by Joan Smith
“Come and have a look at this, Sal,” he said.
She looked at a green sprout two inches high growing out of a terra-cotta pot. It appeared to consist of one leaf, curled up in a spike. “What is it?” she asked.
“It is a banana tree, the first to sprout. In my eagerness, I planted a few on board ship on my way home. It has taken six weeks. I had nearly given up on it. Is it not marvelous?"
She blinked at the little green sprout. “Very interesting. It is not very large, is it?"
“It grows to enormous heights. I have watched seedlings sprout four to six inches a day, in ideal conditions. It must be kept moist and warm."
“Ah, what is a banana?"
“A yellow, soft pulpy fruit much admired in South America."
“Something like a peach?"
“No, no, completely different. It is actually an herb, but the plant it grows on looks like a tree, with long, flat leaves. In Bahia, they use the leaves for umbrellas, among other things. The fruit grow in enormous bunches. They look as if they are growing upside down,” he said, and tried to describe them to her. “I hope to bring this specimen to fruition. It will start a new fad, I wager. And this,” he said, drawing forth another pot, “is a different species. There are dozens of sorts of bananas."
“Like apples. Very interesting, Griffin, but—"
“Snow White is very fond of them. I must be sure to tell Prinny,” he said, smiling at the small plant.
“Why?"
“Because I gave the little brute to the prince. He hinted outrageously when I was at Canton House. I left Snow White in London, at Mama's request. My housekeeper informed me she was wreaking havoc in the saloon. It was foolish of me to bring her home, but I hope she will be happy with her new owner. Prinny sent me a very nice letter of thanks. He was having a diamond-studded collar made up for her. She'll like that. He also sent me a jewel-encrusted snuffbox as a thank-you gift."
“You don't use snuff."
“No, but it looks well on my toilet table. Mama is hinting it would hold pins. I wager she will weasel it out of me. How is everyone at Newbold Hall?"
“That is why I have come,” she said, remembering with a guilty start. Griffin could always divert her with his tales.
“Trouble in love land?” he asked with a smile that looked more satirical than heartbroken. “I read the wedding announcement in the paper."
“Yes, there is trouble, and it is all your fault."
“She is not having second thoughts!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, I am sorry, Griffin. I did not mean to get your hopes up. No, Myra is not having second thoughts. It is Dunsmore."
His features eased to an expression of relief. “Now, that surprises me,” he said, chewing a smile.
Alice looked at him with the dawning of comprehension. “It is not that either. He continues infatuated. It is his arm, you see.”
“What ails it?"
“It has gone numb. He thinks you are sticking pins in your doll."
A loud laugh erupted. “Gudgeon. Did I not make clear that some personal item belonging to the victim is necessary?"
“You took his handkerchief that he had lent to Myra. That is what put the silly notion in his head. He is truly suffering, Griffin. You must do something."
“And she is really willing to marry that idiot?"
“Yes, she is, and it is your own fault. It was your talking of Africa and lions and tigers that frightened her off. I begin to think you did not want to marry her."
“You wrong me, brat. I wanted to marry her more than anything in the world. It was only late that evening that I began to suspect a flaw in her. And before you leap to her defense, let me have my say. She enjoyed the acclaim of leading Dunsmore and myself about like tame pups on a leash, and would have continued to do so as long as we let her."
“I know that. I wondered that you and Dunsmore could not see it."
“I think she intended all along to have the duke. She made a May game of me, Sal. All things considered, I would say I let her off lightly."
“I agree.” She sensed his regret and said, “Are you terribly sorry she chose Dunsmore?"
“Of course I am. I feel lost. It is possible to love someone, warts and all. I sometimes wonder if it is not our lovers’ warts that endear them to us. A little vanity does not go entirely amiss in a beautiful lady."
For some unaccountable reason, this reply threw Alice into a temper. “In my opinion she ought to be whipped, but it is Dunsmore who is suffering. He thinks you are killing him with black magic. Yet he resists getting better, because he is afraid you plan to call him out. You must do something, Griffin. They make me read to him every morning, since Myra and Mama are busy preparing the wedding.”
He smiled. “What do you read to him? I am curious to learn what occupies that man's mind. Is it fairy tales, novels?"
“It does not matter what I read. He doesn't really listen, but he is afraid to be left alone."
“But what do you read?"
“Books of travel, mostly,” she replied vaguely. She did not want to admit that she had taken to reading about Africa, after Griffin's announcement that he planned to go there. She was already familiar with Brazil, and had a brief acquaintance with Italy and Greece. “What are you going to do? There must be some procedure to remove the curse."
“I am not a shaman. I did not put a curse on him. The man is a fool."
“He is a fool in pain, Griffin. Have some compassion. Do something. He won't know the difference."
“What do you suggest? Shall I don a mask and rattle a spear over him? Kill a chicken in his honor?"
She considered this a moment, then said, “Send him back his handkerchief. He believes that is the amulet you are using to put a hex on him. Tell him all is forgiven, and he is safe. Tell him you have no intention of challenging him to a duel."
Griffin observed her carefully. “You have misunderstood the nature of an amulet, Sal. It is used as a charm against evil. What have you been reading, that you hit upon that word?"
“I was trying to discover something about witchcraft, to put Dunny's mind at ease. Will you do as I ask?"
“Perhaps, if you are very nice to me,” he said, in an insinuating voice.
“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously. She could not quite trust that impish grin. It flashed into her head that Griffin was planning to set up a flirtation with her.
“I have just lost my girl, Sal. I still need a wife.” Her heart banged against her ribs, and her breaths came in shallow gasps. If he mentioned a marriage of convenience, she would hit him.
“I have been out of the country for five years. I am not familiar with the new crop of debs. Which of them would suit my purpose? A wife of good character and breeding, not an antidote, and not a Bath miss who will balk at a little travel. I don't mean to leave my lady behind for society to amuse, in those ways that society knows so well."
Her breathing resumed its steady pace. “I cannot think of any lady who would like to go to Africa,” she said.
“I have no intention of going to Africa. That was just a stick to frighten Myra. You know my destination—Greece."
“And Italy?"
“And Italy, to repay my wife for clambering over the cliffs of Greece, gathering rosebuds, and whatever else we find growing there. Mama mentioned Lady Sara Winsley."
“Oh,” she said. It was a sigh of regret. “She is charming, Griffin. Just the sort you would like."
“My mind is not quite made up. I want to get to know other ladies as well."
“Then allow me to mention my own special friend, Miss Sutton."
“Let us include a third. Like Paris, I shall have a choice of three ladies for the golden apple—or do I mean banana—of my title. We require a Venus, as well as a Hera and Athena. God, what a conceited ass I am."
“Yes, aren't you?” she replied tartly. “I begin to wonder if I am doing Miss Sutton a favor by including her in your chosen three."
&nb
sp; “Thus far, we have only selected two.” His lips quirked in a pensive smile. “But our wits have gone begging. You must be the third, Sal. Athena, Goddess of wisdom."
“At least you spared me the inanity of calling me Venus. I am afraid I must decline the honor, Griffin. We are not going to London for another two weeks. Mama wants to be there a few days before the wedding, but several of the guests will be returning here with us after, and there are all sorts of arrangements to be made."
“Pity,” he said.
“You won't have any trouble finding a third lady willing to make a fool of herself over you. I am not interested.” She rose and said sternly, “You will do as I ask about Dunsmore?"
“If you will wait a moment, I shall get the wicked handkerchief and write a note for you to take back with you. Come in and have a chat with Mama. She is having a tea party this afternoon."
“I would prefer to wait here. I am not dressed for a tea party."
“She won't mind."
“I am in a hurry, Griffin. Would you just get the handkerchief and write the note, please.” She had not meant to speak so sharply, but her nerves were stretched taut. Her visit had been a seesaw of emotion, from pity for Griffin to hope, to disappointment, and ultimately to anger.
"Bruxa!" he scowled, and left.
Alice strolled through the conservatory, telling herself she did not care a hoot if he did marry Lady Sara or Sukey Sutton. She could take no more of this emotional hammering. Let him go to London, and let some other ladies make fools of themselves over him.
He was soon back, with the laundered handkerchief and a note. “Wish Myra well for me, and tell her I am sorry."
“Are you sorry; Griffin?” she asked, wondering if his cavalier attitude was a show to cover his pain.
“I am sorry I wasted so long mooning after her. And I am sorry you will not be one of my three potential brides."
“I prefer a gentleman who knows what he wants. You have just been put through the ordeal of being one of two waiting to learn his fate, Griffin. How can you put three ladies through the same thing? I think it is horrid and vain of you."
“It was not a public exhibition I had in mind. When a gent is on the lookout for a bride, he does not usually limit himself to one. He looks over the whole field. I have scanned the field. At least I was in London for a part of the Season, and saw the debs. I like Lady Sara. I also like your friend, Miss Sutton. I only want to get to know them a little better."
“And your third?"
“I already know you pretty well. Don't think you shall escape consideration only because you despise me."
“I do not despise you. It is just that—” There was too much to say, and as most of it could not be said to Griffin, she did not say anything, but just put the handkerchief and letter in her pocket and left.
Dunsmore was vastly relieved to receive them. The numbness fell from him like a charm. He found himself able to write a note in reply, in which he foolishly expressed the hope that he would see Griffin soon.
Chapter Thirteen
The duke had two days in which to recuperate before Griffin came calling at Newbold Hall. The visit's razor edge of terror was dulled by the presence of Lady Griffin, who accompanied her son. It was felt that Griffin would have left his mama at home if he had come to create a new quarrel. Naturally Lady Griffin was curious to see what marvel of manliness had superceded Griffin in Myra's affections.
The first glance told her looks were not the duke's long suit. A very few moments of his conversation told her the man was no mental giant either, although he managed to thank her for her congratulations three or four times, and tell her he felt himself the most fortunate man on earth.
“Where will you be going for your wedding trip?” Lady Griffin inquired, more for politeness's sake than from curiosity.
“A jaunt to Brighton, perhaps, until I recuperate."
“I was so sorry to hear about your arm. Griffin mentioned the misunderstanding to me. You must pay no heed to those foolish witchcraft tales my son tells. And after you recuperate, will you go abroad? The half of England is in Paris, since we have routed Boney."
“We Dunsmores are not much for travel. We are bracing ourselves for the trip to Scotland for Myra to meet the folks, then it will be back to London for us. The Dunsmores have always been active in the House. The Corn Laws are my own special concern."
Lady Griffin mentally translated this to mean he would be running after more profitable sinecures. This had always been the Dunsmores main activity in the House. It occurred to her that James might avail himself of some of this easy money, and she said to her son, “You might think of taking your seat, too, James."
Dunsmore tried to conceal his horror at this awful possibility. “I have no doubt your expertise would be invaluable in thrashing out the Corn Laws, Griffin,” he said in a strained voice. “Where would you stand when you take your seat?"
A smile quirked Griffin's lips. “On the side of the angels, Dunsmore."
“Ah. I knew you was still a Christian. Your mama just mentioned it, but I meant vis-à-vis the Corn Laws."
“I am a Whig. I would be in favor of lowering the tariffs, or removing them entirely."
Dunsmore stared at such heresy. “But you have no idea how the price of wheat had fallen! Down from a hundred and seventeen shillings the bushel to sixty-nine, in one year. We only set the price at eighty shillings."
“Only gave yourselves a present of eleven shillings on each bushel, on the backs of the starving public. Magnanimous! I have not heard there was any outcry in Parliament to lower the price when it reached that ridiculous hundred and seventeen shillings."
“Yes, but most of us in the House are landowners, you see. It would come out of our own pockets."
Griffin was shocked at such simple veracity coming from a politician. “I trust Liverpool does not send you out on the hustings, Dunsmore."
“Eh? What do you mean by that? Are you suggesting I am disloyal to the Tories?"
“No, Dunsmore. I think you are a perfect model of a Tory."
Dunsmore smiled at this imagined compliment, until he noticed the sneer growing on Griffin's lips. “Ah, I understand you now. You are a Whig. Forgot. Heh heh. I am always willing to hear both sides. If you have something on your mind about these Corn Laws, I wish you would get it off your chest."
“I just did."
This lockjaw conversation continued for five minutes, by which time Lady Griffin had taken Dunsmore's measure and was ready to discuss more interesting things than the price of food. “Gentlemen, please! No politics. Remember there are ladies present. And I hope these same ladies, along with the duke, of course, will all come to me tomorrow evening for dinner."
“Oh no, we cannot,” Myra said at once. She had been on thorns when Griffin turned satirical. She knew perfectly well he was still in love with her, because he had hardly trusted himself to look at her since entering. He was up to some mischief, trying to get Dunny to Mersham to put another curse on him.
Mrs. Newbold tried to put a good face on her daughter's blunt refusal. “We are invited out tomorrow evening, Lady Griffin," she explained untruthfully.
“Pity. Do you think you might spare me Alice at least? Griffin has some young people coming down from London for a few days. Your special friend, Miss Sutton, is among them, Alice."
Alice's eyes flew to Griffin, who cocked his head and smiled innocently. Mrs. Newbold gave Alice her permission to skip the imaginary dinner party.
“You mentioned young people, Lady Griffin,” Alice said. “Would I know the other guests?"
“I daresay you have heard me speak of Lady Sara Winsley, old Lord Calmet's daughter. She is my goddaughter."
“Of course.” Her eyes moved to Griffin. “That sounds like a sad surfeit of ladies,” she said.
“Personally I think three to one the proper ratio, but Mama will invite a few local gentlemen to round off the parties she has planned."
“The idiot actua
lly expected me to host a party for ladies only” Lady Griffin laughed.
“Perhaps he was afraid of the competition, ma'am,” Alice said.
“Aye, his hide is tender after losing Myra. We were sorry to hear of your decision, my dear,” she said to Myra, “but of course the dear duke is charming. I know you will both be very happy together. I cannot think of anyone who would suit you better."
Myra smiled and blushed at this barbed compliment, and explained at quite unnecessary length that she had the highest regard for Griffin, but Dunsmore had just swept her off her feet. Lady Griffin nodded in contemplation, wondering that Dunsmore could even lift a broom, much less put it to such effect.
Alice seized the opportunity to quiz Griffin about his visitors. “I understood you would be going to London to do your courting. Why did you change your mind?"
“You recall my insistence on three competitors for my golden banana? You refused to go to London. It was a case of delivering the mountain to Mohamet."
“I am sure you could have found another lady to complete your trio in London."
“Very likely, but I wanted you. I always feel more at home amid the world of flora, fur, and feathers. I am not a saloon-ish sort of person. Then, too, after a little consideration, I realized the masculine competition was thinner here."
“Are you cultivating modesty as a part of your bag of tricks, Griffin? I suggest you stick to your usual masculine arrogance."
He bowed. “Whatever you say. You do appreciate my combining humble agreement with an arrogant disregard of your suggestion?” he added. Laughter danced in his dark eyes.
“I believe it is called hypocrisy."
“A Newbold lady ought to appreciate that,” he retorted.
The sting in his words annoyed her. It even occurred to her that Griffin was trying to repay Myra through her. Alice resented that she had been maneuvered into taking part in Griffin's marital contest, yet she admitted she would have been devastated had she been left out.
Lady Griffin began to collect her reticule, and soon the guests left. Myra and her mama discussed the visit at some length.
“Griffin seems to be taking it well,” Mrs. Newbold was so unwise as to say.