Miss Delacourt Has Her Day

by Heidi Ashworth

  Rather than feeling put off, Anthony felt an utterly unfamiliar and complete harmony with his grandparent that filled him with such a warm wash of affection, he nearly leaned in to buss her raddled cheek. Instead, he put his fingers to his beaming lips and gave her a nearly imperceptible wink from the corner of his eye. She blushed like a veritable schoolgirl, and he obligingly looked away, glad for an excuse to rake his gaze over the crowds in hopes of spotting Ginny. However, he was not done visiting the subject of the voucher.

  “At risk of sounding ungrateful, Grandmama, I would like to ask why you failed to mention your possession of it when so many opportunities to do so were laid at your feet” He turned to smile into her eyes, a trick he had long ago learned would soften her pride. “May I?”

  “You may ask, but I am persuaded you will not like the answer,” she warned.

  Sighing, he busied himself with an imperceptible mote of dust that had the audacity to light on his sleeve. “Ah, Grandmama, you must think me quite daft. Blast me if tonight was not the truest proof of my mother’s capacity for treachery. Surely there is nothing you can say that would oblige me to think less of her than I do at this very moment”

  “It was not fear of your mother’s frailties that stayed my hand,” Grandmama said pertly.

  Anthony froze. “If by that you refer to any uncertainty that Ginny will acquit herself with anything but grace and charm tonight, you are sadly mistaken,” he said coldly, all his former amity having evaporated in an instant.

  “Ginerva is the beloved granddaughter of my most loved brother,” Grandmama replied in a huff. “I am willing to overlook her naivete, her preference for outspokenness, as well as her talent for attracting trouble wherever she goes. I must admit, however, to some concern with regard to her ability to carry herself off to advantage” She turned and grasped Anthony by the arm. “But more than that, I fear what further rejection or an outright cut direct from the wrong person will do to her already lackluster reputation. I was never so glad that I had this voucher in my possession before the contretemps at the Hadleys’, or I might never have had the means to bring your future wife up to snuff. I might have once been married to a duke, but my influence in Society grows weaker at the same rate my cheeks wrinkle,” she said with a snort.

  “I humbly beg pardon, madam,” Anthony said, immediately repentant. “I should have credited you with more sense, as I know your desires for Ginny mirror my own”

  “Most of them, anyway,” she said with a wry smile. “Now, come, I see that Sally Jersey has finally left off conversing with that Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, whom I find I cannot abide.”

  Anthony proffered his arm for the trek across the room, all the while contemplating on the great quantity of personages Grandmama could not abide. More likely than not it was the other way around. However, it would appear that Lady Jersey was not numbered among those who cherished an aversion to the dowager duchess, as she instantly professed delight at granting the lovely Miss Delacourt the privilege of waltzing at Almack’s.

  “For, as you of all people must know,” Lady Jersey gushed, .,your Miss Delacourt is rumored to become the next Duchess of Marcross!”

  Anthony felt the smile freeze on his face. “It would seem someone is telling tales out of school, Lady Jersey. Will you say who?” he asked, though he had a suspicion he knew the answer well enough.

  “I don’t see why not,” she said with a lift of her chin. “I had it of the countess” Noting Anthony’s obvious confusion, she hastily added, “Lieven, of course. I believe she heard it from your mother, my lord, or perhaps it was from Lady Derby. The three of them lunched together this afternoon-quite like the old days, wouldn’t you say?” she added with a flourish of her fan. “Oh, look there, I do believe that is she with the Viscountess of Castlereagh now!”

  Then she was gone, off to dampen the spirits of her next unsuspecting victim, Anthony silently mused. He and Grandmama exchanged a grim look, then hastened to find Ginny before she was accosted by Lady Derby and the obnoxious Mr. Simmons, who were even now making their way, arm in arm, directly for the supper room where Ginny was last known to be headed. The pair of them must have left their mutton to congeal on their plates in order to arrive so soon, and they, no doubt, were up to no good.

  “For goodness’ sake, Anthony, pick up the pace!” Grandmama admonished through puffs of rapidly dwindling breath. “Who knows what evil lurks beneath that crown of curls adorning Lady Derby’s head? I knew that girl was trouble from the very moment I laid eyes on her, but your uncle would insist she was a good match for you,” she muttered darkly. “Of course, Ginerva was practically in leading strings in those days, so how was Ito know she was the one?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch. “Who was to know any of this would happen?”

  “Who, indeed?” Anthony soothed. Who knew Grandmama could cover so much ground at such a spanking pace? Who knew the precise word to adequately describe the look in the eyes of those who feared they would be knocked to the floor with utter abandon? Who knew Grandmama would attempt to deprive Lady Derby of several locks of hair when she caught up to her?

  It was fortunate, indeed, that Anthony deduced her intention and put a stop to it before more than a few onlookers perceived the dowager duchess’ clawed fingers straining to grasp the hair at the nape of Lady Derby’s neck.

  “Grandmama,” he hissed, taking her outstretched hand in his. “You grow hysterical!”

  “But she will get to Ginerva before we do and cause some hideous scandal-I just know it. We must stop her! Oh, how I would drag her to the ground if I thought I had the remotest chance of succeeding,” she railed.

  Due to the fact that, by this time, Lady Derby and Simmons had disappeared through the doorway opening onto the supper rooms, Anthony rather doubted there was anything either he or Grandmama could reasonably do but pray. Since he further doubted that, despite Almack’s lack of alcohol, God took much notice of those assembled in party rooms, Anthony felt sure his prayers would go unheard.

  Nevertheless, as he and Grandmama entered the room, he found himself praying in any case. It, however, did nothing to prepare him for the scene that met his eyes.

  The room was chockablock with people, all of whom were staring down-table at Lady Derby, who appeared to be embracing someone. Good Lord, it was Ginny! Even more astonishing was the fact that Ginny was putting her arms about Lady Derby, as well. He noted, with a decided lack of surprise, how Lucinda was attempting to make herself part of the tableau by draping her diminutive arms around the neck of each lady and pressing her face into their shoulders. Off to one side stood a beaming Avery, smiling down on the three women as if they were the blessed Holy Family and he one of the three wise men.

  Regrettably, there was nothing holy about whatever kind of mischief was afoot. It would seem that Lady Derby wished to be seen treating Ginny with kindness. However, true kindness was purely selfless, and Lady Derby was never that. Worried, Anthony led Grandmama to a quiet corner where he could assess the situation before making his presence known. A visual tour of the room told him what he wanted to know; Simmons was nowhere to be seen. He must be up to something, but what?

  He hadn’t the chance to think long on the problem, as Lady Derby was saying something to Ginny, something that was clearly causing Ginny great distress. Discretion might very well be the better part of valor, but Anthony hadn’t the time to test the veracity of that statement. Instructing Grandmama to have something to eat, he moved at a pace slightly slower than a mad dash and reached Ginny’s side in time to hear Lady Derby say something about a bet some gudgeon had made at White’s Gentleman’s Club. As “some gudgeon” was forever making bets at White’s, this tidbit did little to hold Anthony’s attention.

  “Miss Delacourt,” he said with nary an attempt at civility for Lady Derby, “I believe I hear the chords of a quadrille being struck. Would you honor me with a dance?”

  Ginny shot him a look of pure gratitude before replying. “My lord, how kind! I
was only thinking how much I love to dance a quadrille.” Placing her hand on his arm, she allowed him to draw her away from a silent but haughty Lady Derby and out into the main hall, where the dancers were lining up to begin.

  Once again, every male head turned to note Ginny’s appearance. More disturbing, every female head did, as well. Such a deep hush fell over the room, it prompted the orchestra in the balcony to put down their instruments while craning their necks over the balustrade to observe what could be causing the lack of commotion.

  Anthony was gratified to hear Ginny stifle a gasp before turning to him, a question in her eyes. She had demonstrated remarkable restraint during the course of a long and difficult evening, and he had never been more proud of her. Putting his free hand over hers where it lay on his arm, he gave it a squeeze. “It would seem Mr. Simmons has been busy. At what, I couldn’t hazard a guess, though I would have to say it was most effective.”

  Ginny drew a deep breath. “I suspect there is a means to discovering his mischief. Meanwhile, as long as we are here, we might as well dance.” She bit back a smile but could not hide the telltale signs of that maddening blush as it stole along her cheeks. “I confess I have been looking forward to the dancing with great anticipation all evening.”

  With formidable restraint of his own, Anthony resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her right there. “Dancing it is, then,” he murmured, a tiny smile playing about his lips. He heard the breath catch in her throat and knew she had read the wealth of meaning in his expression. Leading her out onto the dance floor, he gave himself a mental shake with the reminder that a mere trio of impossible tasks stood between him and his wedding day. Three tasks, three days. Or less, if he could but manage to arrange it.

  Twenty minutes of the quadrille went by too soon in spite of the torture he felt each time the pattern of the dance brought her to him in the nearness of a waltz, only to have it jerk her away into the rectitude of a minuet. Though she had eyes only for him, he knew she encountered goggle-eyed stares and disapproving frowns from every direction. Meanwhile, the dancers whose duty it was to meet up with her in the course of the steps behaved as gentlemen should but with an added circumspection that had him puzzling over the cause. Indeed, they seemed almost reluctant to so much as take her hand. No one spoke to her a single word.

  When the dance was over, he led Ginny to the relative safety of Grandmama where she stood, red-faced and puffing in anger, along the perimeter of the dance floor.

  “That was certainly enlightening,” Anthony murmured to no one in particular.

  “Was it? Why, then, do I find I am befuddled beyond measure?” Grandmama demanded. “If you are so enlightened, pray, enlighten me!”

  “It would seem that further illumination is required,” he replied, watching with great interest the progress of one of Ginny’s quadrille partners as he crossed the hall toward the gaming rooms. He had stood out, not only because of his sadly out-of-fashion clocked stockings and shoes adorned with large gem-studded buckles, but because he was the only gentleman who had so much as smiled at Ginny since the distasteful scene in the supper room. Choosing him as the most likely to spare Anthony a word on the subject of the sudden chill toward Ginny, he excused himself from the ladies and headed off in the same direction.

  As he made his way through the throng, he couldn’t help but notice how the very women who had accosted him with their daughters less than an hour prior were now giving him a wide berth. Meanwhile, their formerly dispassionate daughters were now covering their blushes with their fans and batting their eyelashes fast enough to create a draft. Most puzzling of all was the young lady who slumped against him as he passed, leaving him no alternative but to catch her in his arms. Before he knew what was happening, she had peeled the glove from his hand and scurried off with it as if it were some kind of prize.

  It was with no small amount of relief that he obtained the entrance to the card room through which the man with the clocked stockings had disappeared. Indeed, Anthony was immediately hailed by the fellow, whom he now recognized to be an acquaintance of so tenuous a connection, he couldn’t recall his name.

  He was standing with his back to the fire, a drink of something suspiciously unlike lemonade in his hand. “Sir Anthony!” he called again, waving an overly zealous arm over his head and startling the card players seated at the nearby deal table. “How lovely to see you! It’s been an age!”

  Anthony accepted the drink of unknown origin thrust into his hand. “If you can call our dancing the quadrille just now an age,” he riposted, giving the liquid in his glass a wary sniff. Clearly there was something other than fruit juice circulating the room, as Mr. Clocked Stockings was drunk as a lord.

  “Oh, beg pardon, it’s Crenshaw now, is it not? Devil it is!” he bellowed without waiting for Anthony to respond. “Just met up with Irvine! You remember Irvine, do you not?” Again, Anthony hadn’t time to respond one way or the other before his companion forged ahead. “Said you were ready for leg shackles, but I told him you weren’t the marrying kind. Not as if you were in line to be a duke or anything!” He laughed uproariously, as if the means by which Anthony became heir to a dukedom was the most amusing joke he had heard all year.

  “My cousin will be sorely missed,” Anthony interjected before the fellow had a moment to recover his breath. “However, in light of recent events,” he added without elaborating on which, “I must confess, the subject of marriage has become a more welcome one” Indeed, quite ardently desired, but there was no need to fill the prosy fellow in on those details.

  His companion winked at him and gave a low coo. “She’s a beauty! Trouble is, a beautiful girl like that, she’s not likely to wait until the old duke is dead.”

  Anthony’s smile froze on his face. “I beg your pardon?” He placed the alcohol-laced drink on the deal table with a loud clink and took a measured pace forward. “I am persuaded you wish to rephrase that statement, sir,” he demanded in a voice as smooth as silk.

  Unlike the men gathered around the table, the man with the clocked stockings was too drunk to sense danger. “You’re a handsome blade and all that, but you might have to fight for her,” he said with a wink.

  “Oh?” His anger replaced by piqued interest, Anthony plucked his quizzing glass from among the folds of his clothing and tapped it against his chin. “There’s talk of a fight, is there?” Could his uncle have been so foolish as to let slip news of his bout with Gentleman Jackson on the morrow?

  “Oh, I can’t say. It was Irvine who filled me in. Here he is now.”

  Suddenly, a man Anthony was sure he had never met, presumably Irvine, appeared at the first man’s elbow and whis pered something into his ear. “Come along, now, Winters,” he said aloud with a nervous laugh. “You’ve had quite enough!”

  Winters, who had turned white, allowed himself to be led away but not before both men darted covert glances at Anthony’s hand, the one ungloved by the fainting maiden. After a moment of stiff silence, the men at the table resumed their game, allowing Anthony the chance to shoot his own subtle gaze at his hand, one of a pair liberally covered with bruises. Realization began to dawn.

  tinny had had quite enough. It was one thing to be gazed at with expressions of admiration. It was quite another to have people stare at you through narrowed eyelids, naked curiosity stamped on their faces.

  “Come, Grandaunt Regina, I believe we should find Lord Crenshaw and go home”

  “Now, Ginerva, that will never do,” Grandaunt huffed. “When you are a married woman, you will find that your demands will most likely fall on deaf ears. A man does not like to be dictated to”

  Ginny felt as if she had been slapped. “Perhaps that was the way of it when you were a bride,” Ginny retorted, “but Anthony is not cut from the same bolt of cloth as his grandfather.”

  Grandaunt sniffed. It was a far cry from the scolding Ginny expected in return for her disrespectful attitude. “I’ll admit, things were different when I w
as young. Anthony is different, too, thanks be to that! I would never have thrown the two of you together, higgledy-piggledy, if I thought he might be disinclined to fall in with your wishes.”

  “Why, thank you, Grandaunt. You almost make me sound a perfect hoyden” Ginny, knowing she had let her tongue get away from her, dared not risk a glance at Grandaunt’s face for fear she would look as hurt as Ginny felt. Taking a deep sigh, she softened her tone. “There is no need to assassinate my character. It’s not as if he does what I wish at all times. If he did, the two of us would be dancing at this very moment,” she explained, swallowing her disappointment as the strains of the waltz were struck. “Odious stares or not”

  “You are quite right, Ginerva, just as you are quite right to trust him. There are things he might not make you privy to,” Grandaunt said with a suspiciously offhand air even as she lifted her fan to shield her lips from passersby. “But there is nothing he would not do for you” She paused, then added, “There is naught that I have said these last three years during which I have clothed, sheltered, and guided you more worthy of your notice.”

  Ginny, struck by the giddy effect her grandaunt’s words had on her state of mind, resisted the urge to ply her fan in front of her face in the coy manner exhibited by the more sophisticated girls in attendance. Yet there was something to be said for having the means to hide your blushes. Grandaunt’s implication that Anthony was a man of secrets so weighty as to prevent him from unburdening them to Ginny was as enticing as it was troubling. The thought that he would do anything for her despite his other obligations, whatever they might be, was cause for blushes, indeed.

  “Pray tell, what is it he is keeping from me?” she asked as soon as her wildly beating heart allowed her to speak. She found that dwelling on the “things he might not make her privy to” slowed the pounding most effectively. Indeed, the more she thought of his secrets, the more her heart froze in fear. Were they secrets as to Lady Derby? Did they have anything to do with their wedding or possible lack thereof? She was not to have a response to her question, however, for rapidly descending upon them was a visibly discommoded Lady Jersey.