by Carola Dunn
“I say, didn’t mean to hint—”
“You can pay what you’re paying now, so that Lord Chubb won’t know the difference. Look, there’s the Sign of the Pot and Pineapple. Do you suppose Miss Lisle...the ladies would like some of Gunter’s kickshaws?”
“You’re the one with sisters.”
“So I am. Come along, then.”
They cut across the corner of Berkley Square to Number Seven, the premises of Gunter’s, Confectioner, Pastrycook, and Caterer. Outside, a notice board announced the receipt of a cargo of ice from the Greenland seas; patrons were advised that cream fruit ices were once again available.
Wynn and Chubby were in pursuit of more durable prey. They emerged from the shop a few minutes later, each bearing a paste-board box full of vanilla, apricot, cinnamon and orange-flower pastilles; candied ginger; and Gunter’s famous cedrati and bergamot chips.
“Shall we treat them to an ice this afternoon?” suggested Chubby.
“Not today. With all these bon-bons as well, they’d make themselves sick,” said Wynn with the ruthless practicality of the possessor of many small siblings.
“Miss Kitty wouldn’t!”
“She might. Don’t suppose she’s used to a lot of sweets. Miss Lisle wouldn’t, nor her mother or my sister,” Wynn conceded, “but I wouldn’t put it past Millicent and it would ruin the party.”
Chubby blenched. “Yes, rather. I’ll just dash back in and see how long they expect the ice to hold out.”
He returned to report that Gunter’s expected, barring shipwreck, to be able to serve ices well into the summer months. “So that’s all right. Bring ‘em round any time. You know what, old chap, I’m almost looking forward to the Season!”
“Your father doesn’t object to your frittering away your time in Town?” Wynn asked as they turned the corner into Charles Street.
“Been on at me for years to get a bit of Town bronze before I settle down. He and my mother hope I’ll find a wife, of course, but I never expected I’d find a girl I’d really want to marry.”
“Hold hard, Chubby, you can’t be serious about the chit! You hardly know her.”
“I know what I want,” Chubby said stubbornly. “And I know I haven’t much chance with such a wonderful girl.”
Wynn still suspected calf-love, in which case Time would cure his friend if allowed to do its business. Whereas, should Kitty be offered and grasp an immediate opportunity to wed a future title and comfortable fortune, Chubby might find himself repenting at leisure.
“You don’t mean to throw the handkerchief right away, I hope,” he said, stopping on his sister’s doorstep.
“Lord no. It wouldn’t be fair. She’s bound to have dozens of offers. If she hasn’t accepted someone better by the end of the Season, I’ll try my luck.”
Satisfied, Wynn gave a brisk rat-tat with the brass lion’s-head knocker on the green front door.
The First Footman opened the door. The butler would have been on hand to usher callers up to the drawing room if Mrs Debenham were receiving, but after all Wynn was her brother.
“M’sisters in, Reuben?” he asked.
“Mrs Debenham and Miss Warren are not at home, my lord.”
“You mean they have gone out, or they’re just ‘not at home’?”
“Gone out, my lord,” the footman clarified apologetically.
“What about the Lisles?”
“Not at home, my lord.”
“Dash it all, man, are they in or not?” Wynn bethought himself too late that he had no right to intrude upon the Lisles—as opposed to his sister—if they were euphemistically “out” rather than really out.
Looking a trifle bemused, Reuben said, “Mrs Lisle, Miss Lisle and Miss Catherine left the house with Mrs Debenham and Miss Warren.”
“Blast. Where did they go, do you know?”
“To pay calls, I understand, my lord.”
“No hope of catching up with them, then,” said Wynn, disappointed.
“Miss Lisle did express the hope of stopping at Hookham’s Library in Bond Street.”
“Hookham’s, eh? Splendid. I’ll leave a note for Miss...for Mrs Debenham.”
“Mr Debenham is at home, my lord. That is, he is in the house. Whether he is ‘at home’—”
Wynn held up his hand. “Enough! We don’t want to see Debenham.”
“Always happy to see Debenham,” Chubby corrected with punctilious politeness.
The gentleman in question burst out of his den at that moment. “What the deuce...? Oh, it’s you, Selworth. Good morning, Chubb. Is something amiss, Selworth?”
“Only the inability of the English upper classes and their servants to say what they mean. Not Reuben’s fault,” Wynn added quickly as Debenham cocked an eyebrow at his footman. “A minor misunderstanding. Sorry to disturb you. I just dropped in to see Albinia.”
“All the ladies have gone out to pay morning calls on prospective hostesses and Almack’s patronesses.”
“So I gather. I’ll leave Bina a note.”
“Come into my den,” said Debenham resignedly, ushering them into a pleasant, book-lined room. “May I offer you a glass of Madeira?”
“Thanks, but we’ve just breakfasted and we don’t want to keep you from your business.” Wynn waved at the papers on the desk. “I’ve been meaning to say, Debenham, it’s dashed good of you to put up the Lisles, especially as I know you disagree with my political opinions.”
“My dear Selworth, you must know by now your sister can twist me around her little finger. As it turns out, they are a charming family and I’m happy to have them. Moreover, it leaves you with no excuse to avoid your share of escorting the ladies about.”
“Naturally I’ll do my share,” said Wynn, his tone as hurt as if he had never contemplated leaving the whole affair to his brother-in-law. “In fact, I was going to offer our services, mine and Chubb’s, to squire the ladies to the Park this afternoon.”
Debenham pushed a sheet of paper, pen, and inkstand across the desk to him. “I’m sure they will be delighted to accept. I’m much obliged to you, Chubb, for lending your support.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Chubby muttered, blushing. “Do what I can. A pleasure.”
“Allow me to include you in the standing invitation to my brother-in-law to take your mutton with us whenever it won’t upset my wife’s numbers for a dinner party.”
“I say, dashed kind!”
Wynn blotted and folded his note, and he and Chubby took their leave, entrusting the sweetmeats to the footman. On reaching the street, Wynn turned left towards Bond Street.
“Where are we going?” Chubby asked.
“To Hookham’s Library.”
Chubby stopped dead. “I wondered why you were so pleased to hear Miss Lisle wanted to go to Hookham’s.”
“It’s a good place to wait until they turn up.”
“They may have gone there first. It strikes me you’re even wilder to see Miss Lisle than I am to see Miss Kitty.”
“Not at all,” Wynn said defensively. “I simply want to find out about my speech.”
“Well, you may not mind spending hours and hours in a library on the off-chance, but I can think of better things to do with my time.” He turned and started in the opposite direction, saying over his shoulder, “I’m off to Tattersall’s to look for a carriage horse or pair. My father said I should buy myself a gig that’s useful both in Town and in the country. I’ll be able to take up Miss Kitty—or any of the ladies.”
Wynn caught up with him. “All right, Tatt’s it is. I was thinking of a tilbury gig.”
As they strolled on, arguing the relative merits of various light carriages, Wynn wondered whether Chubby could possibly be right. Was he wilder—as wild—almost as wild to see Miss Lisle as his friend was to see Miss Kitty?
Impossible!
Chapter 9
“The Miss Pendrells?” exclaimed Lord Selworth and Mr Chubb with identical looks of horror. Pippa was hard put
to it not to laugh aloud.
“We made their acquaintance at Lady Castlereagh’s,” Millicent rattled on, “and they asked us to walk with them in St James’s Park this afternoon and we—”
“Who are the Miss Pendrells?” Lord Selworth demanded with an ominous frown.
“They are some sort of relatives of Lady Castlereagh, Wynn, so we could not say no without offending her and she is one of the patronesses of Almack’s, and besides, they are nice girls, are they not, Kitty? How were we to know you wished to go to Hyde Park with us? You need not come to St James’s Park if you do not—”
“I didn’t bargain for swarms of unknown females. I’m happy to escort Miss Lisle and Miss Kitty, and I don’t mind squiring you, Millie, but I draw the line at wholesale husband-hunting misses, however nice.”
“I’ll come,” Mr Chubb put in with a stoic air, then blushed and said pleadingly to Kitty, “if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, but you must not feel obliged, sir. Lieutenant Pendrell promised to accompany his sisters, so we shall not be without male protection.”
“I’ll come,” Mr Chubb repeated, this time with determination.
Lord Selworth sighed. “I daresay I had best go too, in case you need protection against this lieutenant chap. Females tend to fall for a dashing scarlet coat without considering what sort of scoundrel is wearing it.”
“Lieutenant Pendrell wears Rifle green,” Pippa informed him, “and he seems an inoffensive gentleman, not especially dashing.”
“Ha! the better to humbug you,” Lord Selworth said with a grin. “Do you go, Mrs Lisle, Bina?”
“Not if you will be there to guard the lambs against the wolf in rifleman’s clothing,” said Bina. “Mrs Lisle and I have plans to make.”
The Pendrells arrived shortly, the young ladies in a smart barouche, their brother riding. On horseback, though his uniform was green, not scarlet, the lieutenant had a dashing air absent in the drawing room.
His sisters were delighted to find two more gentlemen were to join their party, especially when they heard one was a lord. They fluttered their eyelashes at Lord Selworth, but accepted his utter lack of interest philosophically.
As Millicent said, the Misses Pendrell were nice girls. There was not a great deal more to say about them, Pippa reflected, greeting them as Lord Selworth handed her into the carriage to join them. At least on first acquaintance, she corrected herself charitably.
Respectively eighteen and seventeen years of age, Miss Pendrell and Miss Vanessa both had light brown hair, with rather vapid but not unattractive faces. Their clothes were smart, though with a tendency towards overadornment. They had an inexhaustible fund of chatter on clothes, the weather, entertainments, and the latest on-dit, without in any way rivalling Millicent. Millie, in her good-natured way, had already assured them that they might interrupt her without offence. Of this permission they availed themselves unstintingly.
As the barouche rolled towards St James’s Park, Pippa, feeling ancient, was free to marvel at the dullness of the conversation without needing to join in. Miss Pendrell, seated beside her facing forward, occasionally turned to her politely as if to solicit her opinion. Luckily she was satisfied with an “Indeed,” or a “Good gracious.”
Kitty appeared to be enjoying herself. When she glanced across at Pippa, it was with a sort of conspiratorial amusement. She could chatter away with the best of them, her eyes said, but was it not absurd?
At first the narrow streets, and then the busy traffic of Piccadilly prevented the gentlemen’s riding alongside. When the barouche turned down Constitution Hill, between Green Park and the tree-hidden gardens of Buckingham House, Lord Selworth and the lieutenant at once moved forward on either side.
“I hope the talk of walking was not a fudge,” Pippa said to the viscount in a low voice, though there was little fear of being overheard over Millicent’s prattle. “I am sorely in need of exercise after sitting in carriages and drawing rooms all day.”
“Do you ride?” he asked, ignoring Miss Vanessa Pendrell’s attempts to catch his attention. “What a great deal I don’t know about you!”
“How should you? No, I have never had a chance to learn to ride. I should have liked to learn, but I suppose I am too old now.”
“Old! Don’t let Bina hear you saying such a thing. I’d be glad to teach you—but London is no place to learn,” he added hastily. “I’m thinking of buying a tilbury. I shall be able to take you driving, then. Chubb’s set on a stanhope gig, says it’s more practical.”
“Why?”
“It has a larger boot. Some tilburys don’t have a boot at all.”
“The stanhope does sound more useful,” Pippa said, looking around for Mr Chubb.
“But a tilbury is more sporting,” Lord Selworth argued.
“If you want to be sporting, why not get a curricle? If you ever wish to use it for longer journeys, two horses are more practical than one. Oh, poor Mr Chubb!”
On the other side of the barouche, Lieutenant Pendrell had positioned his mount so as to monopolize Kitty. Mr Chubb lurked beyond, scarcely able to see her, far less to exchange a word. He looked downcast but resigned, as if the situation was just what he had expected.
Kitty was laughing merrily at something the officer had said to her. Pippa hoped her sister was too sensible to be swept off her feet by the glamour of a uniform.
“Chubby’s no dashing blade, just a thoroughly good sort,” said Lord Selworth.
“I do think you ought not to call him Chubby,” Pippa suggested tentatively. “I realize it comes from his name, but it cannot be comfortable having such a nickname. Whether it would be worse if he were actually chubby rather than thin as a rake, I cannot guess.”
He stared down at her, eyebrows raised, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “You have a point there, Miss Lisle. It dates from our schooldays, of course. Boys are not the most sensitive of creatures, I fear, and the habit stuck without ever being consciously considered.”
“It is really none of my business,” Pippa said in some confusion. “I beg your pardon.”
“No, no, I’m glad you mentioned it. You have not only a kind heart but a perceptive mind.”
Though pleased he should think her kind, Pippa did not at all wish him to see her as perceptive. To her relief, they came to the beginning of the Mall and Miss Pendrell called to the coachman to stop. They all got down to walk, the gentlemen leaving their horses with the coachman.
Lieutenant Pendrell at once offered Kitty his arm and they strolled off towards the lake. Mr Chubb turned towards Pippa, but Lord Selworth had already determinedly appropriated her, positively seizing her hand and laying it on his arm.
“I’m sorry to throw Chubb to the wolves,” he whispered, “but I’ll be dashed if I’ll sacrifice myself for him.”
“You are far better able to hold your own,” she reproved him, though she could not but be flattered by his preference for her company.
With an apprehensive glance at the three remaining young ladies, Mr Chubb decided to choose the devil he knew. “M-miss Warren,” he stammered with an uncertain gesture of his right hand.
Without a pause in the flow of words, Millicent smiled at him and took his arm. The Misses Pendrell cast hopeful looks at Lord Selworth, but he promptly adopted a Napoleonic pose with his free hand thrust between his coat buttons, and bent his head to speak to Pippa.
“Tell me when it’s safe to look up,” he hissed.
“You are a coxcomb, sir,” she responded, trying hard not to laugh.
Miss Pendrell hastened to take possession of Mr Chubb’s left arm, leaving Miss Vanessa to walk beside her. Bringing up the rear, Pippa saw Miss Pendrell address several questions to Mr Chubb. After a series of incoherent monosyllables in answer, she gave up and followed Millicent’s lead in talking past him as if he were not there.
“As long as he’s not expected to speak, he’ll live through it,” said the callous viscount. “Speaking of speech, I don’t suppo
se you have had a chance to finish reading mine. Bina said you were all sewing away last night to finish your new gowns. Which are very becoming!” he added quickly, with a sidelong inspection which swept Pippa from yellow-ribboned bonnet past shawl of Norwich silk to the frill round the hem of her buttercup muslin gown.
“I am persuaded, sir, that in spite of your sister’s mention of the sewing, you have not until this very moment spared the product so much as a glance.”
“Untrue, ma’am! At least,” he said with a rueful grin, “even if I failed to pin down the cause, I was—am—aware of your being in particularly good looks today.”
“Fine feathers make fine birds,” Pippa said tartly, but she was pleased with the compliment—only because the more he believed her concerned with her looks, the less he would suspect her secret. “Bina kindly did not mention that I was dismissed as a seamstress for bleeding onto my work.”
“Bleeding! You were hurt?”
“I did not mean to alarm you. I merely pricked my finger. Repeatedly. When it comes to needles I am all thumbs, I fear. However, my incompetence did allow me to finish reading your speech. Prometheus will soon be studying it.”
“You have sent it off to him already? Thank you. Can you tell me how much I owe him for postage? I don’t wish to leave him out of pocket for longer than need be.”
His request put Pippa in something of a quandary. She could not charge him for what had not been spent.
“I was not sure whether Prometheus would have sufficient funds at hand to pay postage for so many sheets,” she said. “Sending a packet by the stage, paying half in advance, is much cheaper, and you did say there was no real need for haste. It will be easier to reckon up the total at the end, when the work is all finished.” And she would have time to think up a reason not to accept any money.
He nodded. “As you wish. But you must promise to let me know at once if the delay in payment causes any difficulties. Tell me, when you said you are in need of exercise, is this what you had in mind?”
“Heavens no. I would not call this a walk, scarcely even a saunter.”
“A mere dawdle,” Lord Selworth agreed. “Let us see which way the others turn to circle the lake, and we shall go the opposite way.”