by Jane Toombs
"Ah, perhaps Mr. Willoughby does not,” a nasal voice said, “but I do.” A man's form materialized out of the darkness.
"Lord Alton,” Justine said. “You do seem to have the knack of appearing from out of nowhere."
At that moment there was a sudden sigh from the other watchers on the hill and, looking heavenward, Justine saw that the Earth's shadow had taken its first small bite from the side of the moon.
"The eclipse commences,” Lord Alton announced as he bowed to Justine and Prudence. “When the dragon begins to devour the moon, disaster threatens. Or so I was told the ancients believed."
"Leading their medicine men to beat on drums, kettles, pans, and gongs to frighten the dragon away."
Lord Alton smiled. “And since they were always successful in returning the moon to its original glory, they must have been hailed as saviors."
How very strange and confusing our sensibilities are, Justine thought as she nodded. While Lord Alton had never said or done the least thing to give her offense, she found his presence off-putting, for he always succeeded in making her feel ill-at-ease. Quentin, on the other hand, seemed to delight in vexing her with behavior that was quite outside of enough, and yet, when not goaded to fury by his willful arrogance, she rather enjoyed his company.
"Extinguish the torches!” Rodgers called and, one by one, the fires were snuffed until the only light on the hilltop came from the soft silver glow of the moon and the stars.
"I believe, Mrs. Baldwin,” Lord Alton told Prudence, “I just now observed Mr. Kinsdale searching for you but all in vain."
Prudence looked eagerly about. Her gaze returned to Lord Alton with a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “If so, I do believe he shall find me in time."
Lord Alton inclined his head to the older woman before directing his attention to Justine. “I do happen to be acquainted with most of our northern constellations,” he told her with a glance overhead, “with the hunter in the sky, Orion, with Cassiopeia, the lady in the chair, and my personal favorite, Draco, the dragon. Perhaps the same dragon who at this moment is attempting to devour the moon."
"Either a dragon or a serpent,” Justine put in.
"Around and around Polaris it circles, the dragon, or the serpent if you will, in pursuit of the fair maiden Cassiopeia. And all, alas, in vain."
"As the devil in the guise of a serpent pursued Eve in the Garden of Eden."
"Did Satan actually pursue Eve? I would say he was much too clever to pursue her. Rather, he enticed her, tricked her. And with much greater success than his heavenly counterpart has ever had."
"Are you saying, Lord Alton, that earth-bound women are more susceptible to the flattery and wiles of men than heavenly ones? Some of them may be, but I assure you, not all are."
He smiled. “Including, I presume, yourself."
Before she could answer, John Willoughby, accompanied by his sister, appeared from the shadows carrying three glasses of punch. Lord Alton greeted the newcomers with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Directing a final unsettling glance at Justine, he walked away.
As the moon slowly darkened, others came and went—Ogden Stewart, declaring the excursion to Round Hill to be a monstrous waste of time; Daphne Gauthier, all aflutter; and finally Gerard Kinsdale, offering a spate of apologies for having neglected Prudence for such an unconscionable length of time.
Gerard, with a promise of a better vantage point from which to view the climax of the eclipse, offered Prudence his arm. Justine started to follow them. Seeing them engrossed in one another, she purposely lagged behind. When she looked above her, she discovered the moon was now completely darkened by the Earth's shadow.
"Miss Riggs."
At the sound of his voice, she swung around, stifling a gasp.
"Have you ever considered,” Quentin asked softly, “that these few moments, with the Earth wrapped in this unnatural darkness, might be a brief season of magic when our most unlikely dreams become possible? A precious time when we can set aside our normal humdrum selves? When we can behave on impulse without later having any regrets, without suffering any consequences?"
No, she told herself, she would not be seduced by his soft words. “And is this a time,” she asked tartly, “when gentlemen such as yourself over-indulge in the punch, Lord Devon?"
"Are you always sharp-tongued, Miss Riggs, even on such a special night as this? How can you be so mundane in the presence of this heavenly spectacle?"
"A total eclipse of the moon may be a relatively rare occurrence, but it happens to be a perfectly natural phenomenon during which the shadow of the—"
"And the Big Dipper is properly called Ursa Major and the Little Dipper is properly known as—"
"You were eavesdropping!"
"Not at all. John Willoughby was kind enough to pass on your informative comments to me, undoubtedly in a vain attempt to educate me in some of the intricacies of astronomy.” He paused. “Do you view every man you meet as a challenge of some sort? As someone you must defeat, whether by outracing him astride a steed or outshooting him in an archery contest or in a battle pitting your knowledge against his?"
How outrageous he was. Stung by the injustice of his accusations, she said, “I happen to be quite satisfied with the way I am and so I have no intention of trying to change. Not for John Willoughby or for you or for anyone else."
When he stepped toward her, a looming dark silhouette, his expression hidden by the darkness, her breath caught and her pulses raced. “If you—” She stopped in a vain attempt to compose herself enough to keep her voice level. “If you find me so lacking in feminine traits, why do you even bother wasting your valuable time trying to improve me?"
He sighed. “Because, for some reason I seem unable to help myself."
Reaching to her, he took her hand in his and started to raise her gloved palm to her lips.
Justine snatched her hand away. She felt his hands close on her waist, his fingers almost circling her body. Even as she tugged at his wrists to push him away, he gathered her into his arms, his fingers sliding up her back to caress the nape of her neck. His lips brushed her cheek before closing over her mouth in a savage, demanding kiss.
Savoring the warmth of his embrace and the enticing sweetness of his lips, for a moment she surrendered herself to him and, despite herself, returned his kiss. And then, giving a strangled cry, she broke free and ran from him into the darkness.
CHAPTER 8
On the following morning, Prudence, Daphne, and Gerard entered the Manor drawing room only to find a Kinsdale maid standing on a chair using a piece of heavy cloth attached to a stick to swat at a cluster of flies on the panes of one of the long windows. A second maid waited below her to catch the dazed victims in a wide-mouthed glass jar. Other flies buzzed about the room.
"That fly-killer is one of my inventions,” Gerard said proudly.
Prudence shook her head, drawing back in alarm, her hand clutching the lace neckline of her rose taffeta gown. “They do say flies carry disease."
"Then we shall adjourn to the library.” Gerard offered the two ladies his arms and they crossed the hall to the book room with its tier upon tier of volumes bound in vellum and tooled leather.
Once they were seated in a semi-circle facing the fireplace, Prudence looked shyly from one to the other, hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I do so need your help,” she said, going on to describe the dilemma created by Justine's hoydenish ways. “The poor thing suffered the misfortune of being raised not as a girl but as a boy. Now that she has reached a marriageable age, her boyish ways are, to say the least, a problem. Rather than being attracted to her, gentlemen are put off."
"Lord Alton gave no evidence of being put off,” Daphne objected. “In fact, he appeared quite intrigued by Justine's skill at archery. Not,” she added hastily, “that I suggest him as a possible suitor. He is, after all, a member of the peerage."
"And, though I scarcely know the man,” Gerard said, “I suspect he covets his single bless
edness and therefore whatever interest he may have in Miss Riggs has very little to do with matrimony."
Daphne sighed. “Unfortunately most men are so inclined. We members of the weaker sex must encourage them to realize the error of their ways by encouraging them to consider a more permanent arrangement."
Prudence shook her head. “I fear we digress. The question is, who would be an appropriate suitor for Justine rather than who would not."
"The stars told me,” Daphne said, “that young John Willoughby would be ideal and, at first, he appeared rather enamored. But after Justine bested him in the archery contest his interest, quite naturally, seemed to flag."
"I watched the two of them together,” Gerard said, “and in my opinion the young lady offered Willoughby little encouragement. In fact, she offered him none at all. My view, of course, comes from someone who has been perched on a rather out-of-the-way shelf for many, many years and so you, Prudence, and you, Daphne, are much more qualified to judge these affairs of the heart."
Prudence shook her head. “Alas, the state of my health"—she glanced at Gerard and, as if regretting her hasty words, quickly added—"though recently much improved, has kept me from mingling in society."
"We require the assistance of someone who has been of the ton, a man of wide and varied acquaintance.” Daphne suddenly brightened. “I know the perfect gentleman. Mr. Ogden Stewart."
"Young Willoughby's uncle?” Gerard shrugged. “Hardly know the man. Invited him here as a favor to Quentin. Are you acquainted with him, Prudence?"
"He has the reputation of being a misogynist, a gentleman who never married because he holds all women in disdain."
Daphne raised her eyebrows in surprise and then smiled, almost as though to herself. “I wonder if the truth of the matter might be somewhat different. Regardless, I suggest we invite him to help us if he will."
Again Gerard shrugged.
Prudence looked at Daphne in a questioning way before nodding and saying to Gerard, “Would you have one of the servants ask Ogden to come to us?"
When a scowling Ogden Stewart joined them, Prudence explained their predicament.
"You mean to tell me,” Ogden blustered, “that you expect me to help you marry off that huntress, that young lady who wielded the bow and arrow? In my day we had none of this fuss and bother. In my day every young miss married the man her father selected for her without any ifs, ands, or buts."
Gerard shook his head. “I fear your memory fails you, sir. Most succeeded in marrying for what they deemed to be love."
"Love!” Ogden snorted. “Infatuation would be a better word to describe the emotion that afflicted them. Or a cruder term quite unfit for the ears of ladies."
"Mr. Stewart! Mind!” Prudence's unexpected sharpness caused the others to stare at her in surprise. As though equally startled by her own boldness, Prudence covered her mouth with her hand. “Justine has no mother and no father to guide her,” she said more softly. “She depends on me to launch her on the sea of matrimony and I have no notion where to begin."
Ogden glowered, started to speak, stopped, started once more. “A young lady today needs little help. She shamelessly sets her cap for a gentleman much as those maids were pursuing the flies infesting the drawing room. She chooses her victim, she sets her sights, she takes aim, and SPLAT, the young man falls limp and unprotesting to become imprisoned in the jar of so-called wedded bliss."
Prudence sighed. “Even if what you say were true, Justine lacks the requisite skills. She may be proficient with a bow and arrow, but not in the hunting of the male of our species."
Ogden harrumphed his disbelief.
Daphne stood and walked over to Ogden, stopping inches away to look up at him. He edged away, staring at her in some alarm, his astonished gaze fastening on the mystic symbols embroidered on the wide, flowing sleeves of her robe-like gown. “I do love your cravat,” she murmured, “but it appears to have become shockingly askew.” She slid her hands up across the lapels of his waistcoat to the errant cravat.
"May I?” she asked innocently.
Color flooded Ogden's face. He stepped back, his hand going protectively to his throat. “Perfectly capable of adjusting my own cravat,” he muttered, swinging around and looking up into the gilded-framed glass. After several minutes of largely ineffectual adjustments to his cravat, he turned to them again.
"I beseech you to help us, Mr. Stewart,” Daphne said, her imploring gaze suggesting he represented their one last hope. “We know so little of London and, since London is the world, we know little of the world. While you know so very, very much."
Appearing flustered, Ogden sat down heavily in an upholstered chair. He touched the knot in his cravat, then ran his hand through his thick white hair. “In my day, when a group such as this gathered for a particular purpose, whether in the interest of charity or business or pleasure, they immediately formed themselves into a society or a club."
"A club with but four members?” Gerard protested.
"I do believe,” Daphne said, “we should do as Ogden—may I call you Ogden on such a brief acquaintance?—has suggested."
Gerard raised his eyebrows, but offered no further objection.
"I agree with Daphne,” Prudence said with a shy nod. “But even a small society requires a name. What shall we call ourselves?"
Ogden broke the ensuing silence. “Since our object is to identify and then recruit an acceptable gentleman to seek the hand of Miss Justine Riggs, I propose we call ourselves"—he glanced slyly at each of them in turn—"the Matrimonial Recruitment Society."
After a pause, Daphne laughed delightedly. “How terribly clever, Ogden, since the initials of our society will spell MRS and that is precisely the goal we have in mind for Justine. A wonderful suggestion."
Ogden's gruff harrumphs failed to conceal his pleasure at being praised.
Prudence lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We must keep our Matrimonial Recruitment Society a secret. As you must be aware, Justine is a most independent young lady and, at times, is inclined to be somewhat perverse, so she must never know what we have in mind."
"Agreed,” Gerard said. “And if we must form a society, I expect we should select someone to preside over our gatherings, a president. Since she brought us together, I believe it only right and proper that Prudence be our leader.” After a murmur of approval, he added, “To my way of thinking, no other officers are required."
"Wait,” Ogden objected, “we really need to have a secretary. A secretary is a must, someone to record the minutes of our proceedings, to notify members of meetings and to make arrangements for refreshments. Dreary work, but absolutely necessary."
"I have in mind the perfect person for such a task,” Prudence said. When she looked at the others, they all carefully avoided her gaze. “Our secretary should be Rodgers."
"Apparently the man can read and write,” Gerard observed, “else you would never have suggested him. But can he be trusted not to spread word of our activities from one end of London to the other? We all know how servants love to gossip."
"As you say, he can read and write,” Prudence said. “Furthermore, in all his years with me Rodgers has never betrayed a confidence."
Gerard tugged at the tasseled bell pull. “Then, by all means, let us summon Rodgers here."
When Rodgers made his appearance, Gerard handed him a ledger and a quill, explained his duties and seated him in front of the writing desk.
"We wish to accomplish two things,” Prudence said hesitantly. “First we must select a gentleman who possesses an unimpeachable character, an appropriate station in life—neither too top-lofty nor too common—and having sufficient means to be an acceptable suitor for the hand of Justine Riggs. After we decide on the gentleman, we must arrange for him to meet Justine and thereafter provide as many opportunities as possible to allow acquaintance to blossom into love."
"Agreed,” Gerard said. “May I suggest we begin by creating a listing of elig
ible gentlemen, a pool of marriageable gentlemen if you will, while refraining for the present from debating either their merits or their demerits. When we have gathered five or six names, we will proceed to choose the most likely suitor."
His suggestion was greeted with a murmur of assent.
"I still harbor hope for John Willoughby,” Daphne said. “Since Justine has shown herself to be a typical Aries and young Willoughby is a Gemini, they should prove to be wonderfully compatible."
"Willoughby will be placed on our list.” Gerard glanced at Rodgers. “Do you have that, Rodgers?"
Rodgers looked up from writing in the ledger. “I do,” he assured them, reading his entry. “Mr. John Willoughby."
"I have a second suggestion,” Daphne told them. “Only last month I received an unexpected visit from a Mr. Richard Ewing, a young gentleman who anticipates coming into a living in Islington within the next few months. Since he will soon be able to support a family—he spoke of seven children as his ideal—he sought my advice in selecting a bride. Mr. Ewing would be an excellent prospect for Justine."
"I would expect a parson to seek advice through prayer rather than from a reading of the stars.” Gerard's tone showed him to be skeptical regarding Mr. Ewing's common sense.
"I find nothing unusual in what Mr. Ewing did,” Daphne insisted. “After all, Gerard, as Genesis informs us, God did create the heavens as well as the earth."
"I believe we agreed, and at your suggestion,” Ogden interposed with a speaking glance at Gerard, “to defer debate on the individuals we propose until we have a compiled a list of five or six possibilities. So I suggest we put Mr. Ewing's name on the list along with Mr. Willoughby's and go forward."
"Quite right,” Gerard said, “I stand corrected. As it happens, I have an unmarried cousin, a Lieutenant Claude Edgerton, who is presently in London on leave from his regiment. Not only does he show every promise of having an eminently successful military career, he is also distantly connected, on his mother's side, to none other than Lady Jersey."