Miss Delacourt Has Her Day

by Heidi Ashworth

  “Mother, do tell me you did not prey on her lack of experience with the ton in order to twist matters in her own mind? You know that my marriage to her, to anyone else, or, lacking a willing bride, failure to marry at all whatsoever, would be nothing but a seven-days’ wonder. You have her thinking that I would be far better off marrying someone such as Lady Derby.”

  Tilting her head, Lady Crenshaw worried her lip with her teeth and gave him a narrow look. “Did she say so? Has she agreed to cry off?”

  Anthony, appalled that he had come from such loins, slammed his hand against the nearest wall. “No, she has not! Should she ever feel the need to do so, I can see to whom I should credit the blame!”

  “You find fault with me now, Anthony, but you will soon come around to my way of thinking. You will be thanking me in days hence-see if you will not!”

  “Mother, would you truly rather see me wed to Rebecca? Does your standing in Society take such precedence over my happiness? True, I thought my heart broken when she made her preference for a title so cruelly clear, but my sorrow was but a day compared to a lifetime of grief I would be forced to endure should Ginny not be by my side.” Anger spent, he sank into a chair and put his head into his hands. “It would be a grief beyond bearing, one from which I could not hope to recover.” Straightening, he looked his mother in the eye. “Is it for that I should thank you?”

  Lady Crenshaw sniffed. He would be sure to tell Ginny that as more proof that duchesses do cry but thought he ought to test the waters a bit. “Mother, are you softening toward my case, or are you sickening with a cold?”

  To his surprise, she sprang to her feet and rushed to his side. “Oh, my poor darling! I hadn’t realized-truly I hadn’t! You know how much your happiness means to me. Why, I have always done everything in my power to make smooth the road of life for you. I merely saw the girl as an unnecessary bump ahead for you, but if you must have her, I will learn to love her.”

  Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Truly, Mother? I own, I’m a bit taken aback. Two minutes ago Ginny was quite beneath my touch, and now you are at aux anges to welcome her into the family with open arms! As much as I dislike myself for it, I feel a frisson of doubt”

  “Truly, my boy!” she vowed, sealing her words with a kiss to each of his cheeks. “Now that this bit of unpleasantness is over, I am anxious to ask you what your uncle had to say about things. I confess I was so distraught with regard to the hobble Lady Derby witnessed at the Hadleys’ that I had him informed of it before first light. I assume he insisted on your presence bright and early? Was he terribly beside himself over the whole affair?”

  “`Beside himself’ hardly does it justice, madam” Anthony sighed. He would much rather be sharing news of his difficulties with Ginny, but after learning the whole of his mother’s behavior this morning, he was more determined than ever to keep the truth from his intended. “Let’s just say he was a good sight louder than a man in his sickly condition had a right to be”

  “Well!” his mother said in a conspiratorial manner. “You know your uncle. He always must be shouting about something. It’s no wonder his heart has very nearly given out, just like your papa’s.”

  The giving-out of hearts was not a subject Anthony found comfortable at the moment. Standing, he began to pace the confines of the narrow room decorated in every version of yellow. Everywhere he looked were shades of canary, champagne, saffron, citron, and lemon. Even his mother’s morning gown was a pale, buttery gold. It was no wonder his stomach was growling; the room was a veritable tea tray!

  “Are you hungry, my dear? I shall ring for Cook. No doubt your uncle offered you nothing at all whatsoever, and after summoning you to his side so early! And as for that grandmother of yours..

  “I would thank you to leave her out of this!” he retorted. He would do better to leave at once before he crossed the line with his mother, but he was too hungry to care. Meanwhile, it wouldn’t hurt to mend fences a bit while he waited for sustenance.

  “It would seem my uncle will condone my marriage to Miss Delacourt only if I perform three tasks to his satisfaction.”

  “That sounds simple enough. What are you to do?”

  He flicked a speck of dust from the sleeve of his dark blue coat while attempting to suppress his impatience at his mother’s machinations. For all her words of encouragement, she no doubt hoped they would be tasks beyond his scope and powers, as indeed they were. “He would have me triumph at a bout of boxing.”

  “Oh, well, that shouldn’t be difficult. You were always a dab hand at boxing.”

  “You flatter me, Mother, and, as you well know, I can hardly fight just anyone. It would look as if I were fighting over Ginny’s honor, and that will never do. That leaves only my instructor, Gentleman John Jackson himself, the most renowned pugilist in England. What chance have I in besting him?”

  Anthony thought he saw his mother bite back a smile but could not be sure.

  “Next, I must race a carriage and four at nineteen miles per hour or more.”

  “Never say so! None but the old Duke of Queensbury has ever even attempted a race at such speed.”

  “Do try not to be so full of glee,” Anthony drawled. “Of course, Old Q had the blunt to have a specialized carriage made, one that was equal to the task. He ran the nineteen-mile course in rather less than an hour, in point of fact. I could never hope to do as much”

  “And the third task?” she asked.

  “I am to land a hot-air balloon on a specified target without aid of instructor or expert.”

  His mother, who had deigned to sip some of her hot choco late, began to splutter with laughter and attempted to cover it with a bout of coughing.

  “I do believe you are sickening with something, after all.”

  “Oh, Tony, you must own, it is above all things droll! Don’t assume I am laughing at your plight. I said I would learn to love your new wife, and so I shall. I can’t say the same for your uncle, however. So, when do you begin to accomplish the impossible?”

  “I don’t. I will marry whom I wish, when I wish. There is nothing my uncle can do to me, please him or not.”

  Lady Crenshaw was aghast. “But, Anthony, won’t you even try? Your uncle can hardly disown you-you are the rightful heir, and the estate and title are all entailed-but he can most certainly make life a terror for you. I know he has done so for me!”

  It was true. As long as the duke lived, as his heir, Anthony was beholden to him. If the duke summoned him to his side a hundred times a day, Anthony would be hard pressed to deny him. The fact that he was newly wed would doubtless only prompt his uncle to make even larger forays into Anthony’s time, time better spent with Ginny. Perhaps his mother was right. It might not hurt to try if it bought him favor in his uncle’s eyes.

  The decision made, Anthony and his mother, in perfect harmony with each other, made merry over the baked eggs and ham cakes. On a full stomach, the problem of his uncle and the threat of Lady Derby and all she might do seemed a faint menace. Anthony turned his thoughts to preparing for his round of boxing with Jackson and to when he might again see his beloved.

  “Is Almack’s not open for dancing tonight?” he asked.

  “But of course! That would be splendid! Has your Miss Delacourt procured a voucher as of yet?”

  “We have only been in town but a few days, ma mere. I am persuaded that Grandmama could acquire one, but since you are bosom bows with Lady Sefton, and she one of the patronesses of those hallowed halls, I thought perhaps it would be expeditious if you paid a call on her this afternoon”

  Lady Crenshaw paled a bit, a circumstance that surprised Anthony not one whit, as it was at Lady Sefton’s rout that Lady Derby had opened her budget with regard to Ginny and her unseemly behavior. “Well, yes, I shall see what I can do. You must own, Anthony, it shall be a bit of a struggle. I wouldn’t be surprised if they revoked your voucher after your uncouth ways at the Hadleys’”

  “Hmm,” Anthony murmured. “I am
thinking perhaps an elopement might be in order.” He lifted a well-manicured hand and regarded his nails. “Who needs Lady Sefton when you can have a Scottish blacksmith sanctify your vows in a trice?”

  “Oh, very well!” Lady Crenshaw said with an exasperated air. “I shall have her voucher here for you this evening, but you must promise to bring Miss Delacourt to dinner with you before the dancing.”

  Anthony inclined his head in agreement. “And you must keep my uncle’s tasks for me a secret. My Miss Delacourt has had her peace cut up enough for one day.”

  “You can be quite sure I shan’t breathe a word”

  Anthony left his mother’s abode in Berkeley Square more in charity with her than he had been in some time. His heart lightened by her promise to procure Ginny a voucher to Almack’s, he turned his steps toward his preferred florist to order a posy made up for his beloved. She would no doubt wear white, as would the other young girls making their come-out this season, so he decided blush-pink roses to be just the ticket to bring out the color of her dusky cheeks.

  He imagined how pleased she would be with his plans for the evening: dinner en famille, dancing at Almack’s, and perhaps a stolen kiss or two in the shadows of the darkened parlor at Wembley House before bidding her good night. But first, he would visit Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Academy on Bond Street. He had some training to do.

  By the time the posy arrived at Wembley House, Ginny was already dressed for the evening in what promised to be her favorite gown of the season. It was once again white but much more to her taste than the satin she had worn to the Hadleys’ the night prior. The underskirt, a medium-weight silk in the palest blush, was topped with magnolia-white, petal-soft silk, fine and delicate as a spider’s web. The bodice was the same magnolia over blush silk with tiny puffed sleeves and a low decolletage. A narrow blush satin ribbon was tied around the high waistline. It put Ginny in mind of the Maiden’s Blush roses in Grandaunt’s garden, white with a hint of palest rose in the center.

  “But why are you not wearing your lace fichu?” Grandaunt demanded as she bustled through the door, a posy in her hand. “You must remember what I said about showing too much decolletage in an establishment such as Almack’s. We wouldn’t want the patronesses thinking you too fast”

  Ginny thought this speech wholly characteristic of Grandaunt in light of the fact that the low neckline had been upon her insistence in the first place. However, the arrival of Anthony’s note early in the afternoon stating his intention to escort them to Almack’s that very night had sent Grandaunt into such a pother, off they had gone to the Pantheon Bazaar to purchase a lace fichu for Ginny’s gown.

  Grandaunt thrust the posy into Ginny’s hands and drew the fichu from its place on the dressing table. “Where is that girl of yours?” she demanded while tucking one end of the lace into the neckline of Ginny’s gown, wrapping it around her neck, and tucking the other end in like the first. “She should be doing this, not I”

  “Yes, of course, Grandaunt, but Nan has just gone to fetch the curling tongs from the kitchen. Are these from Anthony?” Ginny asked, indicating the little bouquet of roses she held clutched in her hands.

  “Yes, they are, and they couldn’t be better matched to your gown. Now,” Grandaunt said as she took the posy from Ginny and deftly began to disassemble it, “this is how it is done. You wear a few buds in your hair just so,” she said, lifting her squablike frame onto her toes and holding the roses against Ginny’s brow. “Your girl can affix those once she has curled your hair. Next, you pin one or two along the sash at your waist like so”

  To Ginny’s utter amazement, Grandaunt herself fetched a pin from the table and made short work of the task.

  “Lastly, you take what is left, tie it up in a ribbon, tuck it into your decolletage, and voila!” Grandaunt exclaimed, stepping back to survey her work.

  Ginny regarded herself in the pier mirror. “Grandaunt! How lovely! But do you not think the fichu and the roses together are a bit much?”

  “Pshaw! I am well aware what the young girls think of wearing a lace fichu in tandem with a ball gown. I felt very much the same when I was your age. However, trust me, it will be most commendable in the eyes of the patronesses at Almack’s. Besides which,” she added with a wag of her finger, “the roses will put everyone in mind of the fact that, though many shall have the honor of dancing with you, your foremost admirer is none other than Lord Crenshaw. We mustn’t allow anyone to forget that”

  Most especially not Lady Crenshaw or that odious Lady Derby, Ginny thought. What Ginny herself was to think of the puzzling status of her engagement, however, was something else.

  “Grandaunt, I do not wish to give you cause to feel I have anything in my heart but gratitude for all you have done for me. However, if your words this morning have made worse my case with Anthony’s family, I think it best for me to know my standing before I sit down to dine with his mother.”

  There was apprehension in Grandaunt’s eyes in spite of her vain attempt to hide it. “Is this public declaration of his affection not enough?” she asked, indicating the roses. “You are to dine with his mother. She has procured for you vouchers at Almack’s!”

  “Yes, Grandaunt, but I know so very little of Society, even still. People are forever doing what is kind and polite, and I just as often allow myself to be drawn into their net, only to find I am quite unwelcome, after all.”

  “Harrumph! Do not forget, Lady Crenshaw is the widow of a mere baronet. My dead duke outranks him any day of the week,” Grandaunt declared. “Why, do you not think I could procure a voucher for you with but a snap of my fingers? As my relation, you are unexceptionable in every way.” With this, she bent a fierce look on her great-niece. “As long as you do not forget yourself and say something completely beyond the pale.”

  She heaved a sigh and stepped back for one last look at Ginny’s immaculate ensemble. Doubtless, she was pleased, for she smiled and said, “You must know, my dear, all has been forgiven: the unfortunate beginning of the season-I’ll be the first to admit you did not take well-and your hasty retreat to the country earlier this month. No doubt, even the contretemps at Lady Hadley’s last night has already been forgotten. What power Anthony’s mother has to stir up trouble is but a puff of smoke in the face of your charm and eminent suitability.”

  Ginny bit back a smile. She knew her grandaunt was doing her valiant best to assuage her own fears as well as Ginny’s, and she loved her for it. “Thank you, Grandaunt! Ah! That will be Nan at the door. I must hurry and finish with my hair. It is very nearly time.”

  “You are most correct, my dear,” Grandaunt said. She opened the door to allow Nan’s wideeyed passage into the room and was gone before Nan could bob a curtsy and murmur, “Your Grace”

  Ginny could see that Nan was full to bursting, but all she managed to say was, “Well, I never!”

  “She does seem a bit subdued, does she not?” Ginny said with a wry smile. “She is still smarting over Lady Crenshaw’s use of the word guttersnipe. I wonder what sobriquet she will have for me tonight.”

  “If my eyes have anything to say about it, I daresay she will call you beautiful,” Nan replied. “But first, we must curl your hair.”

  Ginny sat obediently in the chair and watched as Nan turned her long, thick hair into a casually disordered arrangement of curls, braid, and bun. Once the last roses were fastened into the curls, Ginny surveyed her appearance in the mirror. She was pleased with every detail except one: the fichu. Against the soft cream of her gown, the crisp white lace was almost loud and competed for attention with the posy of roses nestled in her decolletage. She pulled the fichu from around her neck just as a rap came at the door announcing Lord Crenshaw’s arrival and left it, forgotten, on the dressing table.

  Anthony stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited for Ginny to descend. It mattered not how many times he laid eyes on her, each time was more breathtaking than the last. Her beauty grew alongside his love for her, and nothing
, not even his grandmother’s reproaches, could budge him from his spot.

  “Anthony, you look a fool, standing there like some mooncalf! Come into the parlor as a proper gentleman should and have a drink. I certainly feel the need for a restorative in light of who shall be my hostess this evening.”

  “Strangely, I no longer find any benefit in alcohol, Grandmama,” Anthony replied without taking his eyes from the upstairs landing.

  “No benefit in alcohol? If I didn’t know better, I should think you expect to live on nothing but love!” Grandmama retorted, but she was to have no reply to her impertinence, for Ginny had appeared at the top of the stairs, and the roar of the blood rushing in Anthony’s ears drowned out all other sound.

  As he watched her gracefully descend, a sudden memory of how she had looked that day in Grandmama’s study less than four weeks prior rose into his mind. She had been so becoming in her green gown, it was the first time he had actually noticed she was beautiful. Yet, the Ginny of the green gown was but a caterpillar compared to the butterfly that flitted its way down the stairs in all its soft, white glory.

  The knowledge that this beautiful, virtuous, intelligent, generous-hearted girl loved him in return made him feel as if he could slay dragons. So the duke wanted him to best the most famous pugilist in England in a round of boxing. What of it? So what if the duke demanded that Anthony win an impossible race? With love as his wings, he’d do it. A flight in a balloon? Done! Nothing was impossible compared to one impossible truth: Ginny Delacourt loved him not for his title or his wealth or his perfectly tailored and exquisitely made clothes but for who he was. For himself alone.

  So startling was this thought, the breath caught in his throat. The pain of Lady Derby’s rejection he had taken such care to keep alive and caged in his chest, the same pain that Ginny had beckoned forth during those early days of their courtship, had flown farther and farther away with each throb of his loveswollen heart until this moment, this time, this place. As she reached the bottom step and put her hand in his, he felt the cage door swing shut, enclosing love where once there had been only hurt.