Partridge and the Peartree

by Patricia Kiyono

  The dance concluded, and the audience applauded politely. Desiree announced a short intermission, and the guests rose to chat and partake of the sumptuous refreshments spread on the banquet tables. Amelia wasn't particularly hungry or thirsty, but she rose, needing to stand and use her legs. As much as she loved writing, it caused her to sit for long periods of time. She didn't enjoy the small talk — it bored her. But she put on her public face, for her friend's sake. If nothing else, perhaps she could get some fodder for her next book.

  "Excuse me, miss."

  She spun around, and her eyes locked with the same mesmerizing gaze from the bookstore. He seemed even taller than he had that afternoon, and in his formal dress he looked quite dashing. "Yes?"

  "I believe you dropped this." He held out a satin scarf. She'd forgotten she'd removed it during the recital.

  "Thank you, sir. Once again, you've come to my aid, saving me from my clumsiness."

  "I was in the way. I should know better than to stand in one spot in the bookstore."

  Amelia put a finger to her lips. "Shh. My brother doesn't approve of me frequenting that shop. It's not in a fashionable area of town."

  He nodded. "I understand. Incident forgotten."

  Desiree, ever the hostess, appeared suddenly. "Phillip, I see you've met my dear friend, Lady Amelia Partridge. Amelia, this is my brother, the Duke of Bartlett."

  Phillip bowed deeply. "How do you, do, Lady Amelia?"

  Amelia curtseyed. "I'm honored to meet you, Your Grace."

  "I am surprised we haven't met before. Have you and my sister been friends for a long time?"

  Desiree chuckled and touched his arm, causing him to turn his attention back to her. "How diplomatic, Phillip. You can see Amelia is closer to Laurel's age than mine. Amelia is a fellow member of the Ladies' Literary Society, and she's been a boon to us. She has a way with words, and has written our newsletter and other promotional tracts for our organization."

  Phillip turned back to Amelia. "Very impressive, Lady Amelia. The Literary Society is one of my sister's passions, and anyone who forwards their cause is a treasure."

  Amelia felt her face warm, and she scolded herself. She was normally immune to flattery, but the duke's praise made her feel almost giddy. Why was she acting like a silly, lovesick schoolgirl? She held herself regally and just managed to keep her voice from rising to a giggly pitch. "Thank you. I am honored to be associated with such a worthy cause."

  "May I fetch some refreshments for you ladies?" Phillip offered.

  Desiree nodded. "Thank you, Phillip. I would love some tea."

  Amelia shook her head. "Nothing for me, thank you."

  As soon as Phillip left, Desiree laid her hand on Amelia's arm. "Thank you so much for coming, Amelia. Laurel and Merilee both look up to you."

  "How kind of you to say so, Lady Milburn."

  "Please call me Desiree. Let me introduce you to another friend of mine, Lady Diane. Well, it's something like that. She's French, and I can never pronounce her name to suit her. I understand you speak her language..."

  Lady Dionne, betrothed to the Earl of Warwick, stood off to the side of the room, next to her fiancé. The beautiful young girl brightened considerably when Amelia began a conversation in her native tongue.

  ****

  A few minutes later, Phillip handed his sister a cup of tea.

  "What do you think of her?" Desiree demanded.

  "Who?"

  "Amelia, you twit. Isn't she lovely?"

  "Of course."

  "You two have a lot in common. But she's quite headstrong."

  "I didn't realize you had set up shop as a matchmaker. Besides, I thought she was married."

  "Amelia? No, she's happily unattached. As you are," she added when Phillip started a retort. "And I think both of you would be even happier with someone to share your interests."

  "Put away those dreams, Desiree. If she's going to be happy with a man, you will need to find someone else for her."

  "Not interested?"

  "Not — qualified."

  Desiree's brows rose, but she said nothing.

  ****

  Amelia enjoyed her conversation with the future countess, but her mind was on the handsome duke across the room. How had she not recognized him? Had the incident that caused his scars kept him bedridden? Her curiosity was stemmed when Desiree rose to the platform to gather her guests for the second half of the program.

  "Dear guests, the performers have made their costume changes and are ready for the second half of the program. Please be kind enough to take your seats."

  The audience members made their way back to their chairs, but a shrill voice from the ballroom's entrance had them freezing mid-step. Amelia recognized the voice and winced as everyone swiveled to see what had caused the commotion.

  Edward Partridge, Earl of Sudbury, had arrived, along with his fiancée. The poor servant who'd had the misfortune to take her cloak cringed in front of her as she fired a barrage of insults at him.

  "Don't hold my cloak like that! Have you no sense at all? You are crushing the fabric. Edward, we will have to bring my servants here from France. They know how to take care of fine clothing!"

  Edward tried desperately to end her outburst. "Yes, my dear," he answered quietly. "Why don't I take your cloak for now?"

  "Never mind. I will buy a new one when I go back to Paris. I need something to drink after the ride in that dreadful carriage. Where is the wine steward?"

  One of the waiters hadn't disappeared quickly enough. "Ah, there he is! Please come and bring a glass for Mademoiselle Colette." The earl's voice sounded across the ballroom. The rest of the guests, having already given up their drinks, resigned themselves to waiting for her. The young servant cautiously approached her with his tray, holding it as far from him as he could.

  "This is French wine, no?"

  "Yes, mademoiselle." It wasn't, but the young man was in no mood to invoke her wrath.

  Colette sipped and breathed a sigh of satisfaction. "Only the French know how to make a proper wine." She savored the flavor, pointedly ignoring the impatient stares around her.

  She took her time, knowing full well she was holding up the concert. When she finally finished, she took the earl's arm and walked regally toward the stage. She stopped when they got to the seats.

  "Edward, surely you do not expect me to sit on such awful chairs?"

  If Edward was mortified at his fiancée's question, he contained it well. He looked around him and spied a love seat along the edge of the room.

  "Will that do, my love?"

  Colette sighed heavily. "I suppose it will have to do. Have them bring it over here." She pointed to the front of the stage.

  There were several gasps from the other guests. And then murmurs. How dare she sit right in front, after having made everyone else wait for her?

  But Colette was oblivious to the hateful stares and mumbling. She waited for the hastily summoned servants to move the love seat.

  "Edward, you will have to sit on the left, so I do not have to see that horrible looking man." Though Colette's statement was uttered in a stage whisper, it was clearly heard in the waiting silence.

  Amelia stood, stepped behind her seat, and lifted her chair.

  "My dear Amelia, whatever are you doing?" Edward asked. "There's no need to move your chair. I believe there is plenty of room for this in front of you."

  Amelia plastered on a semblance of a smile for her brother. "Perhaps there is, Edward, but I believe Mademoiselle Colette would be much more comfortable if I move my chair. That will, er, give her more leg room."

  Phillip popped up from his seat. "Allow me to assist you."

  Amelia started at Phillip's announcement. She hadn't expected help. She simply wanted to watch the program without a view of Colette and the love seat in front of her. The chair wasn't heavy, though a bit unwieldy. But Phillip took her chair with one hand and his own with the other, and walked ten feet to their left. He set both
chairs down then gestured for her to resume her seat.

  A flurry of activity had her turning her head and nearly gasping with surprise. The entire audience followed Phillip's suit, wordlessly moving their own seats approximately ten feet to the left. The action left Colette and Edward sitting alone on one side of the stage, and the rest of the party on the other.

  Desiree, standing on the edge of the stage, watched the proceedings without comment, though Amelia thought she noted a smirk on her lovely face. Laurel and Merilee, having already taken their places on the stage, cast curious looks as they observed their audience's migration to one side. They were young, but they knew the significance of the action. It was as good as a cut.

  As soon as the group re-settled, Desiree clapped her hands for attention. "Dear friends, thank you for returning. The Linden girls have some more entertainment for you. They will now perform together the Andante movement from Mozart's Piano for Four Hands in D Major."

  The girls plunged into their music as if to stave off another disruption. Amelia stole a glance to her right. Colette lounged regally in the love seat, either blissfully unaware of — or stubbornly unconcerned about — the discontent she had caused. But Edward, seated in a regular chair beside her, squirmed uncomfortably. He knew the audience had snubbed him. Hopefully he had finally come to his senses and realized the damage his fiancée could do to him.

  She turned her attention back toward the stage. Beside her, the tall man sat, at a respectful distance from her, yet so close the nearness produced heat.

  Perhaps she needed to wear lighter clothing.

  Chapter Four

  Amelia settled her bonnet over her curls and reached for her gloves. She didn't call for Jeanne. Getting herself dressed for an outing, especially when the weather outside was sunny and relatively warm, wasn't that difficult. It had always seemed a waste of time to wait for servants to assist her with tasks she was perfectly capable of doing on her own. Besides, if Jeanne knew she was going out, the rest of the household would find out, and she didn't want everyone knowing about her excursion.

  She had almost reached the gate at the street when a dreaded voice from the house halted her.

  "Lady Amelia!"

  She froze. Marks, the butler, was a stickler for convention. As a woman — especially an unmarried woman — she shouldn't leave the house unattended. But a companion would slow her down and make it more difficult to go and do as she wished.

  "Lady Amelia, Giles is ready to accompany you. Kindly wait a moment." He didn't have to add a reprimand, though displeasure was evident in his voice. There would be a dressing down later on, from her brother.

  Seconds later, the gangly young footman rounded the house from the servants' entrance, hastily adjusting his hat as he ran. He skidded to a stop a respectful three paces from Amelia and bowed respectfully.

  "Apologies, my lady, for keeping you waiting."

  Amelia suppressed a sigh and resumed her walk toward the street.

  "Lady Amelia, please allow me to carry your satchel for you."

  She paused. The satchel wasn't especially heavy, but it was large and awkward.

  "Thank you, Giles," she said as she handed the bag to him. "But you must let me take it myself into the, er, establishment where we are going."

  The young man frowned but nodded.

  Amelia led the way, plotting as she went. Though she usually took time to observe the changing of the seasons, today her mind focused on one thing: how to get rid of Giles. The young footman was relatively inexperienced, so it should be easy to dupe him.

  She took a circular route, hoping to lull her companion into thinking she was merely out for a stroll. Pausing at a popular milliner's, she made a show of looking in the window then turned to the young footman.

  "I think I'll go in here for a while. I need a new hat. I'll take the satchel now. You may wait for me out here."

  Giles bowed his acquiescence and handed the satchel to her. She hoped he wouldn't question her need for a satchel in the milliner's shop, and like a good servant, he didn't. At least not aloud.

  She carried the satchel into the shop. Madame LeFevre, the proprietor, rose to greet her potential customer.

  "Bon jour, mademoiselle."

  "Bon jour, Madame LeFevre. I wish to place an order for a hat. Er, something to go with my new winter cloak."

  "Oui, mademoiselle. Ze new cloak, it is in your bag?"

  "My bag? Oh, no. I, er, forgot to bring it along. But it's... blue."

  "Blue is an excellent color for you, mademoiselle. What shade of blue?"

  "Ah, it's…a deep blue. Rather like—" She cast a quick glance around the shop, and her eyes caught a bright, peacock blue felt hat. "That one."

  Madame blinked, obviously swallowing her distaste. "Oui, mademoiselle. Ze entire cloak is that color?"

  "Perhaps I should return another day and bring the cloak with me. Forgive me for wasting your time this morning. I'll just get going." She strode toward the back of the shop.

  "Er, mademoiselle? Ze door is this way."

  "Yes, but my next errand is on the street behind your shop. If you don't mind, I'll just use your side entrance to get there more quickly. Thank you for your time." She scooted out the door, mindful of the lady's stare. She probably wouldn't be back, at least not this season. But she'd accomplished her goal and left Giles waiting at the front entrance. Hopefully, she'd have her errand completed by the time he realized her duplicity.

  The side entrance of the shop emptied on a quiet street. No traffic here, but Amelia cast a cautious look about her before proceeding. She had an important errand, and nothing was to be gained by dawdling.

  With renewed purpose, she marched toward her destination. She arrived at the offices of Culpepper and Winston Publishing without incident and presented herself for her appointment.

  Phineas Culpepper looked up from his ledger at Amelia's entrance. "Prompt, as always, Lady Amelia."

  "Of course, Mr. Culpepper. I've brought the edited manuscript, as you requested." Reaching in her borrowed satchel, she removed the bulky package and handed it to the editor. "I trust the revisions I've made will be suitable for your markets."

  "I'm certain they will be. You're an excellent writer, as I'm sure you've been told."

  She hadn't been told that. No one but the editor knew of her double life, but that was all right with her. She was able to get much more fodder for her stories when people didn't think their dirty laundry would be featured in a book.

  Mr. Culpepper opened his desk, pulled out a thick envelope, and handed it to her. "Here are your earnings for the past month. Your romance stories are so popular I have my printer working six days a week now."

  Amelia took the envelope and hefted it to gauge its weight. Her eyebrows rose and she drew a quick inward breath. "I had no idea my stories were this successful."

  Mr. Culpepper chuckled. "Thanks to you, I may be soon able to move my operations to a more respectable area of the city." He paused and studied her over the rim of his spectacles. "You did bring someone with you this time, didn't you?"

  "Oh, yes," she reassured him. "He is waiting for me at the door."

  She wasn't actually lying, she told herself. Giles truly was waiting for her at the door. Just not at the door to Culpepper and Winston.

  Stepping out on to the street, Amelia walked with a light step toward the millinery. Her mind whirled with the impact of the news Mr. Jones had given her. With the income from writing, she could afford to live on her own. Edward had agreed to set her up in a small house on the outskirts of London, with a minimal household staff, but she would need her own money.

  She could just imagine what would happen if her staid and proper brother heard of her secret career as a writer. Even though Edward was six years her junior, he acted more like he was sixteen years older. Perhaps having had to take over the title at the tender age of twenty had soured him. Whatever the reason, he'd taken his duty seriously, and in turn he expected all in his ho
usehold to behave properly. It was well known that not a hint of scandal had ever been associated with the House of Partridge. Now everyone – including Amelia – wondered why he had he aligned himself with a flamboyant and unpleasant woman like Colette.

  Lost in her thoughts, she failed to notice a trio of street urchins loitering nearby. A silent nod from the tallest one had them following Amelia, who suddenly found herself surrounded. Her hands instinctively lifted to her chest, and she clutched her reticule and satchel closely.

  "Beggin' the lady's pardon, but methinks ye might 'ave a spare coin 'r two in that little bag 'o yers. Ye wouldn't want ter see the loiks of us starvin' now, would ye?"

  Amelia schooled her features into a calm she didn't feel. "Kindly let me pass, please."

  The leader tipped his head back and howled. "As soon as ye 'kindly' give us yer coins, we'll 'kindly' let ye pass!"

  "You boys will need to find a more honest method of getting your money," she told them. "Otherwise I shall have to seek assistance from that constable over on the next corner."

  The younger boys started to back away, but their leader was undeterred. "There's no officer on the next corner. Yer jus' tryin' ter distract me so's I'd look away and you kin scoot off."

  Amelia searched her brain for a way to escape, but a deep, masculine voice stopped them all.

  "Leave the lady alone."

  Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. The duke! But the ringleader was undeterred. "And 'oo're ye to threaten me, mister? It's one a' ye aginst three."

  "On the contrary, there are two of us. And the lady was correct, there is a constable on the next street." At the second male voice, the two younger urchins disappeared, and the leader found himself facing Phillip and his valet alone. The lad's bravado faded, but only for a moment. Raising his cap, he executed an exaggerated bow and gave her a cheeky grin.

  "Beggin' yer pardon, miss, I didn't know ye were travelin' under the gentleman's protection. I'll be off now," he said. And he scooted back into the shadows.