by Anita Mills
“Come, Caroline—I’ll take you home. A little brandy and it will pass, I promise you.”
“No,” she answered slowly, “it will not.”
“It will,” he repeated firmly.
“Poor Juliana—she cannot help hearing of Brummell’s gibes.”
“That will be forgotten also. Learn to rule your life by your head rather than your heart, my dear—’tis less painful.” He edged his horse so close that his leg brushed hers and the hand that held her reins clasped hers over the pommel. “When we return from Oakland, I’ll make a push to gain admittance to Almack’s, and you will have the position you deserve. If you like, we can leave tomorrow. I am sure that Lady Milbourne will not object, and Lady Lyndon will be delighted to see me in parson’s mousetrap, whether she is there to witness or no.”
“ ’Tis so sudden, I—”
He nodded, a wry smile twisting his mouth. “All right then—I’ll not press you for now, but I mean to be married before the Buffoon takes the Beauty, my dear.”
22
Still unsettled by Major Thornton’s gossip, Caroline managed to maintain an outward calm as she took her place beside Rotherfield to view the fireworks at Vauxhall. Clad as the goddess Diana in yards of draped white silk and thin-strapped white leather sandals, she found the summer breeze chilling. The earl noted her slight shivering and bent to pick up the shawl he’d brought. Draping it around her shoulders, he murmured, “You are lovely tonight, Caroline—the world will envy me the fair Diana.”
The musicians played in the orchestra pavilion while a backdrop of lanterns glittered against the moonlit sky like stars. The fragrant smell of flowers and leafy arbors mingled with that of food prepared for a supper of arrack punch, powdered beef, custards, pastries, and wine syllabubs. Parties of young men and women wandered along the walks, admiring the fountains and cascades, and listening to the soft music. Billed in fliers as the “Garden of a Thousand Lamps,” Vauxhall was a heady and exciting place.
Some distance behind them was the Dark Walk, and the screeches and squeals of imprudent females and Fashionable Impures could be heard as they were pursued by often inebriated young gentlemen. Caroline looked around her, noting who was with whom, and half-listening as a plump matron in front of her shared the latest Crim Cons with a companion. It was rumored that the Prince Regent was in attendance, but she didn’t see him. Of course, at a masquerade, it was difficult to tell. For a moment she suspected a gentleman in scarlet domino of being Brummell, but then decided that the Beau would not condescend to appear in disguise. Turning her attention to the earl beside her, she found him absorbed in conversation with a gentlemen dressed as a Puritan. Marcus himself wore a plain black domino and mask with the resultant effect that he looked like Satan. The Puritan bowed and moved on.
“Would you like to walk, my dear?” Rotherfield asked. “We could go to one of the booths and get some punch, if you wish.”
“I should not like to miss the fireworks, my lord. As much as I dislike admitting it, ’tis my first visit to the Gardens.”
“They can be seen anywhere, Caroline, for they are catapulted into the air. Indeed, ’tis rare to sit to see them.”
“Oh.” She felt foolish, for common sense ought to have told her that. She rose reluctantly from her seat, very self-conscious of her Grecian gown and sandals and wishing she’d worn a simple domino instead.
Rotherfield read her thoughts. “Nonsense, my dear—any looks you receive will be admiration, believe me. But wear your mask if you are uncomfortable.”
He’d been right, she had to own as they walked arm in arm along the scented walks, threading between the fragrant flower gardens and listening to the music. The night was pleasant, the stars were bright, and the lanterns sparkled like jewels around them. The orchestra moved from soft, pretty tunes to dramatic overtures, and balls of fire began exploding in the air above them, sending showers of shooting lights to fade just before touching earth. Had Caroline’s heart not been heavy with indecision, she would have been hard-pressed to describe a more glorious night.
“Your thoughts seem to be your own tonight, my dear,” Rotherfield observed finally.
“Oh, I have none, really—I am merely enjoying the beauty of the place.” She managed to smile up at him. “You cannot know how I wished to come here, but there was never the opportunity. For years, I was with Miss Richards, and then Lady Canfield disapproved of masquerades.”
“Really? Unless I am much mistaken, that is Miss Canfield over there with Bascombe.”
“Perhaps now that she thinks Juliana safely betrothed, Lady Lenore is not so vigilant.”
“Well, I should not entrust a female into Albert Bascombe’s care under any circumstances.” The earl’s mood changed abruptly. “Would you care for that punch now, Caroline? There is Mrs. Farnsworth, after all, and I am sure you could wait with her while I join the line.”
To Caro, it was as though he could not bear to watch Juliana. She nodded. “But I think I should prefer a syllabub, sir, if there is not too much wine in it.” She continued to watch Juliana out of the corner of her eye and she could see that there was an obvious argument between the high-spirited girl and poor Bertie. She scarcely noted when Rotherfield left her side.
The words were heated and tempers flared. Finally Albert Bascombe left his betrothed fuming on the walk and stalked off. For an instant, Juliana stared after him in disbelief, then noticed the curious glances of those around her. Resolutely she positioned and tied her mask before pulling the hood of her silver-tissue domino over her blond curls.
“Females! Curst bunch of selfish, carping creatures, if you ask me!” Bertie muttered as he passed Caroline.
“Mr. Bascombe!”
“Huh?” He stopped and turned around. “Do I know you?”
“ ’Tis me—Caro Ashley!” she hissed.
“Oh. Couldn’t tell. You supposed to be one of them Greeks?”
“I am the Goddess of the Hunt—or so I am supposed to be.”
“Look dashing,” he offered gallantly, “but ain’t you cold? I mean, your shoulders—”
“I was cold,” she admitted. “Indeed, I sent for some wine syllabub in hopes of warming my blood.” With a slight inclination of her head, she indicated where Juliana still stood. “I collect Ju’s on her high ropes.”
“High? Miss Ashley, she’s a harridan! Fishwife’s got a better temper, I can tell you! Wants me to cry off! Well, I ain’t going to—fine gentleman I’d look if I was to do that. Let her cry off! She wanted to come to this damned place—for what, I don’t know—and then she dragged me down some walk where females was getting kissed—and they wasn’t all Cyprians, either! When the bucks started ogling her, I put my arm around her shoulder to protect her. You know what she did, Miss Ashley?” he demanded in aggrieved tones. “She slapped me! As if I ever wanted to kiss her! I’d as lief kiss m’mother!”
While Caroline watched, Juliana saw a man in a black domino disappear toward the Dark Walk. After a moment’s hesitation, the girl turned and followed him. Caro, despite Juliana’s recent outburst, felt a certain responsibility to keep her from ruining herself. And when she perceived that perhaps Juliana followed Rotherfield, she was determined to save her from her folly.
“Mr. Bascombe,” she urged as she turned back to Bertie, “she’s going to the Dark Walk—you must go after her.”
“No.” He shook his head obstinately. “Ain’t going to—ain’t making a cake of myself for a chit that don’t like me.”
“But it’s not safe!”
“Let her ruin herself then,” he muttered. “Maybe she’ll have to cry off.”
“Mr. Bascombe, at least you can come with me!”
“Me? No. Get Rotherfield or Patrick.”
Torn between Juliana’s imminent ruin and the information that Patrick Danvers was at Vauxhall, Caro clutched at Bascombe’s sleeve. “Patrick’s here?” she demanded.
“Saw him earlier�
�don’t know where he is now. I say, Miss Ashley, but you’re wrinkling m’coat!”
“Never mind. We’ve got to find Ju.”
“Ain’t going.”
Throwing up her hands in disgust, Caro looked to where Juliana had been and there was no one. “Very well, Mr. Bascombe, I shall go myself.”
“Can’t—not the thing, for a female to go unattended. I say … Miss Ashley! Miss Ashley, you cannot!” Bertie called after her. “Females!” he groaned in exasperation. “Got to find Patrick!”
Caroline walked quickly, hoping she would not draw attention. When a buck stepped boldly in her path, she gave him such a look that even her mask could not hide her irritation. Taken aback, he moved to more promising waters. The place was not called the Dark Walk without reason—the lanterns were few and far apart and the place abounded with furtive giggles and whispered protestations. As she rounded a turn, she could hear Juliana’s voice and she stopped short.
“My lord,” Juliana pleaded, “listen to me! I … I have to tell you that I am not marrying Albert Bascombe—’twas all a stupid mistake! Mama contrived it! Please … I am not what you think me!” When he made no answer, she caught his arm and tugged. “Marcus, look at me! Oh, I know I am but a foolish child to you—but I think I love you! I … I cannot stand to see you with Caro! Oh!” Tears of frustration flooded her eyes and stained her mask as the man in the black domino stared at her.
Caroline moved purposefully forward. She’d given Rotherfield long enough to make a declaration and he hadn’t, and it was time to spare Juliana further humiliation. A lump formed in her throat as she shared the girl’s misery.
“Caro!” Juliana jumped guiltily and then jutted her chin mulishly. “I daresay you’ll tell me I have ruined myself, but I had to see Rotherfield. I … I love him, Caro, and I cannot help myself … I—”
“Hush, love,” Caroline soothed. “I meant to say no such thing, but if he does not return your regard—”
The man in the black domino disengaged his arm and reached to untie his mask. “As much as I am flattered,” he told Juliana, “I regret you are mistaken.”
“Ponsonby! Oh!” Juliana’s hands flew to her face in horror. “Oh … my!”
Both girls stared at the handsome Lord Ponsonby. Mortified, Juliana felt the blood rush to her face. Caroline wondered how best to retrieve the situation. “My lord …” She stepped in front of him and laid a comforting arm about Ju’s shoulders. “I pray you will not speak of this to anyone, for it cannot but injure everyone concerned. As you can see, she is overset.”
“Well …” There was a twinkle in his lordship’s eyes as he looked at the girl in the silver-tissue domino. “As she is masked and so are you, I could not be sure just who ’tis that loves Rotherfield, could I? All I could be certain of is that he’s a most fortunate fellow.”
“Ju! What the devil is going on here?”
There was no mistaking that voice. Caroline spun around and then tried to master the rush of emotion she felt at seeing him. His mahogany hair looked black and his eyes glittered in the moonlight as he faced the man in the black domino. “Marcus, she’s a green girl, and I’ll have you know … Ponsonby!”
“Alas, yes.” The harried young lord nodded. “But tonight I wish I were Rotherfield if for nothing but the diversion.”
“Your pardon, my lord.” Patrick spoke in a calmer voice. “Needless to say, I should wish you to keep my cousin’s name out of this.”
“Patrick! He did not know me until you gave me away!” Juliana screeched in horror.
“Lud!”
“I assure you, Westover, my lips are sealed,” Ponsonby hastened to tell Patrick. “I should not wish to quarrel with you, above all things.” He deftly tied his mask back in place before bowing before Caroline and Juliana. “If you ladies will excuse me, I am late meeting someone.”
It was then that Patrick became aware of Caroline’s presence. Taking in her draped gown and her bared shoulder, he raised a questioning eyebrow. “And what are you supposed to be—Venus?”
“Patrick,” Juliana cut in, “please take me home. I have quarreled with Mr. Bascombe and I have made a fool of myself in more ways than I can count. Please, I should like to go. And, Caro … oh, Caro, I am so very sorry!”
“Nonsense, my love,” Caroline reassured her. “You merely spoke what you felt. ’Tis I who am sorry.”
“You will not tell the earl, will you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Ju, what the devil is going on?” Patrick demanded. “First, Bertie comes after me, telling me that you are going off alone to a place like this. Then I see you standing here like a watering pot with Miss Ashley and Ponsonby. He didn’t—”
“Of course he did not. Lord Ponsonby is a gentleman, after all,” Juliana retorted.
“He might not have known you were a lady,” her cousin reminded her.
“What difference does it make now? I shall never be able to face him again.”
“Well, I see you found ’em,” Bascombe sighed as he came down the unlit walk. “Stupid thing to do, Miss Canfield,” he told Juliana. “Deuced stupid. And they say I am the slowtop!”
“Well! Do not use that tone of voice with me, Albert Bascombe! I’ll—”
“Cry off?” he asked hopefully.
“No!”
“Bertie, I’m taking Ju home.”
“But the fireworks ain’t over—and the supper. Patrick, I’m devilish hungry!” Bertie complained.
“Patrick …” Caroline hesitated, at a loss for words. All three of them were looking at her. “Please stay.”
He sucked in his breath and nodded. “Bertie, take Ju back and I shall meet you at the entrance in a few minutes.”
“But … supper—”
“You can stay. Just wait with her until I get there.”
Once they had gone, Caroline could think of no way to begin. She felt as great a fool as Juliana. She untied her mask to see him better.
“Well?” he prompted.
“My lord … Patrick—”
“You have the right name,” he acknowledged noncommittally.
She could not bring herself to do as Juliana had done. What if he did not reciprocate her feelings? Lamely she looked at her feet and murmured, “I heard you were leaving London.”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“I tire of the company. I am going to Scotland for a while to see my maternal relations.”
“Major Thornton said you forfeited your wager—about your fortune, I mean.”
“My, how gossip about Devil Danvers gets around the ton,” he observed bitterly. “At least, this time ’twas gotten right.”
“You paid off? But I thought—”
“That the Widow Lyddesdale and I would make a match of it? No—and when I found her name being bandied about in the clubs with mine, it was time to draw off. Why should I ruin the lady’s rep with my own when I had no interest in that quarter?”
“But you had the time!”
He favored her with a sardonic twist to his mouth. “I have ten months, Caroline. Assuming I found the lady, ’tis unlikely that even I could meet the terms, given nature’s requirements.”
“Oh!” She felt her face flush. “But—”
“ ’Twas a stupid reason to marry, anyway. Do not be sorry for me, my dear—I’ll come about without Uncle Vernon’s money.”
“Patrick …” She tried to bolster her flagging courage by stalling. “Uh … how long do you expect to be gone?”
“Does it matter?”
She wanted to scream that it mattered very much, but bit back the words. “Well, I was curious.”
“Truthfully, I do not know. Maybe a month—maybe longer. I may not come back until the Season’s over. Listen—Ju’s waiting. I’ll take you back.”
She hesitated as he offered his arm. Then, resting her fingers tentatively against his sleeve, she started back. I
t wasn’t until they reached the exit from the Dark Walk that she found the courage to pull back. “Patrick, please …”
He turned to her. “Please what?”
“I … I … Oh, Patrick!”
In an instant, he’d drawn her into his arms, and she could feel the heady strength of the man as he held her close. His lips brushed against hers and then he shocked her by taking possession of her mouth. She slid her arms around his waist and clasped him to her, savoring the sensations that coursed through her body.
When he raised his head at last, his voice was husky. “Every time I see you I want to do that—and more.” She leaned back in his arms and caressed the deep red hair at his temples before tracing the fine clean line of his jaw. The ruby of Rotherfield’s ring caught the faint moonlight and reflected it into his eyes. Abruptly he pushed her away with such force that she staggered.
“What—?”
“Do you think me totally without honor?” he demanded harshly. “That I would dally with another man’s wife? That’s what you are going to be, you know.”
“But—”
“Don’t expect me to play Mars to your Venus, Caroline!” he snapped.
She stared at the glittering eyes for a moment, then ran past him toward the pavilion. Rotherfield waited, his expression enigmatic, as he saw where she had been.
“Your syllabub,” he murmured when she took her place beside him.
23
Arestless night of tortured dreams proved the final straw. Caroline rose early, determined to gamble everything for Juliana’s happiness. As far as she could see, there was no good reason that five people should be unhappy rather than two. And, with that in mind, she moved decisively to put a fantastic plan, conceived of desperation, into play.
“My dearest Juliana,” she wrote quickly, “I find circumstances dictate that I apprise you of the fact that I cannot wed Lord Rotherfield. I am firmly persuaded that we should not suit. Mr. Bascombe has reached much the same conclusion concerning his betrothal to you. And, while you are far too lively to be content with an amiable husband, no matter how wealthy he might be, I am not. By the time you receive this, Mr. Bascombe and I shall be on our way to Gretna Green. I am very sorry for the embarrassment this must cause you, but I feel that the result will be for the best. I remain, Your Obedient Servant, Caro Ashley.”