by Allison Lane
“He has yet to agree, though he is no longer protesting. I must thank you for talking with him that day.”
“Were you really able to persuade him?” asked a surprised Emily.
“It was nothing,” demurred Carolyn.
“Fustian. He has been a different man since,” explained Helena. “Carolyn presented all the appropriate arguments, wisely citing observations of Lord Waite and your parents rather than her own experiences. I have heard nothing about consequence since, though I suspect he is discussing the idea at his clubs.”
“Things were easier once I discovered that Waite was a neighbor and had been a close friend of his father. He should find little support for his top-lofty objections. Even those who disagree with education seldom cite consequence. And he so readily adopts changing agricultural methods that he is bound to agree in the end.” Unless someone scared him silly with fears that education would lead to insurrection.
“I hope so,” murmured Helena as their partners approached for the next set.
“What is bothering you tonight?” Jeremy asked at supper. “You seem unusually quiet.”
Caroline sighed in resignation. Was she really that easy to read? Her close friends always seemed to know what she was feeling. Drew’s unexpected perception had been disconcerting, though he was right to think she had needed a good cry.
“Nothing serious,” she tried. “I suffered a slight mishap this morning and am a little stiff as a result.”
“What happened?”
“A footman tripped, sending a settee tumbling down the stairs, narrowly missing me.”
“Good heavens! Are you all right? How could such a thing occur?”
“I am fine, Jeremy, but the details are a bit hazy. Thomas left just afterward so I do not know precisely how it all came about.”
“He was there?”
“Yes.”
But Jeremy must have noticed something in her expression, because he frowned. “You cannot believe that he had anything to do with it.”
“Of course not,” she denied, but her voice wavered.
“He would never consider such a thing.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself,” she declared. “But you know how things stand with him. He considers me a millstone now that Alicia is free.”
“He is a fool to continue adoring her when he has you,” snorted Jeremy. “But obsession is blind. To some extent I can sympathize with him. Though the fair Alicia never appealed to me, I too fell in love last Season.”
“What happened?”
“She turned me down. Claimed I did not know her at all. And she was right. Infatuation had blinded me to her real character. I saw only what I wanted to see. She wasn’t at all like I believed. She married Wrexham last summer and is ecstatically happy by all reports. Produced an heir just last month. It’s too bad Thomas has not learned the truth about his inamorata, for I cannot believe he sees her clearly. I don’t suppose you could tell him.”
“Surely you jest!” exclaimed Caroline, chuckling at the idea. “How can a wife approach her husband to inform him – strictly for his own good – that the woman he loves is a scheming, selfish, bad-tempered harridan, who has probably enjoyed the favors of more men than he has women in his long career as a rake?”
“Is she really that bad?” Jeremy laughed in turn.
“See? Even you don’t believe me. Yes, she is.” And she described the scene at the modiste’s and several similar occurrences Emily had related. “And you cannot be ignorant of her reputation, though somehow Thomas remains so.”
“Good Lord!” gasped Jeremy. “But surely he will discover her true nature.”
“Perhaps, if given enough time. But his brain ceases to function whenever she is around, and he never questions his devotion otherwise. Nor can I imagine him ever admitting to a mistake in judgment. He possesses a stubborn single-mindedness that sets a goal, then pursues it relentlessly without ever again questioning whether it is worthy or whether he still desires it.”
“Too true,” sighed Jeremy. “He has ever had that problem. I can remember when we first came down from Oxford. He bought a horse at Tattersall’s. Beautiful animal, but about as sound as a house with dry rot. Immediately obvious to everyone else, of course, but would he agree? No. Even after he replaced it with that black stallion he rides now, he never admitted that the original was a mistake. Always claims he switched because he wanted a horse he could put to stud.”
“Maybe there is hope, then.” Caroline surprised him with this observation. “He may not have admitted the mistake, but he obviously learned his lesson. Everything he owns now is prime blood.”
This conversation restored at least some of her hope for the future. If she remained patient, Thomas would learn for himself what Alicia was really like. She would never expect him to apologize for his behavior or even to admit that he was making a cake of himself over someone unworthy. But he would eventually turn to her. She had to believe that.
In the meantime, she continued her own social schedule, accepting Thomas’s public attentions in the spirit in which they were offered. He had mellowed, seeming less icy, though she did not believe that the fundamental problem had eased. She was unable to find any way to pursue her goals at home, but maintained her optimism. Something would turn up.
* * * *
“Hello, Thomas,” George called when his friend wandered into White’s one afternoon. “How about sharing a bottle over a couple of hands of piquet?”
“Only a couple?” asked Thomas, dropping into the opposite chair.
“I have to visit my tailor. Usual stakes?”
He nodded.
George frowned. “You look a mite down today. Problems?”
Thomas shrugged, but no one was close enough to hear. Picking up a deck of cards, he began shuffling. “I’ve made a royal mess of my life,” he admitted while George cut. “And I’ve been unfair to Caroline – you see, I can admit mistakes.”
George remained passive with an effort.
“But it seems too late to make it up to her. She hardly ever speaks to me these days.”
“That doesn’t sound like Caroline,” protested George. “She is not the type to hold a grudge, and a more forgiving nature I have yet to meet. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing!” But his voice lacked conviction. “I really did not instigate that accident, you know.”
“What accident?”
“She didn’t tell you? She came close to being killed last week.” At George’s gasp of surprise, he related the details of the mishap on the stairs. “I cannot believe she suspects I caused it, yet she is so distant these days, and her eyes wonder.”
“No, I too cannot believe she harbors suspicions,” agreed George. If anything, she was madly in love with her undeserving husband. “Yet your behavior could suggest such a thing to a less scrupulous mind. We both know where your heart lies and so does Caroline.”
“God, what am I going to do, George? Some days I truly believe I am mad.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Perhaps you need to distance yourself from the lady,” suggested George with great daring. “Then you can evaluate the situation with an open mind. You might discover she is an ordinary beauty rather than a goddess.”
He dared hint no further for anger already suffused Thomas’s eyes. How could the man remain so blind? Rumor credited her with three regular lovers and innumerable casual liaisons. Since Darnley’s death there had been a steady parade of gentlemen through her room. He knew courtesans who entertained less. But he had to admit that Thomas would be the last to hear such stories. Few people dared mention Alicia to him.
He let the subject drop and examined his unpromising hand. He had not seen anything this bad in months. Drawing the full complement of five replacement cards changed nothing. “Have you seen any good horses lately?”
Thomas’s expression lightened as he considered his own hand. “Not since young Delaney bid such an exorbitant amou
nt for the pair I wanted. I hope the lad has a good trainer. They were barely half broken.”
“I don’t know about his groom, but he has to be the most cow-handed driver I’ve ever laid eyes on. They spent Christmas with us if you recall. While his twin sister batted her lashes at me, he was out ditching a dogcart pulled by a placid pony along a wide, dry lane.”
“You can’t be serious. Caroline could drive better than that after one lesson, and she had never sat on a box before.” Pride threaded the words, raising another speculative glance from George.
“If the horses are as green as you say, we’d best pray he doesn’t drive them in town.”
“What is he doing in town anyway? He cannot yet be eighteen. I would have thought he was still in school.”
“What a miserable hand!” George tossed his cards down. “I concede. He was sent down for some prank or other. A pig in the bagwig’s rooms or a bear in the belltower – something like that.”
“Were we ever that young?”
“I seem to recall an incident concerning a certain tutor and two goats. Of course, the perpetrator was never discovered. Cut.” George had been busily reshuffling.
Thomas laughed in remembrance. “Not to mention the unsolved mystery of how the hedgehogs got into Wrexham’s boots. Who are you backing at next week’s races?”
They discussed horses while playing out the next hand.
“Damn,” muttered Thomas as George won the last trick. “I should have discarded the diamond.”
Hold that thought, begged George, but he dared not voice the command aloud. “You still take the day. That first hand was a killer.” He tossed down a couple of coins and excused himself.
Setting out at a brisk walk, George traversed St. James’s, heading for Bond Street. Was Alicia’s hold finally beginning to slip? This was the first time Thomas had admitted that his treatment of Caroline was both shabby and undeserved. George hated seeing two of his closest friends at loggerheads, especially when they were so well suited.
But his cogitations ceased when a terrifying spectacle greeted his eyes. A high-perch phaeton careened around the corner, its seat precariously balanced a good six feet above the ground, two wild-eyed chestnuts in the traces. No whip would drive so fast along a crowded street, he realized just before he identified the driver.
Lawrence Delaney.
“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, already darting toward a door to protect his hide from the inevitable disaster. He dared not shout a warning. The horses were barely under control as things stood.
Perhaps the lad would escape unscathed.
He prayed.
But Fate had other ideas. A cat tore out of an alley, a yapping terrier on its heels. Shouts rose as the creatures threaded the crowd.
The sudden din proved too much for Delaney. His horses bolted in terror. Sawing on the ribbons merely swerved them toward the sidewalk, overturning his phaeton and pinning several pedestrians beneath the wreckage. Delaney landed against a brick wall, one leg broken and his head concussed.
“Somebody fetch Dr. Mantry,” shouted George, as he ran to help.
It took the efforts of six gentlemen before the horses were finally under control.
Chapter 15
Caroline always enjoyed paying afternoon calls with Emily. It was far more entertaining than making the rounds with the countess, for Emily patronized young matrons.
“Did you see Miss Fielding’s face last night?” Emily pursed her lips as her town carriage rumbled along the cobbled street. “If ever anyone looked thoroughly kissed! That girl had better learn to control her countenance if she plans any more assignations in the garden.”
“Meaning that one should not allow a gentleman to make improper advances unless one can appear cool and bored afterward?”
“Something like that. She can probably get away with it this time, but if it happens again, she will be thought fast. Did you hear about Lord Packford and the pigeons yesterday?”
“Not only heard. I was there, and nearly fell out of Jeremy’s curricle I was laughing so hard and trying to remain ladylike about it. You know how puffed Packford is.”
“Lord, yes. He makes Mama seem positively plebeian. And his cravats rival Robert’s.”
“Not anymore. He was sauntering along with his nose in the air, face twisted into that pained expression he adopts in the mistaken belief that it radiates boredom – I swear, he looks more like a colicky babe than anything else.”
Emily giggled.
“Well, there he was, pointedly ignoring those whom he thought socially inferior, when along came a flock of pigeons.”
Emily burst into laughter.
“At least ten of them,” continued Caroline, giggling in turn. “Big, fat pigeons. One by one, they swooped d-down and s-soiled his c-coat. You should have seen his f-face! One of them hit his n-nose!” And she succumbed to hilarity, only a desperate grip on the strap keeping her in her seat.
Tears rolled down Emily’s cheeks, and she pulled out a lacy handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the flow. Caroline followed suit.
The carriage pulled to a halt before Stafford House, and a footman let down the steps. Quelling their laughter, they composed their faces into social smiles suitable for afternoon calls and descended.
Stafford House was elegantly appointed, Lady Stafford favoring a classical style with simple lines and rich colors. The butler led the way upstairs to the drawing room.
“Well, he may be more circumspect, but young Mannering is still hanging out after that shocking Darnley wench. Lady Sefton saw him calling on her just the other day,” boomed Lady Beatrice.
“Given their respective reputations, it is not to be wondered at,” agreed another. “He has ever been a rake and she is certainly no better than she should be.”
“Lady Wembley and Mrs. Mannering,” intoned the butler as they arrived in the doorway.
“Welcome,” said Lady Stafford. Not a single social smile hinted that they had been discussing Thomas moments before. Greetings were exchanged and Caroline found herself sitting next to Lady Beatrice.
“And what has that husband of yours been up to lately?” probed the dowager slyly. “I have not seen him for several days.”
“We attended the Harris ball and the opera, but mostly he is pursuing horses and finding it most frustrating.” The best course was to confront the gossip, offering an explanation for that most public call. Hopefully Lady Sefton’s view had not included Alicia’s intimate caress. Caroline firmly pushed her own searing memories aside.
“Tattersall’s does not have any horses that meet his needs,” she continued. “Have you ever heard of such a thing? Nor has he been able to find what he wants from private sellers. Westhaven has three colts but none are suitable for hunting. And Lady Darnley asked him to evaluate her late husband’s stable before she puts it up for auction, but he declined to buy. The viscount had a deplorable eye for horseflesh – surprising in one so closely related to Graylock.”
“You will not find it surprising by the time you reach my age,” snorted Lady Beatrice. “Men will never seek advice, having such exaggerated opinions of their own abilities.”
“True, though that has never been one of Mr. Mannering’s failings. He has often consulted Graylock and others to ensure the success of his own venture.”
“Sounds like a man of unusual sense.” Her voice could not hide surprise at this conclusion.
“I have found him so, and the last year has matured him to a remarkable degree. Fortunately.”
“You know about last year?” prodded Lady Beatrice.
“Of course. He made quite a cake of himself. Little boys...” She ruefully shook her head. “He is horribly embarrassed to be reminded of how silly he was. But at least the lady was beautiful. I’d hate to have a husband who had turned mooncalf over an antidote.” She offered her lies with a perfectly straight face. Thomas might rue the day he was forced to marry her, but the least she could do was prot
ect his reputation. It was the only way she could express her love. And his credit could not stand another beating. Without a title he would never recoup a second time.
“Lady Horseley,” intoned the butler, again appearing in the door. The new arrival greeted those already gathered, two earlier visitors took their leave, and the footmen again passed refreshments.
“There has just been a shocking carriage accident over on St. James’s,” Lady Horseley announced. “Young Delaney lost control of that new team of his and overturned his phaeton.”
“Goodness!” exclaimed Lady Stafford. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Delaney broke his leg, according to Lord Ashton. He came on the scene just after it happened and helped calm the team. And apparently a couple of others were knocked down.”
“Wembley has often decried that boy’s driving,” declared Emily. “What is his father about to allow such pranks?”
“Lord Delaney was no better,” put in Lady Beatrice. “I recall similar incidents from his own youth. He once ditched your father, Lady Stafford.”
The hostess giggled at the thought.
“Yes,” added Lady Pembroke, “and there was quite a commotion when he was refused membership in the Four-in-Hand Club. He swore it was due solely to his Irish background, unwilling to admit that only top sawyers are accepted, and he could never hope to qualify.”
“At least if young Lawrence is laid up with a broken leg, we will be safe on the streets,” commented Lady Stafford. “That phaeton of his would be hard for even a good whip to handle. Boys should be barred from driving such vehicles.”
“And his horses were barely trained,” Caroline added. “Mr. Mannering had hoped to buy them with the idea that a year of work would turn them into a reliable team. But Delaney offered an exorbitant price, nearly double their value.”
“Cubs will ever behave recklessly.” Lady Beatrice sighed dismissively. “Remember the scrape Albright drove into three Seasons ago?”
“Of course. Ran his carriage into the Serpentine during the afternoon promenade. Miss Severton had hysterics for days and never forgave him. Until then we all thought they would make a match of it.”