by Joan Smith
She wrenched her hands away angrily. “I cannot do that! What excuse could I give?"
“You're right. That would not fadge. Naturally, he will attach himself to her apron strings the instant I am gone. If you could, perhaps, accompany them on their outings, or keep interrupting them when they are alone here, or—I don't know.” He tossed up his hands in frustration. “Just look out for my interests. And most particularly, write to me at once if you sense Myra is leaning in his direction."
“It would be better if you could stay. Must you leave?"
“I should have gone home a week ago."
“It is too much responsibility,” Alice objected. “I cannot make her fall in love with you, Griffin."
“She is in love with me,” he said firmly. “I had her almost to the sticking point last night."
Alice damped down her alarm. “What about the ring?” She had already heard Myra's version, and was curious to hear it from Griffin's view.
“She did not refuse it. She liked it excessively."
“But she did not accept it."
“She needs a little more time."
“You said you were going to insist."
“Damme, she was crying. Do you take me for a brute?"
Her jeering smile caused a flush to darken his cheeks. “No, I begin to take you for as big a gudgeon as Dunsmore. Your long suit is manly bravado—derring-do, recklessness. If you are turning into a lapdog, you had best ask your good friend the Prince Regent to make you a duke, or you are outweighed."
“Next you will be granting that wilted weed the palm for looks as well."
“Not all ladies favor the blackamoor look,” she said airily.
“That ain't the way it seems to me,” he replied, his cockiness returning.
“How horrid—boasting! You were never conceited before, Griffin. I begin to think your notoriety has gone to your head. You are as bad as M—” She stopped herself in time, and strangely, Griffin did not appear to notice.
“What am I to think, when the ladies flock around me as if I were some rara avis?” he said.
“It seems odd that such a rare bird cannot win his lady,” she taunted.
“I can only conclude your sister has some hankering to be a duchess. Dukes don't exactly grow on trees either. Will you help me, Alice?"
Alice resented being given this job, and said, “What makes you think I prefer you to Dunny for a brother-in-law?"
“Because you always had more sense than the other ladies in your family. I see you lifting your eyebrow at that compliment."
“I am trying to think of one single fact to support it."
“Well, you are a better rider, and you don't take forever to get dressed. You don't fly into the boughs if the coiffeur cuts your hair the wrong way, or become a watering pot if you see a bird with a broken wing."
“So I am badly turned out, and have no feelings!"
“Upon my word, you have grown up. You twist everything I say into an insult. Don't be difficult, Sal. I need your help, and so does Myra, or she will make the mistake of her life. Who do you think can make her happier? I, who love her madly, or Dunsmore?"
“Who worships the ground she walks on. You ask too much to expect me to keep them apart, when you cannot do it yourself, Griffin. They will have Mama's wholehearted support. She is sure to find some job for me if I take to pushing myself into their carriage. And at balls, you know, they will naturally stand up together. Besides, I have my own life. I have arranged several outings with my friends. I do not live in Myra's pocket."
“You're right,” he admitted, abashed. “It was selfish of me to ask. It is hopeless."
He looked so dejected that she wanted to console him. “I shall keep a sharp eye on them, and write you at once if I fear she is succumbing to the ducal weed."
“God bless you.” He leaned over, aiming a fleeting kiss at her cheek. It missed its mark and landed on her ear. A wave of heat invaded her head, then filtered slowly through her body. “I do love her so very much,” he said, and drew a deep sigh.
“Why, Griffin?” she asked.
He just shook his head. “I don't know. It just happened, one day in the meadow at home. She was gathering bluebells on my land. I jokingly chided her. She looked so frightened, and so lovely. It is not just her ethereal beauty I love, although she is ravishingly beautiful. Her hair like moonlight. I used to dream of her, while I slept by the fire in some Indian settlement, wishing she were by my side, to enjoy the splendor of the night sky, and the eerie jungle sounds in the background. One never knew what was prowling about—snakes, scorpions, wild boar."
“Myra would have hated it. She would have been thoroughly frightened."
“She would have had me to protect her.” An image of the two of them, wrapped in a blanket against the night dangers, flashed into Alice's head to torment her.
Griffin continued, “Whenever I spotted a rare orchid growing in the forest, I would think of her, and ask myself what I was doing there. This is all my own fault. I stayed away too long. She has waited five years. It is selfish of me to insist she make up her mind in a week."
Myra and her mama joined them. Softened by his reminiscences, Griffin was gentle with Myra. She liked him in this tender mood, and was cast into doubts again.
Then Dunsmore arrived soon after Griffin left, and Myra also loved him. He had to be consoled for the stunt Griffin played on him the night before. That was the insensitive side of Griffin that she did not like. Dunny would never do such an underhanded thing. He was so very sweet and thoughtful. She smiled fondly on Dunny's engagement ring, that sat on her finger. It felt as comfortable as if it had grown there, unlike the great whopping diamond Griffin wanted her to wear. There was indeed something to be said for comfort.
Chapter Seven
Alice felt she had been hard on Griffin. If he truly loved Myra, the only thing she could do for him was to help him win her, and she made her best effort. She had plans to go out with Miss Sutton that morning and went to Bond Street, knowing Myra and Dunsmore always went there. Myra liked to dawdle along, looking at the shop windows. Miss Sutton, a saucy redhead, was deep in the throes of a passion for Griffin, so that Alice could at least talk about him.
When they met Myra and Dunsmore, Alice took Dunsmore's other arm and chatted to him, to prevent him from gaining ground with her sister. His conversation was yawningly dull. He pointed out bonnets and gewgaws in shop windows, and whatever their merits, invariably found them ‘dashed pretty.’ Strangely, it was Myra who first tired of the walk, and suggested they go home.
Dunsmore accompanied them to a rout party that evening. Myra developed a headache at midnight, and again went home early. A few days dragged on in this fashion. Myra, despite the unflagging devotion of her duke, was definitely in the mopes. Alice had no danger to report to Griffin, and thus had no excuse to write to him. Myra had received one letter, which she read in the privacy of her room, and carried in her pocket faithfully everywhere she went. She was occasionally spotted mooning over it in some quiet corner.
On the forth evening of Griffin's absence, Alice went to her sister's room for a coze after an outing. Once more, Myra was studying the letter.
“Reading Griffin's letter again. You must have it by heart,” Alice said. She was extremely curious to see it, but knew this was unlikely.
“It is a marvelous letter,” Myra sighed. “So passionate, so poetic. Griffin could be a poet, if he took the bother."
“Are you missing him very much?"
“Terribly. I feel a dull and aching void where my heart should be.” She clutched at her breast and drew a shuddering sigh.
“Good Lord, Myra. It is unlike you to speak of dull and aching voids."
“It is what Griffin says, and I feel exactly the same. Everything seems so dull without him.” Alice's heart sank to her toes. “People do not flock around me and Dunsmore the way they did when I went out with Griffin. You must have noticed, Alice, at the balls. Do you not remembe
r that current of excitement when I stood up with him, or even with Dunsmore? Every eye was on me. All that is lacking now that Griffin is gone."
“It sounds as if you are missing the adulation, not Griffin."
“It is one and the same thing, really. He makes me special in a way that Dunny, much as I love him, does not."
“Then why do you not accept Griffin and put him out of his misery?"
A flash of anger darted in Myra's eyes. “And hand the duke over to Lady Sara? Did you see the way she was chasing him at the rout tonight? I never saw anyone so brass-faced in my life. She asked him to stand up with her. Your friend Miss Sutton would not hesitate to nab him either, if she had the chance. I daresay it was her idea that you and she join us on the strut earlier this week. She has the nerve of a canal horse."
Alice swallowed her mirth at the absurdity of Sukey Sutton liking Dunsmore. “You cannot have them both, Myra,” she said simply. “And you cannot dangle them on the string much longer."
“Oh, you are just like him,” Myra scolded, fingering the letter from Griffin. “He is nagging me to make up my mind, too. It is impossible. I thought when he went to Mersham, I would fall fatally in love with Dunsmore, but it was just the opposite. I think I am falling out of love with him, Alice. What shall I do? I know Mama favors Dunny."
“It is not Mama who will have to live with him."
"Have to live with him? You make it sound like a penance. Dunsmore Castle is one of the finest estates in Britain, to say nothing of his hunting box, and his Hampshire estate and his London residence, much finer than Griffin's. Have to live with him, indeed!"
“You said you were falling out of love with him."
“That is not what I meant,” Myra said vaguely. “Of course I love him. I love Griffin, too, but in a different way. He is so—” She came to a discreet stop.
“What?” Alice demanded.
“He kisses like a tiger, Alice,” she said, and gave a frightened shudder of delight. “It stirred me to the core. I nearly died of excitement."
“You should not let him kiss you in that way. Not until you are married."
“I am engaged to him."
“You are engaged to Dunsmore, too. If Mama knew about this she would—"
“Don't you dare tell her. Anyway, what has it to do with you? I begin to suspect you are in love with him yourself.” Alice flushed bright pink. “I knew it! I saw how you grabbed on to his arm on Bond Street, and dragged him off to look at all the windows. My own sister! How could you?"
Alice realized the mistake, and laughed in giddy relief. “Don't be ridiculous. Dunsmore is not my type at all."
“You can be sure you are not his. He thinks you are a hoyden."
“And I think he is a dead bore,” Alice said saucily, and bounced out of the room.
She went to bed and lay awake long, thinking. If being away from Griffin had made Myra fonder of him, then perhaps being away from Dunsmore might make Myra fall in love with her duke. Throw in a soupçon of jealousy from Lady Sara, and who knew what might result? On the other hand, if they returned to Newbold, Griffin's tigerish embrace might finally nudge Myra into having him. Either way, it had to be settled, but in her deepest heart, Alice truly did not think Myra would make Griffin happy for long. They did not suit; they were totally opposite in disposition.
She finally slept, and had disturbing dreams of tigers who refused to maul her, though she lay wounded and helpless in the jungle, staring at the wild black sky, sprinkled with diamonds. She went downstairs in the morning, still tired and on the fidgets. Her mother examined her and said, “I begin to think Myra is right."
Alice looked up guiltily, wondering if Myra had figured out her secret. “What do you mean, Mama?"
“You look worn to the bone. So does Myra. She says she is tired of London, and wants to go home to Newbold Hall."
“What about Dunsmore?” Alice asked.
“Naturally he will come with us. I am not fool enough to deliver her, helpless, into Griffin's clutches."
Alice considered this a moment, and thought the plan was rife with potential trouble. “She just wants to lord it in the village with her two fiancés,” she said dismissingly. “Let us go home if she wants, but it would look very odd to drag Dunsmore along."
“What is odd about a fiancé visiting the family of his bride to be, miss?"
“You know what I mean."
“I shall sound Dunsmore out when he calls this morning. If he thinks it farouche, then we shall stay on in London. Dunsmore would never agree to anything in poor taste."
“This is a horrid idea, Mama, and you know it. It will end up in a duel. It is just Myra's craving for attention. Separate her from the duke for a spell, and you will achieve better results."
“Aye, but who is to keep Griffin from her skirt tails if she goes home alone? I don't trust that lad an inch. There is mischief lurking in him. You have only to look at his black eyes to see it."
“She will not be alone. You and I will be there."
“Griffin would pay as much attention to us as he pays to that white monkey. If your papa were alive..."
“Do you really think Dunsmore could handle him?"
“No more than a flea could handle a dog. Lord, I have the megrims already, and it is not yet nine o'clock. I wish Griffin had stayed in the jungle with the rest of the wild animals."
Dunsmore called at eleven. When Myra presented the plan of going to Newbold Hall, he agreed instantly. Her manner of delivering the invitation may have had something to do with his acceptance.
“Mama is taking me home to Newbold Hall, Dunny. I do hope you will come with us, or Griffin may...” She gave a helpless sigh. “You know what I mean. But if you were there—"
“Aye, the shoe would be on the other side of the foot,” he said. His courage had a way of soaring when Griffin was not within shooting distance. Dunny was fully aware of the tigerish attack of his rival. Myra kept no secrets from him. “I shan't leave your side for an instant,” he promised.
The postman brought Myra another billet-doux from Griffin, and she ran upstairs to read it in her room. She was disappointed to see the first page was full of the word Monty, and dull estate matters. The second page, however, was more satisfying. It brought a tingle of that remembered excitement.
Dunsmore was so worried when Myra returned with shining eyes and pink cheeks, clutching the billet-doux to her bosom, that he would have agreed to go to Brazil, if that was what she wanted. It was arranged that they would leave early the next morning, to arrive in mid-afternoon at Newbold Hall. The remainder of the day was occupied with canceling appointments and settling household matters.
Mrs. Newbold hoped that when she returned to town, it would be to arrange the final details of Myra's marriage to Dunsmore. The invitations sat in a pile, awaiting delivery or consignment to the grate, depending on Myra's decision. They should have been delivered by now, but society would be lenient. Everyone was aware of her enviable dilemma. The reservation of St. George's church for the wedding had not been canceled. The plans for dinner at the Pulteny remained in place. One way or the other, there would be a wedding, but if Griffin was chosen, the invitations would have to be redone. One could hardly scratch out the groom's name and write in the replacement by hand. And, of course, many of the guests would be changed. She would lose such worthies as the Marquess of Lansdowne, though Griffin's family were by no means contemptible.
The trip was arranged so hastily that Alice hadn't time to notify Griffin. They would be home as fast as the letter could reach him. She would get a message to him the minute they arrived at Newbold.
Myra drove in Dunsmore's carriage with her mama. Both ladies were conscious of the strawberry leaves decorating the door. Alice chose to drive with her mama's dresser in their family carriage. She hoped for peace and quiet to torture herself with thoughts of Myra and Griffin. She was given no quiet, but considerable assistance in her woeful repining. Mrs. Appleton chattered the whole way
about schemes to bring Griffin to the fore. As a longtime resident at Newbold, she had a high opinion of Lord Griffin.
“Lord Griffin will not be outdone,” she forecast cheerfully. “Don't mope, child. Once your sister sees the two of them together in the country, she will make the proper decision. What is there to choose between that long drink of water and Griffin? Your mama was mad to bring the duke to the country, where he will be forced onto horseback, and terrified by dogs. Griffin on horseback—who could say him nay?"
“I had not thought of that!” Alice said in alarm. “Nor had your mama, I warrant,” Mrs. Appleton said, and laughed merrily.
Chapter Eight
During the commotion of arrival, Alice asked a servant to have her mount saddled up. No one thought it strange that this farouche creature should choose to ride in lieu of taking tea, on a fine spring day. She had complained constantly in London that she missed her riding. In fact, she rode two days out of three, but to Alice, a sedate trot along Rotten Row bore about as much resemblance to riding as a twig to a tree.
She did not wait to have her riding habit unpacked, but wore the old one she had left hanging in her clothespress at home. It was a faded blue, out of date, well-worn, and a trifle snug. She would have preferred wearing her new one to impress Griffin, but it was at the bottom of her trunk. Within a quarter of an hour of arriving, she was cantering across the meadow to Mersham on her bay mare.
It was a fine day. The sun shone in a cerulean sky, scudded with white puffs of cloud. A warming zephyr caressed her cheeks, and lifted her skirt.
When she passed into Griffin's meadow, she remembered where the bluebells grew, and thought of Griffin's falling in love with Myra there. It was odd Myra should have been there alone, as she usually took her walks in their own park. If only Myra had stayed home that day, everything might have been different. It was odd how one little thing should change so many lives. When she roused herself from this reverie, Mersham shimmered before her like a fairy castle.