Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance)

by Candice Hern

  "Green flecks in her eyes. I noticed."

  She lifted her eyebrows. "I ought to have known you would notice, Max. Must I prepare a lecture for my niece on the dangers of the infamous Max Davenant?"

  "That will not be necessary. I would never do that to you, my dear. I was simply admiring all you have done for her. I do indeed remember her arrival. I thought her the drabbest mouse."

  "Do you know on that very first day she announced to me that she wished to be transformed? She knew she looked the mouse and wanted so desperately to be stylish. But even the most fashionable dresses could not have disguised a vapid disposition. From the first, though, she has shown such gumption, such spark, such—"

  "Such a wild desire to experience everything."

  "Yes! You've noticed it, too? I declare, a sort of mad curiosity, an exquisite wonder, fairly throbs in her veins. Oh Max, she reminds me so much of myself at a younger age—much younger even than Rosalind. Poor thing, how Edmund must have stifled her spirit all these years. I could strangle the man. No wonder she wanted to come to town. She must have been bursting to escape before it was too late."

  "Too late?"

  "She is six and twenty, Max."

  "Too late for a Season? Too late to find a husband? But she tells me she is not looking for a husband."

  Fanny gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Yes, I know. She has told me the same thing, over and over again. The odd thing is, I believe she means it."

  "I got the same impression."

  When the quadrille ended, Max saw Rosalind make her way toward them and he rose to allow her his place on the bench. She sank down upon it in a swirl of green silk, breathless, and worked her fan with enough vigor to stir up a respectable gust.

  "Heavens, but it has become warm in here. I really do not know why my sisters thought this place so wonderful."

  "You appeared to be enjoying yourself," Max said.

  "Well, there are always interesting people everywhere one goes in London, are there not? But all things considered—the decor, the food, the music—this place is really nothing very special. In fact, if s a trifle dull. Especially compared to some of the other parties we've attended."

  Fanny rose to her feet and shook out her skirts. "Rosalind, my dear, you are a woman after my own heart. If you are quite satisfied that you have seen enough of Almack's, let us be off to the Sanbourne ball. It is sure to be more entertaining."

  As they gathered at the King Street entrance to meet Max's carriage, the strains of a waltz could be heard from within the assembly hall. "Oh, blast!" Rosalind exclaimed. "Wouldn't you know they'd play a waltz now, just when we're leaving. I was so hoping to dance one."

  "It is just as well," Fanny said as she was handed into the carriage. "You have yet not received permission to waltz."

  Rosalind looked sharply at her aunt. "Permission? I must have permission to waltz? From whom, may I ask? From you, aunt?"

  "Heavens, no! Why should it matter to me? No, it is those blasted patronesses who rule Almack's."

  "They can decide who dances what?" Rosalind's eyes grew wide with indignation.

  "They decide everything in regard to Almack's, including who can attend," Max said. "Did you not know what strings your poor aunt had to pull in order to get tonight's tickets? All attendees must have the blessing of one of the patronesses."

  "Fanny! Is that true? I knew it was rather exclusive, but I had not realized it was so restricted. And tell me why you, of all people, should have trouble getting vouchers? You are Lady Parkhurst, after all."

  "I have not always been welcome within the fine portals of Almack's," Fanny said. "Earlier patronesses barred me from the door. Very high sticklers, don't you know. These new ones are even worse, if you ask me. But my more notorious days are behind me and these new patronesses are young women who were not even born when I was kicking up my heels. With a bit of cajolery and sweet talk, I was able to wheedle the vouchers out of Emily Cowper." Fanny gave a self-satisfied chuckle. "I could see, though, that Sally Jersey was not pleased to see me. That woman wouldn't allow her own mother-in-law in the door."

  "Outrageous!" Rosalind said. Her eyes blazed with anger and Max thought her especially lovely under that new fire. "You should not have to beg for patronage. You are better than the lot of them put together, I should imagine. How dare they!"

  Max noted Fanny's flush of pride at Rosalind's words. He thanked heaven, not for the first time, that the tiresome wretch of a niece Fanny had expected had instead turned out to be this vibrant woman so full of spirit.

  "They dare," Fanny said, "because they are puffed up with their own consequence."

  "They sound just like my Uncle Talmadge. Horrid man."

  "Lord Talmadge is your uncle?" Max asked. "He of the anti-reform speeches and morality pamphlets?"

  "The very one."

  "Egad, Fanny, you never told me you were related to Talmadge."

  "I'm not, thank God."

  "He is my mother's brother," Rosalind said. "He has always been hateful to my family because... well, just because. Anyway, these Almack's women sound just as hateful! Making you beg their indulgence. Hmph!"

  "Do not waste a single thought on those harridans, my girl," Fanny said. "It doesn't bother me in the least. I have never cared about their wretched little assemblies with their weak lemonade and mediocre music and dull company. They are none of them even worthy of my contempt."

  "Jealous prigs," Max said.

  "I believe you must be right," Rosalind said, looking across at Max. "They must lead horribly dull lives and feel obliged to tell others how to behave in order to lend themselves some kind of importance. Jealous prigs, indeed! Mr. Davenant, I declare were we not already several streets away, I would have you turn this coach around, return us to King Street where I would drag you onto the dance floor and force you to waltz with me. I have never danced the waltz, but I feel sure you could teach me."

  "Indeed, I could."

  "Fanny, we must contrive to get tickets again next Wednesday. And you must come along, Mr. Davenant, and lead me out for a waltz. Will you promise?"

  "Fanny will have my head if I help you to ruin your reputation, my dear."

  "I will do no such thing," Fanny said. "What harm is a simple waltz, anyway?"

  "And I am not sixteen," Rosalind added as the carriage came to a halt in front of Sanbourne house. "At my age, I am far less likely to cause a single head to turn if I dare to waltz. Except, hopefully, for those horrid patronesses whose rules I am simply itching to defy. Odious women! Will you promise me, Mr. Davenant?"

  "All right, minx." His footman opened the carriage door and Max stepped out, then turned to hand down the ladies. "But you must promise me," he said to Rosalind, "that you will call me Max."

  "Oh yes, you must cease this Mr. Davenant business, my dear," Fanny said, shaking out her skirts and adjusting her plumes. "Max is practically family, you know."

  Rosalind caught his eye and grinned, obviously recollecting their previous conversation, and he gave her a wink.

  When he offered an arm to lead her up the stairs, she winked back.

  Chapter 5

  Rosie stood on the pavement before Fanny's town- house and only half listened to the inane chatter of Mr. Jeremy Aldrich who stood beside her. They had been introduced and had danced together at the Sanbourne ball, and he had been overly attentive ever since. Frankly, Rosie found his youthful prattle tiresome and would not have given him the time of day were it not for his invitation to ride in the park.

  In his brand-new sporting vehicle.

  If nothing else, young Mr. Aldrich would allow her to check off one more item from her list. Actually, the item had been amended to say "drive" and not simply "ride" in a sporting vehicle, but Rosie would not broach that subject just yet.

  The list should have been getting smaller as more and more items had been checked off. She had been to Almack's, had danced all night at a grand private ball, had drunk champagne, had received flowe
rs from admirers. That last had not actually been on the list, but it ought to have been. It was most gratifying to find the drawing room filled with bouquets the morning after the Sanbourne ball.

  But the list actually grew longer as she added more items to it each day. To attend a masque wearing some sort of daring costume. To take snuff. To look up her uncle Talmadge and tell him exactly what she thought of him. And to defy the Almack's ladies and dance the waltz. With Max, of course. If she was going to tweak the noses of the lady patronesses, she might as well do it with a handsome and notorious rake.

  She had spent the last dozen years doing all that was proper, acting the very paragon of responsibility. During these few short months left her, it was exhilarating to do and say exactly what she pleased, to throw propriety and respectability to the winds. Lord, but she was having fun!

  She wondered what Mr. Aldrich would say if he knew she intended to take the reins of his bang-up new curricle and see if she could make it fly?

  The young tiger maneuvered the vehicle to a halt in front of them, then jumped down to hold the horses in place. They danced about skittishly, anxious to be off. Rosie knew exactly how they felt.

  "It is a beauty, isn't it?" Mr. Aldrich said. "The sang de boeuf color is sure to be all the crack. I designed the polished brass fittings myself. See how the design incorporates my cypher? Clever, eh? You will note that even the bar is polished brass. It is perfectly balanced and sprung. And the upholstery is the finest Morocco leather. I assure you, Miss Lacey, no expense was spared in the construction."

  All the while he yammered on, his young tiger held the horses—a beautiful matched pair of chestnut bays—and Rosie could think of nothing but how much she wished he would be quiet and hand her up into the thing so they could be off.

  "And the improved method of suspension—"

  "Yes, Mr. Aldrich," Rosie interrupted, "it is surely a fine piece of machinery and I am all agog to see how it performs. Now, hand me up please before I am overcome with excitement."

  He gave her an indulgent smile. "Your excitement is quite understandable. Allow me? Up you go, then."

  When Mr. Aldrich sat down beside her, and then the tiger leapt up onto his seat behind, Rosie giggled at the bouncing motion. The jaunty little carriage was so buoyant, it was like sitting in a feather bed. She could not suppress the desire to bounce up and down—just a little. It really was incredibly springy.

  "Are you quite all right, Miss Lacey?"

  "Indeed I am, Mr. Aldrich. Just testing the springs. This is a perfectly marvelous curricle. I adore it."

  "I knew you would," he said, a smug grin upon his face. "Let us be off, then."

  After a few moments of an exquisitely smooth but otherwise uneventful ride, Rosie boldly rested her hand on Mr. Aldrich's arm. He smiled triumphantly and placed a hand over hers. Her fingers, though, crept down to his hand that held the reins.

  "You are going to give me a chance at the ribbons, are you not, Mr. Aldrich? Jeremy?"

  His back stiffened and his hand tightened over hers. "You... you want to drive?"

  "How could I not? It is such a splendid vehicle. You will make me the envy of every woman—to be seen driving a slap up to the mark carriage, with such a handsome man at my side. Please, Mr. Aldrich? Jeremy?"

  He squirmed beside her. "I... I don't know, Miss Lacey."

  "You must call me Rosalind," she purred.

  "Rosalind." He spoke her name like a prayer and gazed at her with such calf's eyes it was all she could do not to giggle. "Rosalind. But... but, do you know how to drive a team?"

  "I have been driving for years." She would not mention that she had only ever driven an old dog cart with a single sluggish nag. But how hard could it be to manage two horses?

  "You think you could handle this team?" Jeremy asked.

  She gave him her most adoring look and crooned into his ear. "I'm sure you could teach me what I need to know, Jeremy."

  The young man was ridiculously susceptible to flirtation. Or perhaps she had simply gotten better at it. She had watched her aunt closely and taken note of her technique. Though she was older even than Rosie's father, Aunt Fanny could wrap any man of any age around her finger. It had been easy enough to learn how to flirt. You simply made each man believe he was the center of your world. It almost didn't matter what words you said, so long as you gazed deeply into his eyes and gave him your whole attention.

  Jeremy Aldrich had succumbed in an instant.

  When he had negotiated the streets of Mayfair and reached the park entrance, he handed the reins to Rosie. She allowed him to take her hands in his and guide her in handling the ribbons.

  After a few minutes, she asked, "May I try on my own now, Jeremy?"

  "You're sure?"

  "Quite sure."

  "All right, then. Be careful, Rosalind. The horses are fresh."

  And then she was driving on her own, bouncing along on the Morocco leather seat, the horses following her lead, Jeremy beaming at her. It was wonderful. It was exciting.

  It was too slow.

  She flicked the reins and urged the horses on.

  "I say, Rosalind, you might not want to go quite so fast. The park can be crowded this time of day."

  "Then let's go this way." She steered the team away from the main paths and into the open space, then urged them on faster. And faster. And faster.

  "Rosalind! What are you doing?"

  "I'm flying!" And she was. With the wind in her face and the well-sprung carriage beneath her, she felt as though she could take off straight up into the sky. She gave a whoop of pure joy.

  Jeremy laughed nervously beside her. "Perhaps you had better let me take the ribbons now, Rosalind."

  "I'm having too much fun!" She shrugged off his hands when he tried to grab the reins from her.

  "If you won't give me the ribbons, then I must insist that you pull up." There was a hint of anxiety beneath his stern tone. "Now, Rosalind. Before we have an accident."

  She had no intention of having an accident, but it was his brand-new curricle, after all. She could understand his apprehension. Especially when she began to notice people scattering all in directions.

  Though she had deliberately avoided the throngs of strollers and riders along the main paths, they behaved as though they believed the team was out of control and would mow them down. Blast. She was in perfect control. Her father and brother had taught her well. It was easy. If she had been at home she could have flown like the wind for miles down deserted country roads. But if she was at home, she would never have had the opportunity to drive such a fine, sleek vehicle. Blast and double blast.

  With a sigh of resignation, Rosie pulled back the reins and expertly guided the team to the edge of the Serpentine. The horses, however, did not stop as she had expected but seemed headed straight for the water.

  "Rosalind!"

  She gave the reins a wild jerk in the opposite direction, and the team came to a sudden, jolting halt, tossing the little tiger out of his seat in back

  Assured the boy was unharmed when he scampered up from the grass, Rosie threw back her head and laughed. It was jubilant, exultant laughter, for the sheer reckless thrill of the ride. Good Lord, but that had been fun. She looked over to find Jeremy staring at her open-mouthed.

  "Are you mad?" he asked.

  "I don't believe so," she replied, and continued to chuckle softly.

  "No," Jeremy said, and then took her hands in his. Rosie was astonished to find him gazing ardently into her eyes. She had thought him angry. "No, you are not mad. But I am mad for you, my dear Rosalind. I declare, you are more exciting than any woman I've ever known. Pluck to the backbone. All the rest are nothing more than simpering, fainthearted little chits in comparison. But you, my dear Rosalind, you are magnificent."

  Rosie thought he might have kissed her then and there—and she would have let him—had not a small crowd begun to gather around the curricle. Curse it! To be thoroughly kissed after such a thrillin
g ride— now that would have been a day to remember.

  "Outstanding, Miss Lacey!" Sir Cedric Bassett said as he approached. "Never seen a female drive so well in all my life."

  * * *

  Max slowed his approach when he saw the others surround the vehicle, and could see clearly that Rosalind was unhurt. In fact, she was laughing.

  "Don't look like she needs rescuing to me." Sir George Fellowes had been strolling with Max along the Chesterfield Gate footpath, taking stock of the afternoon's population of attractive females, when the shiny red curricle had sped past. Max had recognized Rosalind at once, seen that she held the reins, and assumed she had lost control of the team. Tugging his friend along, he hurried after the carriage with some vague notion of helping to avert danger.

  He ought to have known better.

  "Well, thank God for that," Max said and waved a hand in front of his face like a fan. "Heroics are much too exhausting."

  Fellowes laughed. "Don't believe I ever saw you move so fast, Davenant."

  "A momentary madness, I assure you."

  "You ain't hanging out for The Lacey, are you?"

  "Hanging out?" Max made a great show of looking over his clothing to make sure all was in place. "Egad, I hope not. What a vulgar notion, Fellowes."

  "Wouldn't want to move in if you'd already staked a claim, that's all."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Well... several of us thought you might be involved, you know. Seen with her a lot, and all that."

  Good Lord. This was not a rumor he wanted to see bandied about town. The girl's reputation would be in tatters. "My dear old chap," he said in his most bored tone, "the chit is Fanny's niece, fresh from the country. The rustic types don't appeal to me in the least."

  "Nothing rustic about The Lacey." Max turned at the familiar voice of Lord Nicholas Vaughn, who fell into step beside him. "Seems to know a thing or two, that one."

  "Just what I thought," Fellowes said. "Lively as they come. I don't care if she is from the country, I'd lay odds the woman knows what's what, unmarried or not. She has this way of looking at a man—"