“I saw him fall in just before I rounded the bend. I stopped as soon as I possibly could!”
Speechless, Ginny was saved from forming a reply, for the little boy’s mother appeared to scoop him from her arms, prompting the child to wail his fear now that he was safe in the circle of his mother’s love.
Without another glance Anthony dashed back to the carriage and vaulted onto the seat. Taking the reins in his hands, he whipped the horses into movement and drove the few yards to the finish line as delineated by the man with the watch and the flag, who once again waved it and pronounced the race complete.
“He has won!” shouted the man with the flag as Anthony made his way out of the carriage. “He has beat the best time for a carriage race by a full minute!” he cried, and, grabbing Anthony’s wrist, he thrust his arm high above his head.
In spite of the fact that most men in attendance had doubtless wagered against a win, huzzahs filled the air. So loud was the cheering that the whimpering of the little boy was entirely drowned out, and more than one hat was tossed into the sky to land on the road at Anthony’s feet. Ginny was surprised to see that among the curly-rimmed beavers, half-moon bicornes, and hunting hats, more than a few high-poke bonnets could be seen littering the road.
The mood was festive indeed, and it was time to find Grandaunt. However, Ginny took a moment to speak with the boy’s mother, who still stood by her side.
“Is he going to be all right?” she asked.
“Yes,” the mother replied with a grateful smile. “He is a naughty little thing, and it is not, I am sad to say, his first tumble into the water. I should have been paying him more mind.”
Secretly, Ginny agreed, but she could hardly say so. Noting that full color had returned to the boy’s cheek, she gave it a buss and began to look about her for a clear path back to her conveyance, when a shrill voice from above broke through the noisy confusion.
“Hold! Might His Grace have your attention, please?” came the voice as if from thin air. Ginny looked above her head and spotted the disagreeable Mr. Simmons, confrere of Lady Derby, high in the branches of a tree.
“His Grace has something of import to announce!” Mr. Simmons claimed, and he directed the attention of all in attendance to a man standing in a carriage near the last bend in the road around which Anthony had just come. Ginny noted that it was the man who had been in the carriage with Lady Derby the day prior.
“There has been a mistake!” he shouted. “The race has been lost! The time was two minutes over, not one under!”
There came a murmuring from the crowd, but it would seem there were few who were willing to counter His Grace. Ginny turned to see Anthony’s reaction, but he was deep in conversation with the man who had officiated the proceedings. Together they nodded, whereupon Anthony climbed to stand precariously on the seat of the denuded carriage and turned to face his opponent.
“Mr. Shirley informs me he has timed the race accurately!” he shouted loudly enough to be heard by all. “He also timed the disruption and subtracted the minutes lost from the overall time, bringing the race time to just under fifty-eight minutes!”
His Grace made a loud tsk that seemed to echo and reverberate in the hushed silence that now prevailed. “And what of Mr. Shirley’s timepiece? An ordinary watch has not the delicacy of function to accurately record such infinitesimal periods of time!”
“By that I suppose I am to assume that yours does, Your Grace. However, Mr. Shirley’s timepiece is no ordinary pocket watch. It is, in fact, a chronograph and is capable of telling time with the greatest accuracy as well as stopping it.”
Gasps of dismay or surprise, Ginny was uncertain which, rose from every direction, quickly followed by shouts along the lines of, “Give the man Mr. Shirley’s time!” as well as, “I am with His Grace!” When two men in uncomfortably close proximity to Ginny looked as if they would come to blows over their differing viewpoints, she began to feel a bit alarmed. Before she had a moment to reflect on how she was to get through the mob to the relative safety of her carriage, Anthony materialized at her side, his arm around her waist, pushing their way through the crowd. He smelled of dirt, perspiration, a fair amount of horse, and, unaccountably, eau de cologne. She had never known any combination to smell lovelier.
Sensing that he would soon be off again the moment they reached their objective, Ginny considered pelting him with questions, but it would seem that she had her own to answer first.
“How fares the boy?” he asked. Circling her waist with his hands, he lifted her into the carriage, leaving Ginny to think what a pity it was that men’s fashions did not lean toward the display of bare arms, of what would seem, in this case, to be the superbly well-muscled variety.
“He’s fine,” she said once she had caught her breath after the unexpected ride through the air. “His mother is ever so grateful!”
“And your gown? Is it still on holiday in Hertfordshire?”
“We have seen or heard nothing of Madame Badeau since I saw you last.”
He nodded his understanding but avoided looking her in the eye, almost as if he were ashamed or afraid of being caught out in a lie. Once he saw she was safely settled, he turned his attention to Grandaunt Regina. “Good afternoon, Grandmama,” he said with his usual aplomb, though his gaze was focused on His Grace, who was still standing in his carriage a few yards down the row.
Grandaunt lost no time in making her wishes known. “Anthony, don’t let that man get the best of you! Tell him your grandmother insists that you beat Old Q’s time! And you saved the life of that poor little mite. Well done, my boy, well done!” she added, her eyes glowing with pride.
However, he had melted into the crowd before he could see her pleasure in his accomplishments. Ginny could only assume he had gone off to do his grandmother’s bidding. But who was “that man”? He was styled “His Grace,” which meant he could only be a duke. Anthony’s uncle was said to be about to breathe his last at any moment. Common sense dictated it could not be he.
“Whoever this man is, he must have bet a great sum against Anthony’s winning the race. He could have no other reason to cause such a commotion.”
Grandaunt sighed. “Ever since Anthony’s grandfather departed this life, there has been only that man left to cut up my peace”
Ginny felt her eyes go wide. “But no! It cannot be!”
“Indeed it can. He is my son, the Duke of Marcross”
As Anthony pushed his way through the crowd to confront his uncle, the duke, he indulged himself in an examination of his feelings. He was a bit taken aback to learn he felt nothing if not unworthy: of Ginny’s love, of her admiration, and, most of all, her forgiveness. Refraining from telling Ginny of the three trials his uncle had insisted upon was hardly better than telling her an outright lie.
What’s more, he had insisted upon Grandmama’s connivance in the matter. What dark thoughts must have gone through Ginny’s mind when she found herself an unwitting spectator of a race run by the man she trusted above all others, he shuddered to learn. How utterly frivolous the whole event must have seemed in her eyes, especially in light of their impending union and her missing wedding gown. How he wished he had spoken to her of this whole harebrained scheme of his uncle’s as well as his own reasons for participating in it.
He had fully expected her to be as angry as she had been the night previous, yet she had put aside her feelings of betrayal in order to cheer him on. She had come to him, unbidden, when he needed her help in finding the family of that poor, half-drowned scamp. Indeed, she had praised him for what any man might have done had he the knowledge and opportunity.
If he had lost one iota of Ginny’s love and respect through the events of this day, there would be no end to his need to blame himself. Yet, as he pushed his way ever closer to the duke, it occurred to him that there was more than enough blame to be assigned all around. His uncle topped the list, but the names of Lady Derby and Mr. Simmons came immediately to mind, as well. I
f they hadn’t spread about the news and made a wagerworthy spectacle of both the boxing match and the race, there was a chance no one would have been the wiser. Barring that, he might have consigned the whole thing to perdition without fear that Ginny, some months or years hence, would learn how her husband had turned tail and fled rather than fight for his uncle’s approval.
By the time he came face-to-face with the threesome seated in the carriage-they who had quite possibly dashed all of his hopes and dreams and, worse yet, Ginny’s-he was too vexed to wonder what miracle had been wrought that had allowed his uncle to rise from his deathbed.
“Have you done amusing yourself by meddling in my life, Uncle?”
“Why, Crenshaw, you look a bit worse for wear. I had thought it quite impossible I should find you looking a mite less than exquisite in what remains of my lifetime, but there it is,” the duke said with a sniff.
Remembering himself, Anthony sketched a bow to both Lady Derby and Mr. Simmons, allowing himself time to weigh his response with care. “I am in possession of a valet who would mourn as do you should he be here to see me. Instead of being in attendance today to watch the clothing he so tenderly cares for become grimed in dust, sweat, and the tears of one enfant in particular, not to mention the befouled waters of the Serpentine, he is off procuring a balloon.” He paused and favored his uncle with a knowing smile. “Shall I ride after him, hell for leather, and inform him that this particular service is no longer required?”
Lady Derby’s shriek of laughter at this utterance could doubtless be heard at the far end of Hyde Park, while Mr. Simmons’ goggle-eyed stare was a wonder to behold. The duke, however, merely frowned and narrowed his eyes.
“I do believe we had an agreement, Crenshaw. You were to perform three tasks, as specified and to my satisfaction. In return I would pronounce my blessing upon your marriage to a certain Miss Delacourt.”
“Very well, then,” Anthony conceded. “I shall safely assume the first two tasks have been performed to your satisfaction and will proceed with the balloon ascension tomorrow morning as planned.”
“The boxing match was craftily done, and I commend you, Crenshaw. I have little respect for the opinion of the outcome of today’s race, but it would seem I am outnumbered there. I shall concede two wins and look forward to the balloon ascension with every degree of anticipation. However, the terms of the agreement state that you need to fly the balloon, on your own, from one location to the other. Where do you intend to go up, and where do you intend to put down the balloon?” the duke queried.
Anthony knew that the place of departure was already known to all and sundry, particularly those who availed themselves of the information in the betting book at White’s. He could only hope Regent’s Park would be a deal less crowded than Hyde was today. However, the place of landing was one piece of information Anthony loathed to divulge for reasons he planned to keep to himself until the last possible moment. As it was, there were too many eager ears about.
“I’m persuaded you are well aware of the location of my departure, sir. As to the landing, I will do you one better!” Anthony said with an airy wave of his hand that sent dust skittering across the lap of Lady Derby’s cossack-green gros de naples gown, which was very fine but sadly at odds with the brick-red grogram ribbon that adorned her hat, an already hideous affair by virtue of its ridiculously high poke graced by a spray of what looked to be roadside weeds dangling over the brim. “I shall write the location on a piece of paper, in my own hand and sealed with my own signet, and leave it to the care of my grandmama. In days hence, there shall be none to claim they heard me say I had always meant to fly only as far as Harrow Road when you have evidence proclaiming it was my full intention to alight in Hampstead Heath all along.”
“And when shall I be in possession of this paper?” the duke asked with a dubious air.
“Oh, you shall have it soon enough, never fear!” Anthony replied, examining his woefully dirty cuffs. As he planned to ensure that Grandmama, along with the precious paper, would be well on her way to Dunsmere by then, he trusted the duke would not learn of its contents until it was very much too late for him to make himself disagreeable. “Shall we shake on it, then, Your Grace?” Anthony asked, stripping off a filthy, wet glove and thrusting his hand under his uncle’s nose.
“Hold a moment!” the duke said, recoiling from the dirt or the agreement, Anthony couldn’t say which. “You haven’t forgotten our arrangement with regards to Miss Delacourt’s fate should you fail to land on target?”
“I would hardly call us in accord along those lines, Uncle!” Anthony said, hoping his heart hadn’t visibly jumped from his chest. “If I were to fail in my endeavor, Miss Delacourt will yet remain in the capable guardianship of her Grandaunt Regina.”
“I need not remind you, Crenshaw, that I am the head of her grandaunt’s family, and if I see fit to pack your girl off to the country to marry Simmons’ father, here, a widower with several brats get off his second wife still littering the house, then pack her off I shall!”
Anthony quelled the shudder of revulsion he felt at the thought of Ginny clutched in the grip of an older version of Simmons. Though he would never allow Ginny to fall into such a horrid marriage, he wasn’t as sure of his valet’s ability to fly a balloon. Anthony could only pray that, wherever they landed, there would be nobody about to bear witness to his uncle. As long as he was praying, he might as well add a bit about spiriting Ginny away and out of the power of men such as his uncle and his hoary widowers standing in the wings.
“Dearest Uncle, it would seem you are the crafty one! In exchange, if I should triumph, you must promise that after we are wed, you shall brook no argument and allow us to live our lives according to our own desires and wishes without this constant interference.”
“Yes, I do believe I can go along with that, but only because your Miss Delacourt has a good deal of spirit. Indeed, she has bottom! Though I would rather see her wed to Mr. Simmons Senior, I shall enjoy watching her lead you a merry dance through life, if it comes to that”
“And you, sir? Have you put off your date with the devil long enough to witness such dancing?”
“I must say, I do feel a sight better than I have for years,” the duke said, thumping his narrow chest with one fist. “However, one can never say for sure which way the wind might blow!”
“True,” Anthony said, affecting not to notice how his uncle’s free hand came to rest on Lady Derby’s knee. “But should one read the signs aright, one might hazard a notion,” he added with an arch of one eyebrow.
The duke frowned but did not remove his hand from its proprietary position. “Let us hope that the wind blows in just the right direction for you tomorrow.” With that the duke took up the reins, whipped up the horses, and drove off into the dwindling crowd.
Anthony turned and walked back to where he had left Ginny and Grandmama. The row of carriages had mostly broken up and driven off, affording him a clear view of his beloved as she sat and patiently waited. He could not help but reflect on how her demure beauty outshone Lady Derby’s exotic attractions in every way. While the former’s costume had been loud, Ginny’s gown of white spotted muslin under an old rose poplin spencer hit just the right note, while the bonnet of chip straw lined with white lace, adorned by one or two silk rosebuds and tied fetchingly under her chin, allowed her glossy chestnut curls to come alive.
When she spotted his approach and smiled her delight, his heart turned over in his chest. It occurred to him how this would be an opportune time to reveal the entire truth about his three tasks, yet it seemed impossible to speak of it so soon after his uncle’s threats to marry her off to an ancient widower should Anthony fail in the execution of the duke’s last injunction. After tomorrow, there would be more than enough time to tell her all.
“What did that unruly son of mine have to say, Anthony?” Grandmama asked the moment he drew near enough to hear her words.
“He has seen the error of his w
ays,” he replied, wiping his hand clean on his handkerchief, as he had no wish to dirty Ginny’s soft white glove with his kiss. “Demme, I have soiled it after all!” he said upon inspecting the result.
Ginny surveyed his handiwork, as well, and, laughing, proclaimed it perfect. “I shall cherish this glove forever, as it bears the mark of your love in the exact replica of your lips!”
Suddenly, for Anthony, tomorrow could not arrive too soon. “It’s a sight too bad about that smudge made by the tip of my nose, but we all have our burdens to bear,” he said as lightly as the pounding of his heart would allow.
“Now, that is enough courting for one day,” Grandmama insisted.
“I cannot agree, but, sadly, I haven’t the time to further my cause,” he said, noting out of the corner of his eye that bits and pieces of what was left of Old Q’s carriage were being carried off by souvenir hunters.
“Would your need for haste have anything to do with the balloon ascension tomorrow?” Ginny asked with an arch smile.
“Ah, so you have been informed, have you?” he said, hoping he did not look as abashed as he felt.
“Indeed, rumors are flying! Do you have any other secrets you wish to share with me?” she asked, her eyes dancing.
“No!” Anthony said in all truthfulness, as least as much as he could manage at the moment. Reaching up to touch her face, he reveled in the silkiness of her skin. “However, I do have one or two surprises I warrant you will vastly enjoy,” he said in a voice that sounded husky to his own ears.
“Come, now, Anthony, be off with you, or we will be eaten by flies before the hour is out!” Grandmama complained. And with that she gave the signal to her driver, and they were off.
Ginny turned to wave a time or two, but then they were gone almost as thoroughly as the carriage borrowed for the race. Making the rescue of what survived of Old Q’s carriage his next task, Anthony set about mentally preparing a list of what remained. Conti was off to procure the balloon. One could only hope he knew how to operate it as well as he could tie a cravat. Better! Visions of crashing to the ground or being speared by a church spire during the journey through the sky filled him with dread. The thought of Ginny in the arms of some old goat was infinitely worse, however. There wasn’t a chance Anthony would allow that to happen, powerful as his uncle was. However, Ginny might be made to believe it could happen if Anthony didn’t meet his uncle’s demands. One moment of believing her life would be lived as wife to a gummy old stranger was one moment too long.
Miss Delacourt Has Her Day Page 16