by Carola Dunn
“I believe she means to come later, when the date of the Coronation is fixed. Carfax will have to be here for that, of course. Daresay I could persuade her to come sooner."
“That's the ticket. How did Lizzie like the exhibitions?"
“She preferred the embroidery to the originals."
George roared with laughter. “An honest young lady, unswayed by accepted wisdom, or else she was roasting you."
“I should have laughed. The chit has an unmatched ability to ruffle my feathers.” Bertram frowned. “What do you say to that curricle race we were talking of the other day?"
“You're on! Two days hence in the park? Eight o'clock?"
“That sounds all right. We'll meet tomorrow to settle the course? And not a word to the ladies.” Bertram saw that Alfie, holding George's horses, was drinking in every word. “Hear that, lad? Not a word to Miss Claire and Miss Lizzie. We don't want them worrying,” he added to George.
There was an infuriatingly understanding look in the older man's dark eyes as he nodded agreement.
Bertram wrote to Caroline that night. Though grateful to Winterborne for suggesting it, he was annoyed with himself for not having realised that the support of an established matron was needed to launch Lizzie. He was sure his sister would come if she possibly could. After all, Claire was in some sense already her protégée. He had no idea who George's cousin Tilly was, or whether she would be of any use, but Caroline had all the requisite connections in the Polite World, and she was popular besides.
He only hoped she would succeed in persuading Claire to dress as befitted her future station. Until he saw her fashionably dressed and taking her place in Society, it was impossible to judge whether she was truly worthy of becoming his prospective countess.
On the other hand, he could not dismiss a vague uneasiness at the prospect of escorting Lizzie to the elegant entertainments of the Ton.
On the morning of the race, veils of mist wafted about the trees of Hyde Park and the sun was a pale disc in the hazy sky. When Bertram drove his four chestnuts up to the Grosvenor Gate, where they were to start, scores of spectators were already on hand. More arrived, in carriages or on horseback, at every moment. It seemed that half the male population of the town was eager to watch the match between the two notable Corinthians, and most of them had a stake in the outcome.
Bertram knew that everyone assumed he had a wager on with Winterborne. It was not so; the stakes in this contest were more subtle than mere money.
He was soon surrounded by a crowd of friends, offering advice and wishing him luck.
“I've laid a monkey on you, Pomeroy,” cried one. “Fail me and I starve till next quarter day!"
“Take it easy round those bends,” warned another. “Don't want to come a cropper."
“Lobcock!” snorted a third, “you don't need to tell Pomeroy that. Tell you what, if you win I'll give you five thousand for your cattle."
Bertram grinned and shook his head. Leaving the chestnuts in Abel's care, he went over to where Winterborne was talking to Lord Alvanley, who was to act as starter and judge. Lord Alvanley checked that they agreed on the course, then went off to clear a space for the start. George and Bertram shook hands and returned to their curricles.
As he drove up to the starting line, Bertram noticed Alfie standing under a nearby tree. He smiled to himself, wondering whether the lad understood anything of the sense of rivalry that had led to this meeting.
The course they had chosen was a little over two miles long. There were a couple of curves, but the significant difficulties were a right-angled turn down by the Serpentine and a hairpin bend up near the Tyburn turnpike. Bertram had no expectation of coming to grief at either, barring an unexpected flock of sheep, but he knew his opponent for a superb whip and he planned his strategy with care.
He let Winterborne take the lead as they galloped towards the hairpin. Both curricles rounded it safely and started along the long, winding track down to the Serpentine and along its banks. Bertram let the chestnuts have their heads and they pulled up neck-and-neck with the other team. George looked over at him and grinned, saluting with his whip. As the right-angled turn approached Bertram urged on his team, but try as they might they could not pull far enough ahead to take the inside. He had to drop back and let his opponent enter the last straightway ahead of him.
The sun broke through the mist. The chestnuts drew alongside the other curricle, then their noses were level with the opposing team's cruppers, their withers, their necks. Scarce a furlong remained before the finish line.
As they thundered onward, Bertram glanced ahead. His eye was caught by a solitary female figure in blue, just beyond the main crowd. She was jumping up and down, trying to see, oblivious of the two men bearing down on her from one side.
Bertram let fly the thong of his whip. The lead horses, unused to its sting, lunged forward, crossing the line less than a yard ahead of Winterborne's. Unaware of his victory, Bertram sprang down from the curricle, and forced his way through the cheering spectators. They fell back before the grim look on his face.
Lizzie was backing away from a pair of young bloods, alarm beginning to dawn on her face. Just as Bertram arrived on the scene, one of them grasped her arm.
A moment later he was lying flat on his back, looking surprised and fingering his chin. The second retreated as Bertram turned towards him.
“Terribly sorry ... mistake!” he muttered. “Beg pardon, ma'am!” Tipping his hat, he helped his companion to his feet and they fled.
“What,” asked Bertram ominously, “do you think you are doing here?"
“Well, I could not see very much.” The irrepressible chit was smiling at him. “But what I did see was vastly exciting. Did you win?"
Bertram looked blank. “I've no idea. I was too concerned at your danger to notice. What the devil do you mean by attending such an event? And on your own!"
“I am not on my own, Bertram. I am not a complete pea-goose, you know. I brought Alfie."
“I suppose it was the half-wit who told you about this, against my direct orders. And where was he when you needed him?"
“You know he will not obey any orders except mine and Claire's, and ours he obeys absolutely. I told him to stay under that tree, and look, he is still there."
Alfie was indeed still stationed under his tree, watching them anxiously but not stirring from his post. Bertram realised that half the crowd, the half that was not dickering over wagers won and lost, was staring at them. Fortunately the more tactful gentlemen were restraining their brasher fellows from approaching him while he was engaged with a female.
He prayed that they were far enough distant not to recognise Lizzie.
“I must get you home at once,” he said roughly.
To his relief Abel appeared, leading the chestnuts towards them.
“I must tell Alfie he can move,” said Lizzie, “or he will stay there all day."
“Tell him he must walk home. Thank you, Abel,” he flung at the groom, “you'll be walking home too."
“Yes, m'lord. Congracherlations, m'lord!"
“I won, did I?” Bertram felt his ire beginning to fade. It did not for a moment diminish his intention of hauling Lizzie over the coals. He bundled her into the curricle and turned his tired team northward. “What do you think would have happened had I not reached you when I did?” he demanded.
“I don't know precisely,” she admitted, “but I am very grateful that you came. You have not given me a chance to thank you. It was splendid the way you tipped that dreadful man a settler."
“I suppose your brothers are responsible for the boxing cant. It sounds ill on the lips of a respectable female, and any proper young lady would have swooned at the sight of fisticuffs."
“A proper young lady would have swooned on being thrown out of a carriage on top of a sheep,” Lizzie retorted indignantly. “There is no pleasing you."
“It would please me if you were in future to avoid sporting occasi
ons intended only for gentlemen."
“Those two rakeshames were not gentlemen! But you are right, I ought not to have been there. I had not realised it would be an exclusively male event."
“You cannot be expected to be up to snuff yet,” he said grudgingly. “I am surprised that your sister did not forbid you to go."
She looked guilty. “I did not tell Claire. I suppose I guessed that she would not approve, and I thought it would be all right if I took Alfie."
“That knock-in-the-cradle is a totally inadequate escort!” Bertram exploded again. “I shall advise your sister to dismiss him and hire a competent manservant."
“He does his best,” Lizzie said angrily. “He is devoted to us and he does just what he is told. It is not his fault that he does not always understand. Claire would never dream of dismissing him."
Since Bertram knew this to be true, he glared at her and drove the rest of the way in silence.
When they reached Portland Square, he let her climb down without his assistance. She turned back to him, laying her little hand in its blue kid glove on the side of the curricle and looking up at him earnestly.
“I do thank you for coming to my aid, my lord,” she said. “I hope you won."
“Abel says I did,” he replied with a grin he could not hide. “You hurry in now before you are missed."
“I'm glad!” she crowed, and pattered up the steps.
He watched until the door opened, then drove homeward feeling baffled. She infuriated and delighted him. Somehow she managed to embroil him in her starts, when all he wanted was a quiet life. How right Caroline had been to propose the older sister not the younger as his bride!
That same day the second post brought a brief note from Caroline, and three days later Bertram paid a morning call on his sister at the Carfax townhouse.
“I was never so astonished in my life as when I received your letter,” she greeted him.
“Why? I appreciate your faith in me, but you cannot have supposed that a gentleman could properly introduce a young lady into society."
“I never thought Lady Sutton would be so tottyheaded as to let the girls go off to London on their own. I have not seen her since that dreadful dinner party. But that is beside the point. You told me you were determined to drop the acquaintance."
“Was I so positive? I recall taking you to task for embroiling me in the situation."
“Don't quibble, Bertram. When you left Oxfordshire you meant to cut the acquaintance. What changed your mind?"
He shrugged. “I don't know. Perhaps curiosity to see how they went on without their abominable mother."
“And?"
“Lizzie is monstrous pretty in her new clothes. She is also as pert as ever, and as apt to fall into scrapes.” He described the end of the curricle race.
“There is no mischief in her,” said Caroline dismissively, “merely a liveliness proper to her age which will soon find its outlet in dancing till dawn, now that I am here. What of Claire?"
“She rarely retreats behind her shield any more. She is pleasant and conversable and even witty upon occasion. Her dress, however, is still shockingly shabby and unfashionable. She has not to my knowledge bought a single new gown since they arrived in Town. I do not demand beauty but I cannot marry a dowd, Caroline, for the sake of the family as much as because it offends my taste."
“That can soon be remedied. Is that all?"
“No, I must be certain that she is capable of behaving properly in society. The Countess of Tatenhill cannot hide her head in the clouds every time she meets a situation she does not care for."
“I mean to bring her into society, so you will have the answer to that soon. And if she passes that test you will propose, o finical brother of mine?"
“Just as soon as Lizzie catches herself a husband,” Bertram snorted. “I've no doubt Claire will wish the little wretch to make her home with us until then, and that I will not stomach!"
“Then we must find Lizzie a husband. It is a pity she has no portion."
“I suppose that as her brother-in-law it would be proper for me to provide something. I am more than willing to do it if it will persuade some unfortunate mooncalf to take her. But make no mention of it yet to your gossipmonger friends, for I must be sure first that Claire will suit."
“You are not the most impatient of suitors! You will be glad to hear that Papa's health is much improved and he is therefore less likely to insist that you wed in haste. He is even thinking of coming up for the Coronation, I collect. Mama writes that he has taken on a new lease of life."
“I am delighted to hear it, for many reasons, one of which is filial piety of course, but the greatest is that I shall not have to attend the Coronation in his place. I understand Prinny means to wear a thirty-foot train of crimson velvet emblazoned with gold stars and a black Spanish hat with white ostrich plumes. For vulgar ostentation our monarch cannot be beat!”
Chapter XIV—Claire
Claire was feeling blue-devilled when the first items of her new wardrobe were delivered late one afternoon. A singularly persistent April shower had confined them to the house for most of the day, and their only visitors had been Horace and Amelia Harrison. Neither George nor Bertram had been seen for three days.
Lizzie had penitently confessed to her escapade in Hyde Park. Bertram had called that same afternoon, to make stiffly polite enquiries about her well-being. Lizzie, on her best behaviour, was demure and reticent and Claire had to bear the burden of the conversation. He did not stay long.
Claire had hoped the quarrel would quickly blow over, as had their earlier altercations. She was sure Bertram had serious intentions towards Lizzie for, unlike George, he was no flirt, and there could be no other reason for his attentiveness to them both. He had not called since then, however. She was beginning to think the whole idea of giving her sister a Season without their mother's help had been an air-dream. Lizzie was philosophical about their failure to obtain a single invitation but Claire saw how sometimes, in the evenings, she would drop her embroidery in her lap and listen wistfully to strains of dance music from an invisible orchestra.
The arrival of the new gowns was at once a welcome diversion and a reminder of George's promise to do something about their lack of acquaintance. She had done her part in ordering modish gowns. Was his mysterious departure from London something to do with his share of the bargain?
“Stop wool-gathering, Claire, and come and try them on!” Lizzie pulled her out of her chair and they went up to her chamber.
To her surprise, Claire found that a pretty new gown was a very fair antidote to the megrims. Twirling in front of the mirror in a lavender jaconet morning dress trimmed with green ribbons, she wished George was there to see it. He would surely be pleased, though he had said he wanted to see her in a ball gown. That must wait until he had provided the invitation to the ball.
She was wearing the lavender jaconet next morning when Lady Caroline Carfax came to call. Lizzie was at the window, embroidering bluebells on a white muslin evening gown, when they heard a vehicle pull up in the square.
“It is Bertram, in an excessively smart landau. Claire, he has forgiven me at last. I mean to tease him about his sulks. Oh, who is that? Heavens, it is his sister!"
“Come away from the window. They must not see you peering into the street like a vulgar hussy. I did not know Lady Caroline meant to come to Town. Are you sure it is she?"
“Yes. Bertram is knocking now. Oh, where is Enid? Shall I go myself? Suppose he thinks we are out?"
“How glad I am that I bought this gown before Lady Caroline arrived. I would not for the world have her see me dressed like a country bumpkin in Town."
A pattering of feet in the hall was followed by the sound of the front door opening. A moment later Enid burst into the parlour.
“It's ‘is lordship, miss, wiv a grand lady. Bang up to the knocker, she is. Are you at ‘ome."
“Yes, yes, Enid, ask them to step in.” Claire patted he
r hair anxiously. Though she had taken to plaiting it before she put it up, it was so fine that hairpins still tended to slip out. Scattered hairpins, she decided, were not so much a symbol of absentmindedness as an inescapable irritation. She had insisted on buying a couple of caps, to make her look like a dignified chaperone, but the wisps of lace Lizzie had picked out for her did nothing to secure her hair.
Lady Caroline swept in with a rustle of silks. A comprehensive glance took in both girls and the room. Claire saw her raise her eyebrows briefly at her brother before she greeted them with every evidence of delight.
Bertram noted her changed appearance with astonishment swiftly turning to approval.
“You are in looks this morning, Claire,” he said, bowing over her hand, too well-bred to comment on her clothes. His eyes strayed towards Lizzie.
“Are your chestnuts quite recovered, Bertram?” queried that damsel innocently. “I fear they must have been exhausted by the race."
“Not at all. Why should you think so?"
“We have not seen you since that day and now you come in her ladyship's carriage. I suppose you have been confined to your lodgings for want of a team to draw your curricle."
“Lizzie!” warned Claire.
Her sister laughed. “Oh, I am just roasting him. I know very well that he stayed away because he was in a pet with me."
Claire turned to Lady Caroline and tried to distract her with a question about the health of her sons. Her ladyship answered politely but Claire was certain she was straining her ears to hear the altercation behind them.
“Do those two always carry on like cat and dog?” she asked at last. “I have never known Bertram so easily discomposed. You must not think that he is not generally the most easy-going of gentlemen."
“He has never been anything but perfectly courteous towards me, ma'am. I fear my sister seems to have a certain genius for setting up his back."
“No matter. I daresay it will do him good to be put out of countenance for once. Still, enough is enough. I mean to take the two of you visiting with me, and he will be quite in the way. Bertram! You have served your turn and may take yourself off now."