by Regina Scott
He could hear the longing in the old girl’s voice, for all she tried to hide it. Even with Cleo for company, she was lonely. But he couldn’t promise more than he knew he could give. “I’ll come to see your parrot as often as possible,” he replied. “Though it goes without saying that I’d pay my respects to you as well, if you were home when I called.”
Lady Agnes sat taller, glaring at him. “You’d come see the bird without seeing me?”
“I think it best if I work alone,” Leslie explained. “That way, you won’t have to be disappointed if we make no progress, and it will be a delightful surprise if we do. Cleo can assist me, if you like.”
He caught a quick grin from Cleo before she masked it behind an indifferent look. His godmother must have seen the look as well.
“Impertinence,” she scolded. “I see through you, young man. You think to win a few more minutes alone with Cleo every day. I’d be a poor chaperone if I had the wool pulled over my eyes so easily.”
“I assure you, I thought only of dear Hector here,” Leslie returned with his most contrite smile. “But now that you mention it, I suppose my plan would give me an unfair advantage over Cleo’s other admirers. I will have to be content to catch her only occasionally at home, and let all the other smart young bucks and dandies have a chance at her. It is only sporting that she have her pick, after all.”
Cleo was watching him from the corner of her eye, although anyone else looking would have thought she was studying her hands folded in her lap. Lady Agnes pursed her lips, as if considering his carefully laid bait.
“I suppose it might not hurt for her to help you,” she mused, for all the world like a street vendor haggling over a piece of pastry. “You are an old friend of the family, after all. My own godson. And it would be very interesting if Hector would speak to everyone.”
“Then we are agreed?” Leslie pressed.
She nodded. “Yes. You may start tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” Leslie proclaimed.
“Lovely,” Cleo agreed, and he would have sworn she let out her breath in relief. “We can start before our ride in Hyde Park.”
Leslie felt a premonition of dread crawl up his back. He stared at Cleo but her bright smile told him nothing. The determined set of her chin only served to scare him all the more. Somewhere in the space of time it had taken him to convince Lady Agnes to let him tutor the bird, Cleo had come up with a plan. If she had thought all night and decided to cut her hair, he hated to think what she’d come up with on a moment’s notice.
“Did we agree to ride tomorrow, my dear?” he asked.
Her smile was tight. “I was certain you’d wish to do so, my lord. Don’t you have a particularly fine piece of horseflesh you wanted to show Lady Agnes and me?”
Leslie nearly sighed aloud. Now he’d have to spend the afternoon at Tattersall’s buying a horse. He hadn’t been able to take much joy in his stables since his father’s death. Certainly he had nothing new to show off, nothing his sharp-eyed godmother wouldn’t have seen a dozen times. To make Cleo’s suggestion the truth, he’d have to buy a new mount. He supposed there were worse things she could have concocted.
“Yes, of course,” he replied. “Your radiant beauty must have driven everything else from my mind.”
“Then you also probably forgot that I would like you to accompany us to the Baminger ball this Saturday,” Cleo continued doggedly.
Leslie’s smile froze. That was decidedly worse. She had no idea what she asked. Lady Baminger couldn’t stand the sight of him, ever since he and Chas Prestwick had made a scene at her annual ball last Season. Actually, Chas had made the scene by waltzing with Anne Fairchild and then backing the two of them into an unused room. Leslie, unfortunately, had been the one to whisk Chas out of the house before Lady Baminger’s wrath could fall. Chas’ parting short, to call Lady Baminger’s ball dull beyond words, had been repeated by many, to the lady’s continuing embarrassment. She would be out for blood.
“I fear I cannot help you, my heart,” he told Cleo, setting his face in stern lines in hopes she would have the good sense to desist. “I’m sure I will be otherwise engaged on Saturday.”
Cleo’s dark eyes flashed. “It bodes ill for our courtship, sir, that you would so easily distance yourself from me.”
“A decided character flaw,” Lady Agnes agreed, obviously unable to pass up an opportunity to needle him. “He has a problem in that area, make no mistake.”
Leslie attempted to ignore her. “Perhaps we can discuss this tomorrow, sweetling,” he said to Cleo. “In the meantime, I’ll see if I can clear my schedule.”
“That’s all I ask, dear one,” she returned with equal determination.
He bowed. “On that happy note, I shall take my leave of you. I have monopolized your time long enough.” Knowing he was escaping, and rather glad of the fact, he moved to Lady Agnes and bent to kiss her soft cheek. “Good day, Godmother. Try to keep your charge in line, will you? The girl is impossibly strong-willed.”
Cleo sputtered, but Lady Agnes’ eyes twinkled.
“I’ll keep her on a tight rein,” she promised. “Just see that you behave yourself.”
“With your goddaughter as my inspiration, I could do no less,” he replied, reflecting as he exited that it looked very likely that he would be doing far more.
Chapter Five
C
leo would have let the day pass well satisfied with her progress if it hadn’t been for some late afternoon visitors. Her godmother was still muttering about Leslie’s admiration of short hair, and she was sure her sisters, when next they deigned to call, would be even more apoplectic. If she succeeded in getting Leslie to race in Hyde Park tomorrow, and she had no doubt she could appeal to his sense of adventure, she would be well on her way of ridding herself of her sisters’ meddling.
Of course, she still had to convince him to attend the Baminger ball. Her sisters would never be sufficiently motivated by her behavior if she did not display it in a public place. Lady Baminger prided herself on inviting every member of the haut ton to her annual event, or so Lady Agnes had complained.
“It will be a dreadful crush,” she had predicted when they’d received the invitations a fortnight ago. “You mark my words.”
Surely Cleo and Leslie could find something to do at the event that would encourage her sisters’ change of heart. She simply had to determine why Leslie was so adamant about refusing to attend and find a way to change his mind.
She was quite prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon reading one of the novels she had borrowed from the local lending library. With her favorite pastimes of fishing and hunting forbidden her at the Barnsley School, and riding generally lowered to nothing more exciting than a group plod on a circular track unless she pretended the horse ran away with her, she had learned that the world of literature could be almost as exciting as catching a brook trout. She was therefore surprised to find that before she had read even one chapter of her novel, Cowls was standing in the doorway of the library room, raspily clearing his throat to announce that she had a visitor.
She hurried across the hall to the little wood-paneled sitting room at the front of the house to find Marlys Rutherford waiting for her on one of the leather-bound chairs the room boasted.
“I had to come as soon as I could,” her friend confided after they had exchanged greetings and Cleo had sat near her. She positively wiggled in her sunny yellow muslin dress that was nearly as bright as the smile on her round face. “Your conquest of Lord Hastings is the talk of the ton. But what happened to your hair?”
Cleo knew she would have to get used to the question. “Lord Hastings prefers it short,” she replied.
Marlys’ brown eyes widened. “You cut it to please him? That is beyond anything! And so daring. My mother would have locked me in my room until it grew out. She only let me visit you in private so she could have a word with Lady Agnes.” She raised a hand to absently finger her light brown ringlets. “He
intends to offer then?”
“Well,” Cleo hedged, unable to lie to one of her best friends, “I cannot presume to know his mind, but I am committed to doing all I can to attach his regard. We grew up together, you know, and we are already so much more than friends.”
“I see,” Marlys replied, smile fading. She leaned back and regarded Cleo solemnly. Cleo frowned at the sudden coolness, though in truth she had only expected as much. Falling in love so quickly was not ladylike, and Marlys wouldn’t be allowed to remain friends with anyone less than a lady.
“Forget about all this,” Cleo coaxed. “I am the same girl you knew in Somerset. Remember how many times we shared confidences?”
That wrung a smile from her. “I remember. I also remember how many times we had to mount a search party for you. Mr. Canterbury never did realize that the horses weren’t riding off with you, you were riding off with them.”
Cleo giggled. “It gave me longer time in the saddle, didn’t it?”
“Certainly. And an excuse to spend more time in the stables to get over your, what did Miss Martingale call it?”
“My abnormal sensibilities toward equines,” Cleo supplied. “You were wonderful not to give me away, Marlys.”
“Well, it was us against the teachers in those days,” she replied with a sad sigh. “A shame that had to change when the Season started. Now we must compete against each other for the prize.”
Cleo felt chilled and wrapped her arms about herself. “It doesn’t have to be that way. I could never see you as a rival.”
Marlys smiled, but the sunshine had gone. “That’s because you already have your beau. Besides, you were always prettier and more popular, Cleo. All this is easy for you.”
“Not as easy as you might think,” Cleo confessed. Just then, Mr. Cowls appeared in the doorway again.
“Miss Eloise Watkin to see you, Miss Cleo,” he said.
Cleo rose even as Marlys paled. Their former classmate paused in the doorway as if giving them an opportunity to admire the elaborate embroidery at the neck and hem of her soft blue muslin gown, the silky drape of her cashmere shawl, the perfect silk roses adorning her fashionable bonnet.
“I was just leaving,” Marlys mumbled, scurrying past her for the stairs. Eloise watched her go with a slight frown, then ventured into the sitting room. Wondering what Eloise could want with her, Cleo returned to her seat. Eloise took the chair Marlys had vacated.
“I did not intend to frighten her away,” she told Cleo. “I simply wished to speak with you.”
“Her mother is upstairs with Lady Agnes,” Cleo explained. “How can I help you?”
Eloise licked her lips, glancing back over her shoulder as if to be certain Marlys had gone. Her gaze, when it returned to Cleo, was dark, her emerald eyes shuttered.
“You know, of course, that I had to refuse Lord Owens,” she said.
Cleo hadn’t even known the handsome Scottish lord had been seriously courting her. “No. How very troubling for you, I’m sure.”
Eloise sighed. “Very troubling. I had thought him quite the gentleman, but he was not all he appeared. He seemed to have developed a poor impression of me, if you take my meaning.”
Cleo stiffened, afraid she took her meaning entirely too well. But how could Lord Owens know about Eloise’s past? Cleo had promised Miss Martingale, headmistress of the Barnsley School, never to speak of what she’d seen. “I’m sure you must be mistaken,” she said. “Some gentlemen are notoriously afraid of being married.”
As soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could call them back. Eloise paled. “So, you haven’t forgotten. Just how long do you intend to hold it over me?”
Cleo sighed. “I am not holding anything over you, Eloise. I have discussed the matter with no one but you and Miss Martingale, as I promised. You are the one who persists in dredging up the memory every time we speak.”
“Oh, certainly,” she snapped. “Blame me. Everyone else has. You might consider your own behavior. If you hadn’t been spying in the stables that day, everything might have turned out differently. He loved me. He might have offered for me.”
“I wasn’t spying in the stables,” Cleo informed her, though the guilt she always felt when reliving the day tugged anew. “I was just currying my horse.”
“A nice excuse, but you did not have a horse. That spiritless nag wasn’t any more your horse than this is your house. I know you have been beholden to your sisters for most of your life. You were jealous of me, and you wanted to catch me out. Admit it.”
“I will admit nothing of the kind,” Cleo replied, lifting her chin. “If you will remember, I spent a great deal of time in the stables, working with the horses, before you found another use for the place.”
Eloise stiffened. “You were always better with animals than people. I do not find that so very admirable.”
“There is nothing more I can tell you, Eloise,” Cleo replied. “Did you have some other purpose in visiting than to insult me?”
Eloise’s jaw was tight. “Actually, I had. I heard a distressing rumor that you were growing attached to Major Cutter.”
Cleo stared at her. “I do not know who could have told you that.”
“Do not bother to deny it,” Eloise declared. “I’ve seen the desire in your eyes when you look at him. Be warned, Cleo. He has been courting me for some time. I will not let you spoil that.”
Cleo laughed, and Eloise started.
“You may determine anything you like,” Cleo told her. “Major Cutter is an intelligent, well-bred gentleman. He is fully capable of determining which lady he chooses to favor.”
“You intend to tell him about me, then,” Eloise accused.
“Do you never tire of that nonsense? I assure you, I will be silent. I know how to keep my promises.”
“See that you do,” Eloise warned. “If I hear that you have been spreading stories about me, Miss Cleopatra Renfield, I will see that your reputation is served likewise.”
“My reputation,” Cleo informed her, “is not in question. If yours is, I would look to your own behavior and stop worrying about mine.”
“Very well,” Eloise declared, rising to shake out her skirts. “You have been warned. And one other thing: that haircut is atrocious. You will be laughed out of Almack’s.”
“Then you won’t have a thing to worry about, will you?” Cleo replied with a smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Watkin. Pray don’t trouble yourself to call again.”
“I won’t,” she snapped, flouncing out into the entry hall.
Cleo felt herself shaking and clasped her hands tightly together. The nerve of the girl! Why did she persist in believing Cleo incapable of keeping a secret? Cleo had never been her enemy. At moments before that day, Cleo had sincerely admired her. Eloise had been beautiful, smart, and generous. Unfortunately, her gifts were wasted on her driving need to capture the attention to herself.
Still, Cleo had tried to show her a friendly face. Lord knows she had debated for several days before going to Miss Martingale to explain what she had seen that afternoon nearly four years ago now. Even Marlys had known how upset she was, though Cleo had not told her why. Only a fear for Eloise’s safety had driven her to give the girl away. But did Eloise thank her? No, she had promptly made her a sworn enemy.
She shook her head and tried to steady her emotions. She had never been able to understand how Eloise thought. She wasn’t even sure what Eloise hoped to achieve with her attention-getting ways. The best she could do was focus on her own plans. She certainly hoped, however, that Major Cutter was as smart as she had named him. Otherwise, he would very likely have his hands full.
*
Cleo was in a much better frame of mind the next afternoon when Mr. Cowls made his way to tell her that Leslie was waiting for her in the drawing room. She slapped the black tasseled riding hat over her short curls and picked up the train of her cinnamon-colored wool riding habit to hurry down the corridor. But as she entered the room, she found
Leslie giving the parrot a few choice words.
“Did he bite you?” she cried, rushing to his side.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted her so cheerfully that she stopped in surprise. “And no, Hector here is very well behaved. He’s quite the fine gentleman. And, as such, I thought perhaps he needed a more gentlemanly vocabulary.”
Cleo raised a brow. “What exactly are you teaching him?”
He grinned. “Words more often used in the stables than the great house. Rather appropriate, don’t you think? It seemed to me the fellow would be rather good at foul language.”
She cringed at the pun, and Leslie laughed. She found herself chuckling as well. It only took a moment of his humor to set her at ease, no matter how handsome he looked. Today, he wore an aubergine riding jacket with black velvet lapels, and his hair was combed back under a high-crowned beaver. If she hadn’t seen the light in his eyes, she could easily have mistaken him for a top-of-the-trees Corinthian.
“So, what have you taught him?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I was trying for something simple, like dunce, but the fellow doesn’t seem interested even in that.”
She eyed the bird, who cocked his head, showing off the black and rose banding at his neck. “Perhaps he’s seeking something more lofty. What about barbarian?”
Hector spread his wings and let out a piercing squawk. Cleo was so surprised she stumbled back, tumbling against Leslie. He caught her easily enough, his hands strong around her waist. Cleo stiffened as heat spread from his splayed fingers.
Leslie didn’t seem to notice. He merely righted her, keeping his hands at her waist, and drew her back against him, peering over her head at the parrot. “You seem to have struck on something, Cleo,” he said, making no move to disengage from her body. “Try again.”
Cleo swallowed. Indeed, she wasn’t sure she could utter more than a squeak with his hands clasping her this way. “I...I don’t know what to say.”