot wait to be asked. They must rush in, you know, where angels fear to tread."
A little spurt of laughter escaped Chloe. "That’s what fools do."
His dark eyes gleamed. "What fools do, Miss Littlefield, is beg for waltzes a week in advance of a ball."
"What fools do, Lord Rival, is claim waltzes that were never promised."
"And did you really promise the first waltz to Mr. Gilliland?"
Chloe bit her lip. "No. But you cannot have it!"
"I don’t want it."
Chloe choked in surprise, but Lord Rival was grinning down at Tish, who looked saucily up at him.
"Well, George?" she said demurely.
"Must I ask?"
"Yes, you must."
"Very well, sweet tormentor!" He placed one hand over his heart. "May I have the honor of dancing the first waltz with you at Lady Bartlett’s ball?"
Tish nibbled the tip of one gloved finger, pretending to consider the matter. "I don’t know," she mused. "I don’t willingly dance with fools."
"Fools?"
Tish opened her eyes innocently. "You said only fools request dances a week in advance of a ball, did you not?"
Chloe and Tish both laughed at Lord Rival’s expression of comic chagrin.
"I did say that. The more fool I! Never mind. Only promise that you will not give it to another, and I shall be content to wait and ask you at the ball."
Watching him banter with Tish, Chloe was struck by a subtle change in him. On horseback, easily controlling the gelding beneath him, it seemed to her that his air of weary mockery was less pronounced. His teasing remarks seemed more mischievous and less dangerous. She found this side of him—the daylight creature—more likeable than the jaded man she had met at Lady Paversham’s drum. Still, she could not like the predatory way he looked at Tish, and even less did she like the way Tish looked at him. Tish had always been one who wore her heart on her sleeve. It was pinned there now, for all to see.
Lord Rival rode between them for a few minutes as they continued down the path, to Tish’s obvious delight. Chloe found herself nervously watching the other persons crowding the park. Were they taking note of Tish’s infatuation? Or were they all completely preoccupied with seeing and being seen? That certainly seemed to be everyone’s purpose in coming here. If only Gil would chance to appear! Once again, Chloe had been thrust into the role of chaperon. She disliked it very much indeed.
Her best hope for protecting Tish was to distract Lord Rival and turn his attention to herself. That was, after all, what she had told Gil she meant to do. But she could think of no way to accomplish it. She rode silently along, lost in thought, casting about in her mind for something she could say or do to lure his lordship away from Tish. Her lack of experience in the art of dalliance was definitely a handicap.
But Lord Rival himself was turning to her, drawing her into the conversation with his lazy smile. "You are silent, Miss Littlefield," he observed.
"Yes." Chloe felt the mono
syllable fall into the conversation like a stone, and realized that something more was expected of her. "I have nothing to say," she explained, blushing faintly.
"Really? Now, that’s an unusual virtue."
"What is?" asked Tish, leaning forward in her saddle to peer round Lord Rival at Chloe.
"Miss Littlefield, sweeting, keeps silent when she has nothing to say."
Tish laughed. "If I followed her example, I would scarcely utter a word from dawn to dusk, I daresay. I chatter like a magpie."
"Oh, never that." Lord Rival shot Tish a tender look that made Chloe’s hackles rise. "Like a brook, perhaps. Bubbling over stones."
"Very good," said Chloe bracingly. "A much pleasanter image. Although a magpie pauses from time to time, and a brook babbles incessantly. For my own part, I should prefer a magpie outside my window."
"What, and wake to the sound of screeching?" Lord Rival’s eyes still rested on Tish, and now the look he gave her brought the color into Tish’s cheeks. "I would rather sleep and wake to the sound of my babbling brook."
As Tish subsided into giggling confusion, Lord Rival bent his wicked gaze on Chloe. "Or silence," he murmured. His eyes flicked briefly to her flaxen curls. "They do say silence is golden. Were they referring to you, Miss Littlefield?"
Despite her resolve to be blithe and breezy, Chloe was knocked off balance. "I hardly think so, my lord," she stammered, dismayed by his sudden reversion to double-edged remarks. She could easily understand Tish’s fascination for the man; it was oddly exciting to engage in this racy banter. And he was so terribly attractive! One felt an almost overwhelming urge to draw those dark eyes to oneself, to feel the powerful thrill of capturing such a man’s undivided attention.
But his attention was divided, and her lame reply had turned him back to Tish. Chloe inwardly berated herself. Well, what might she have said? Yes? She tried in vain to think of a clever answer to his silly question, frowning abstractedly at the path ahead. Try as she might, she could think of nothing. Perhaps it was simply not in her nature to encourage a near-stranger, egging him on to say outrageous things. She was more the douse-him-in-cold-water type.
To her surprise, Lord Rival continued to turn his attention to her from time to time, despite her awkwardness at the game of raillery. At first, she supposed it was simply good manners on his part, and her heart warmed to him. But then she noticed a calculating, considering look in the back of his eyes as he smiled at her. He seemed to be watching her, weighing her for some secret purpose. It was disconcerting, and added to her tongue-tied ineptitude. But the more convinced she became that she was actually boring him, the more he persisted in including her. Watching, always watching. She could almost see the wheels turn in the brain behind his eyes, but could receive no clue as to what he was thinking, or why.
When she saw Gil coming toward them in the distance, she felt a surge of such tremendous relief that she was half afraid he was a mirage. He had not seen them yet, and it took a great effort of will to keep herself from waving and calling out to him, as she would have if they were back in the country lanes at home. He was mounted on Wager, and rode easily along, touching his hat and smiling at chance-met acquaintances. Gil has always had a graceful seat, she thought, admiring the way he sat his horse and the way the sun glinted on his hair, burnishing it to the gold of a new-minted coin every time he lifted his hat. He looked so handsome that her heart swelled with affectionate pride.
Eventually he did see them. His start of pleased surprise was unmistakeable. So was the slight stiffening that followed, as he perceived the identity of the girls’ escort. He rode up at once, however, and managed to greet the party civilly enough.
Lord Rival seemed completely unperturbed by Gil’s barely-cloaked animosity. He nodded, indicating Wager, and complimented Gil on the animal’s quality. Gil thanked him and glanced at the chestnut Lord Rival was riding, seeking to return the compliment.
Lord Rival smiled humorlessly at the doubtful expression crossing Gil’s face. "A hired hack," he informed Gil. "Showy, but short of bone."
"Oh," said Gil.
At first he seemed undecided as to whether to join the group, but when Chloe invited him to do so, desperation in her eyes, he responded immediately. He turned Wager to fall in beside Chloe’s mount and the party progressed at a decorous pace. Tish drew her hack into step beside Lord Rival’s, leaving Gil and Chloe to bring up the rear. They did so rather glumly, both watching, with a jealous eye, the interplay of the couple ahead. Tish was very gay, but her trills of delighted laughter at Lord Rival’s remarks grated on the ears of Chloe and Gil.
"What a humorous chap he must be," said Gil caustically.
"He is," agreed Chloe listlessly. "A very quick wit." There was no pleasure in her voice.
Silence descended again.
"Gil," asked Chloe, frowning, "how does one learn how to flirt? Tish was never a flirt when we were growing up."
"Lord, no! Couldn’t flirt with the boys at home; they all knew her too well. The technique only works with strangers."
Chloe looked thoughtful. "I wonder why that is?"
Gil snorted. "Because it’s all a lot of rubbish! Good luck batting your eyes and giggling at a man who’s well-acquainted with you; he’ll tell you point-blank you’re behaving like a blithering idiot."
"But men seem to like it."
"Oh, yes! Very flattering, you know, to make a woman behave like a blithering idiot. One fancies it’s all due to one’s devastating wit, or dazzling appearance, or some such thing."
Chloe digested this information in silence, watching Lord Rival display his devastating wit and dazzling appearance, and Tish evidence her resulting devastation and dazzlement.
"So the trick must be," she said slowly, "to focus one’s attention on the man, and behave as if one were besotted. And not to think about how silly you look doing it."
Gil looked alarmed. "Here, now—why are you asking? I hope you don’t mean to start behaving like Tish! One’s enough for any family!"
"Well, not like Tish, precisely—" Chloe stopped short, and turned to stare at Gil. "I’m not a member of your family!"
To her surprise, Gil had turned beet red. "Misspoke!" he said hastily. "What I meant was—well, don’t pattern your behavior on Tish’s! I don’t like to say it of my own sister, but you know as well as I do that she’s wild to a fault. Not the thing at all! I don’t need two of you raising eyebrows all over town. I’ve enough on my hands, trying to decide what to do about Tish."
"But that’s why I need to learn how to flirt," said Chloe reasonably. "Surely you remember. I’m to draw Lord Rival’s attention away from her. Only I don’t seem to know how to go about it."
"I don’t want you to learn how to go about it! Dash it, Clo—"
"Do you suppose I need to dress more revealingly?"
"No!"
"Well, I’m glad to hear you say so, for I do think I would feel most uncomfortable in the sort of frocks Tish wears. Those ballgowns! I would never be able to look anyone in the eye without blushing."
"So I should hope! Now, Chloe—"
"But it’s the verbal sparring I should like to learn. That seems to be at the heart of it."
"The heart of what?"
"Flirtation, of course. At times I can do it, but as soon as Lord Rival says anything too risque, I back away from him. I can’t help it; it embarrasses me."
"Well, thank God for that, at least! Chloe, the man’s a rake! You mustn’t encourage the fellow! You don’t know what you’re dealing with."
"I can learn, can’t I? If Tish can do it, so can I."
Gil made a sort of gargling sound. But there was no time for further discussion; Lord Rival and Tish had pulled to a halt and Chloe, looking about her, realized they had reached the edge of the park nearest the Dalrymples’ town house and were bidding the gentlemen adieu.
Gil seemed to have more that he wished to say, but Chloe pressed his hand reassuringly at parting. "Don’t worry so much!" sh
e whispered, under cover of Tish cooing farewell to her cicisbeo. "Not about me, at least." And she rode off with Tish, her resolve strengthened to do what she could to help her dear friends through this frightful hobble.
Chapter 11
Tish found some way to encounter Lord Rival on almost a daily basis, so Chloe had plenty of opportunity to experiment with her new theory of flirtation. Whenever she was around the man she gushed and cooed and flattered, and tried very hard not to think about how idiotic she must appear. She even managed to unblushingly call him "George" from time to time, although such familiarity went very much against the grain.
It did seem to work—in a way. She was almost always able to distract him from paying court to Tish. While she struggled to appear infatuated with him, Lord Rival would always give her his full attention. But it was a little disconcerting that his face, as he watched her gyrations, expressed only fascinated disbelief.
It was hard work, this flirtation business. She tried to appear consistently besotted, but Lord Rival seemed to take a perverse delight in provoking her temper. This frequently caused her to slip and say something cutting. The odd thing was, whenever she dropped her mask and scolded him, or made some tart remark, he seemed to enjoy it more than her flattery! She could not understand this at all.
And she had not realized that concentrating so hard on trying to appear attracted to him would make her forget that she actually was attracted to him. It was only in those moments when he would goad her into forgetting her role that she became aware of it. She would snap at him, and he would laugh at her, and suddenly the charade would fall away and genuine heat would spark between them. This was utterly confusing.