“No, there is no quarrel between us,” hissed Stirling, getting to his feet and heading for the door.
“You will shake hands with the man,” barked Cardigan.
Stirling stopped in mid stride and turned to face the earl. His face was an angry grimace. “I will not, My Lord.”
Flippantly holding a glass of sherry in his left hand and waving a cigar in the other, Cardigan glowered at his junior officer. “You flagrantly insult this officer?”
“No insult is intended to this officer.”
“Shake hands damn you or you shall be arrested,” snorted Cardigan.
“Why shall I be arrested?”
“I shall have you arrested; you are arrested; go to your quarters, sir, and be arrested.”
The earl’s last remark invited a bout of hilarity from the gathered men. Stirling shook his head at the foolishness of it all and vacated the room. Royce followed quickly in his wake.
“Stirling, wait for me.”
Stirling kept walking. He was in no mood for talk. He just had to get away from it all. There was a war on and those fools had the time to worry about black bottles and drinking porter in the mess. It was ridiculous, he thought. Great Britain was the most powerful nation in the world.
Sometimes he wondered how that ever came to pass. The army was riddled with cronyism, inefficiency, nepotism and incompetence. He was worried for the English when they finally faced the Russians on the field. To be led by arrogant men such as Cardigan did not bode well for the impending campaign.
“Wait for me,” said Royce, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Stirling spun around. “What the hell do you want?” he snapped.
“Just to talk, to offer you some comfort.”
“Talk, offer me comfort. Ha! Do you think that’s going to help? You saw those fools in there. They are a bunch of stuffed up and arrogant ninnies without any notion of what matters in this world other than preening themselves and thinking that they are gentlemen. By God, man, their noodles are full of air.”
Royce smirked. “Yes, they are rather a bunch of glitzy peacocks, I’d say. And Cardigan’s the one with the loudest plumage. I’ll tell you one thing, if you carry on pestering the man, he’s bound to blow up.”
“And what a fine day that would be.”
Stirling pressed his lips together in thought. He had no clue what to do. It was impossible to fight against the likes of the earl. The regiment was his to do with as he pleased. Despite his harshness and arrogant manner, the men revered and admired him. He shook his head in despair.
“I should never have joined up with the 11th, Royce. This was all a big mistake. I am going to resign on the morrow,” he said at last.
Royce arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think that that is such a good idea? Remember the last time you resigned.”
Stirling sighed. He knew that his friend was right. Were he to resign his commission what would he do? There was no chance to go back to his father. Also, the earl would most probably arrange for the entire regiment to give him white feathers of cowardice. There was nothing else for him other than a career in her majesty’s armed forces.
“And besides, this will all blow over. You’ll see,” pressed Royce further. “And no, you will not change divisions; I forbid it. You belong here more than any other man, including me. No one can ride a horse and slash a sabre like you can.”
“I very much doubt it will blow over, my friend. Cardigan is far too stubborn to give up on this one. He will insist I apologize to that supercilious bootlicker of his. I won’t do it, I tell you.”
Royce patted the other man on the shoulder. “Come on, I know just the thing.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You’ll see.” With a smile, Royce indicated with his head that they head for the door.
“You know I can’t leave here. You heard that pompous old windbag: I shall have you arrested; you are arrested; go to your quarters, sir, and be arrested.”
Royce burst out laughing at Stirling’s excellent imitation of the earl. “You see, all you needed was a little laugh and now, come on. We are going to have some beer and skittles – some good times to make you forget today ever happened and I know just the thing or better said, just the person.” He winked mischievously.
Stirling looked at his friend quizzically. “What on earth are you planning?”
Chapter 15
“You cannot be serious. I am not in the mood for this. How can you expect me to…”
“Calm down, Stirling. I know you think that my sister-in-law is the jammiest bit of jam. I watched you two at the ball the other night. I have never seen her behave like that before. Now, I am in need of a walk and you are in need of a chaperone. Also, I am sure that Elizabeth would be delighted to join us. There remains only one thing for you to do.”
Royce lifted his eyebrows and pressed his lips together into a straight line. The gesture made him look more affable than usual.
“Ask the parents for their permission to open up courtship proceedings,” said Stirling automatically.
“Exactly. So, now, you go in there and ask Clementine’s father if you can take her for a walk in Hyde Park. Of course, Elizabeth and I will be in attendance; just for appearance sake, you know.”
“Oh, Royce, I don’t know. And how can you be sure that she is at home. You must be aware of how dedicated she is to the corps. Clementine is most probably with Miss Nightingale.”
“Oh, she’s home all right. I know it for a fact. Anyway, you said it yourself that Clementine mentioned at the ball that she was grateful you asked her first before her parents – what is there to worry about?” Royce moved closer to his friend. “And if you ask me, her mama and papa will be delighted.” He chuckled. “Their darling Clementine has shunned half the men in England. They will be over the moon that something other than nursing has taken her interest.”
With a serious expression on his face, Stirling nodded.
“One other thing…” Royce chuckled when he saw Stirling look at him with a confused expression on his face. “Swear to me that I will be your best man at the wedding.”
Stirling grinned at him, as he slapped his shoulder lightly. “You scallywag, you. I am not nearly anywhere close to thinking of church bells. But yes, if that should ever happen, then I would be delighted and honoured to have you as my best man.”
“Jolly good. Now that it’s settled, we can go in. Come along.” As if he had been walking in and out of Lord Leighton’s London residence his entire life, Stirling mounted the few steps to the front door with a confident stride. He rang the doorbell. The loud chime could be heard from outside.
Moments later, a butler appeared. He stood in the doorframe, immediately acknowledging Royce with a courteous lowering of his head. He indicated that he and Stirling enter the premises.
“You will wait outside the drawing room while I talk to his lordship and Clementine. I will come out to fetch you once I have their permission,” said Royce, following the butler into the house.
“You seem pretty sure that this is going to be all smooth sailing.”
“Oh, I am.”
Stirling admired the tasteful decoration as he entered further and further into the spacious interior. Despite his father’s home being almost four times larger, he much preferred the light white-stuccoed embellishment and marble bannister on the staircase in the Leighton residence to the dark, dusty and sombre ambiance at Kenbridge House.
“Here we go,” said Royce as they stood in front of the door to the drawing room.
Without waiting for a reply, he was gone. Stirling watched him enter with the butler and the door shut behind them with a soft click. As the last of his anger gradually dissipated, he started to feel nervous. He had never asked the parents of a lady for permission to engage in formal courtship before. How did one ask for such a thing? At that moment, charging a brigade of marauding Indians seemed so much easier.
He began to pace up and
down in front of the heavy wooden door, his boots making a slight tapping sound on the marble flooring. He tried to think up the best way to ask Clementine’s father. He did not know the man. For a heartbeat, he worried whether he would be like his own father. If that were the case, his chances of gaining acceptance were very slim indeed.
Stirling was a man without means since his father had cut him off financially after the feather incident. He relied solely on his income as a major and how much longer would he have that for. Presently, it was more than sufficient for him, but not enough if he were to ask the daughter of an earl for her hand in marriage.
What on earth are you thinking? Marriage. Have you completely lost it? This is just an invitation to have a walk in the park. And besides, Clementine is married to her work and me…
Muttering and thinking about one’s profession made him melancholy. He realized that he might not have a vocation at all if Cardigan had his way. He loved being a solider. It was all he knew. For a fleeting second, he considered leaving the Leighton residence and heading back to the officers’ hall to apologize. At least then, the whole affair would be over.
Then, he remembered what Clementine had said during the ball: The higher we are placed, the more humbly we should walk. It was time to be humble, he decided. Walks in the park would have to wait.
“That’s it,” he barked, starting to make his way back down the hallway to the main entrance.
“What is it?” asked Royce who had suddenly appeared from the drawing room.
“Ugh, nothing. I was just leaving.”
“Oh, no you’re not. The sixth Earl of Leighton and his lovely daughter await your pleasure.” Royce winked. “Come along, there’s a good gentleman.”
Stirling shrugged. He behaved as if he was asked to attend an audience with Genghis Khan. “If you insist,” he muttered, hesitantly walking up to the door.
“I would’ve expected a little more enthusiasm from you. After all, I have arranged for you to have a walk with the lady of your dreams,” said Royce somewhat harshly.
“He hasn’t said yes yet.”
“He will. And you are lucky. That old battle-axe of a mother is not here.”
Stirling followed his friend into the large drawing room, overlooking Belgrave Square. It was bright and spacious. There was none of the stuffiness one found in his father’s London residence. A tasteful Persian carpet festooned the marble flooring with a sea of beautiful motifs depicting various paired animals facing one another. Stirling had never seen anything quite as lovely. The images captured him, telling him individual little stories.
“It’s an old Persian marriage carpet – beautiful, isn’t it?”
Stirling looked up from his perusal of the rug with a start. It was Clementine. She looked radiant. The neckline of her bright-blue dress was V-shaped and covered with a white chemisette down the front. The upper part of the garment descended down her flanks with the aid of a tightly woven corset until it touched her hips.
From there, with the support of a crinoline, a series of puffy hoops boosted the silk fabric belonging to two sets of lower skirts, the outer one in light blue and the inner one in white. The effect was breath taking – Stirling thought that he could place his hands around her waist and encircle it with his fingers.
Clementine took a step forward. “Here you can see a pair of tigers facing each other. It denotes the female and the male of the species before the mating ritual. It is the same for all of the other animals depicted on it. Hence the name of the rug,” she said, waving her hand over the carpet. She had to stifle a giggle when she saw Stirling staring back at her as if he had seen a ghost.
“You must excuse my daughter, Lord Whit Whittaker. She tends to be a little too forward. The notion of not addressing a gentleman without first being presented to him is an alien concept to her.”
The tall handsome gentleman with bushy grey sideburns had his daughter’s grey eyes. He sighed.
“All of it is very much to the chagrin of my darling wife. She tried everything to make a veritable Victorian lady out of Clementine, but I am afraid I raised my firstborn child as an equal – like a boy if you will.”
He chuckled.
“She is an excellent shot with the rifle and a very fine conversationalist though. If women were allowed to enter parliament, Clementine would surely give many a gentleman a run for his money,” concluded the earl.
“That is what I lo…Oh, I mean like. No, no, that is such a feeble word. What I appreciate about your daughter, Lord Leighton. Yes, that’s right, what I appreciate,” stammered Stirling like an imbecile.
It had been a long time since he’d blushed. Habitually, Stirling was always the master of his emotions. The impish twinkle in Clementine’s eyes only made his discomfort worse.
Clementine inwardly burbled with triumph. She had gotten her revenge. At the ball, she had been the one who had lost her cool. She enjoyed seeing Stirling suffer a little. More importantly, it warmed her heart that she had such an effect on him.
Most men were like puppets, with their parents the domineering puppeteers, pulling and tugging on the strings: go this way and that, say this or do that. It was like a breath of fresh air to have a man standing before her who could show what he wanted, and even more to her pleasure, was the fact that he enjoyed her candour.
“Well then, Royce, won’t you present me to Lord Stirling Whit Whittaker for the third time, please? You can’t leave the poor man hanging dry like that. He looks as if he is going to pass out,” asked Clementine sweetly.
Her father had to stifle a chuckle. He loved how his daughter behaved. She was so different to the predominantly insipid and subservient contemporaries of her sex that roamed London society.
“Yes, of course, Sister.” Royce turned to his side a little. “May I present you, Lord Stirling Whit Whittaker, son of the Duke of Kenbridge - Lord Leighton and of course to you Lady Delaney.”
Having regained his composure, Stirling bowed elegantly.
“How lovely to see you again, My Lord,” said Clementine, gliding over the floor as if she were a fairy. Her soft kid side-lace boots hardly made a sound as she went.
Stirling took her right hand in his and brushed his lips over the back of it. “My Lady, it is a pleasure.”
“Good, good. Welcome, Whit Whittaker. Tis marvellous to finally meet you. Royce here can’t stop nattering on about you. It’s all Stirling this and Stirling that,” said the earl, crossing the short distance that separated them on his long legs.
“Lord Leighton, I am honoured,” said Stirling, shaking his proffered hand.
“Poppycock, Whit Whittaker. No need to be honoured. Be thirsty.” He bid his butler to bring them a round of whiskey. “Once you have a drink you can say what you came here to say.” The earl winked at Stirling amiably.
When the drinks arrived, Stirling was amazed to see that Clementine also had a whiskey. He had to swallow down his surprise lest she see it.
“To your good health, everyone.” The earl lifted his glass and the others followed suit. He smacked his lips audibly when the fiery liquid passed down his throat. “Good that. What say you, Clementine?”
She smiled at her father dotingly. “Nothing like it, Papa.”
“That’s my girl,” said the earl. Shifting his gaze to Stirling, he said, “So, Royce here tells me you want to ask for my permission to commence formal courtship of my daughter.” He guffawed loudly. “By God, man, don’t worry; you’re not asking me my permission to marry her. Not that I would mind of course. Best horseman in Europe, dashing hussar and the son of the Duke of Kenbridge – Clementine could not ask for a finer match.”
Stirling watched as Clementine blushed. Seeing her lowering her guard gave him courage. He had trouble taking his eyes off her face with the perfect bone structure of her jaw that seemed to be flawlessly symmetrical. The flutter of her eyelashes and her blinking grey eyes mesmerized him, beguiling him as they tried to keep him locked in their embrace.
Hearing the earl clear his throat, he conquered his composure. “Yes, Lord Leighton, that is right. I would very much like the pleasure and privilege of escorting your daughter to Hyde Park this afternoon.”
“A privilege for sure. I am just not sure about the pleasure side of things. Make certain not to engage her in any conversation about women’s rights and education and their place in the world and you’ll be fine.”
“Papa,” said Clementine, slapping him on the shoulder affectionately.
“Little family joke. I always knew that you’d end up with a military man. They are the only ones brave enough to have you.”
He hooted laughter as his daughter gave him a withering look.
Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 42