Springtime Pleasures

by Sandra Schwab

  “I know she would be most unsuitable for a viscountess, but—”

  “Ah,” Boo interrupted. “So we are talking about Miss Stanton.” He put the piece of toast in his mouth and chewed.

  Griff shot him an irritated look. “Damn well, we are talking about Miss Stanton!” He stopped as Crowling came back with the cup, the plate, and cutlery.

  Griff scowled at the butler while he set everything on the table, and turned to Boo, “Would there be anything else, sir?”

  “No, nothing. Thank you, Crowling.” Boo waited until the butler had left them again, then turned to Griff. “So?”

  “So?” Griff pushed his hand through his hair, taking up prowling through the room once more. “I know what you have said. I know that my parents will be horrified, but, dammit, Boo! If you had seen her last night! You know what she has done for my sister—bringing the old Izzie back to life!”

  Boo scratched the side of his nose. “Well, yes, I know that. Though I suspect my aunt and uncle won’t be much impressed by that.”

  Griff swore, then asked, “Do you think there is a way, any way, to gain their consent? To trick them into believing Miss Stanton would make a suitable viscountess?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Boo, I have to… I cannot imagine another woman…” He swore again, gripped the back of his neck. “I cannot live without her, Boo.”

  His cousin’s brows rose nearly to his hairline.

  With a groan, Griff dropped his head back and unseeingly stared at the ceiling. “Don’t think I wouldn’t be aware of her faults.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I know her behaviour is shocking at times. She is exasperating, and—lud! these spectacles! They’re ugly as sin! But dammit, Boo—” He looked back at his cousin. “—when I’m with her, I feel truly alive. She makes me do things… shocking things, and I have absolutely no bloody control when I’m around her. Did you know that at the Tollham ball, if we hadn’t met Ed the Snake, I would have taken her to the library, and—honour be damned—I would have taken her innocence? Lud, I’m a cad!” He turned his back to the breakfast table.

  There was a short silence, then Boo said drily, “That’s not affection, old boy, that’s lust. You are out of your head with lust. When was the last time you bedded a woman?”

  Griff whirled around. “Don’t make a bloody joke of this, Boo!” he snapped, irritated beyond belief. Lust? If only it were mere lust—he was old enough, experienced enough to deal with that. But this… this heart-wrenching thing he felt for Charlie? It grabbed him by the throat, shook him like a dog in for the kill, cut off the air to breathe.

  Yes, he lusted after her, too, hungered for her body, and given the opportunity, he would have taken her in the library at Tollham House.

  But it was more than that. Intellectually, he knew that she was no beauty, yet a look from those green eyes made him go weak at the knees.

  Her vibrancy enthralled him. To him, she was a beacon of joy in the darkness.

  He could not—would not give her up.

  There had to be a way.

  Boo held up his hands. “There is no need to take my head off. I am not the problem here.”

  Griff took a deep breath, and decided it would be worth spilling his guts to Boo, for if there was anybody who could help him, it was his cousin. “I love her,” he said rawly. “I love her beyond reason. I would lay down my life for her.”

  “Dearie me,” Boo said, but it was more from surprise than flippancy. He cleared his throat. “That does sound more than lust.” He eyed Griff speculatively. “Have you thought of escaping to Gretna Green with her and damn the consequences?”

  Griff closed his eyes. “You know that this would be impossible. I have a duty to perform to my family. In all honour I could not subject the earl and the countess to another scandal.” He opened his eyes, shook his head. “As much as I love Miss Stanton, I cannot throw away my honour like that.”

  “Fair enough,” Boo said crisply. “But you would consider tricking your parents less dishonourable?”

  Griff groaned. “I don’t know. It is the damndest thing. I thought… If they would countenance the marriage… I could whisk her away, and stay in the country with her, far away from London, so the earl and the countess would never hear of whatever scrape she would get into.”

  “That sounds like an impressive plan indeed.” Boo’s voice was faintly sarcastic. “Very gothic. Perhaps you will find a nice, ruined abbey to go with that particular fantasy of yours.”

  “I know it’s a harebrained scheme, dammit! But I am desperate, Boo. I don’t know what to do! I need to convince the earl and the countess that Carlotta would make a good, respectable wife—and I need to do it fast. Bloody Ed knows about the painting, that nude of Carlotta’s mother. I need to make my move before he makes mischief.”

  Boo’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood. “Phew. I’m exceedingly glad that my family manages to turn everything into high drama. It saves one the money of going to the theatre.” He shook his head at Griff. “Don’t make such a face,” he said in a more serious tone. “Of course I will help you. What did you think?”

  ~*~

  That afternoon, Griff was admitted into his father’s study, dressed to within an inch of his life. Lord Lymfort was studying the latest issue of The Gentleman’s Magazine, and barely lifted his eyes when his son entered.

  “Well, Chanderley.”

  Griff lifted his chin. “My lord, I have come to inform you that I have found a young lady who would make me an excellent viscountess.”

  “Have you? Have you indeed?” The earl turned a page. “And has this young lady a name?”

  Griff’s hands started to sweat. “Miss Carlotta Stanton, my lord.”

  “Stanton?” his father asked sharply, finally looking up. “Not related to that painter Stanton, I hope? The one who eloped with Dolmore’s sister?”

  Here it comes. Griff resisted the urge to rub his hands against the sides of his breeches. His next few words would be crucial. “Miss Stanton has received an exceptional education—” Which was only the truth, after all. “—and her aunt is now launching her into society.”

  “That is not what I asked, Chanderley.”

  Griff worked hard at keeping his face impassive. He could feel his armpits dampen, and sweat running down his sides. “My lord, I—”

  It was just as well that his mother chose that moment to enter the study. She halted when she caught sight of Griff. “Chanderley.”

  Griff inclined his head. “My lady.”

  Upon his wife’s entry, the earl had risen to his feet. “Chanderley has just informed me that he has found a young lady whom he wishes to wed. Miss Carlotta Stanton? I do not consider her altogether suitable.”

  “Oh,” the countess said and sank onto a chair. “I see.”

  Griff gritted his teeth. He forced himself to say evenly, “Miss Stanton is making her debut under Mrs Dolmore’s aegis this Season.”

  Considering this statement, Lady Lymfort cocked her head to the side. “Mrs Dolmore is a most respectable lady. And she is most particular concerning good breeding. If she is launching the girl…”

  “Moreover, Miss Stanton has been most kind to Isabella,” Griff added, pressing what just might turn out his advantage. Stifling the faint hope that rose in his chest took effort, but he carefully kept his voice bland and impassive. “I believe she would make her an excellent sister.”

  “Ah. Isabella has mentioned that she lately has been taking her morning drives in the company of a friend.” The countess folded her hands in her lap. “Is this Miss Stanton then?”

  “Yes, I believe it is.”

  The countess exchanged a glance with her husband. “Well then, Lymfort. I believe I shall have a look at the young lady, and see for myself how suitable she is.”

  ~*~

  The Rt Hon the Countess of Lymfort to Miss Carlotta Stanton

  The Rt Hon the Countess of Lymfort

  requests the pleasure of

  your
company on a drive around the Park

  on Friday afternoon

  at 4 o’clock

  Chapter 13

  which contains sound advice and a kiss

  Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin to Miss Carlotta Stanton, by Two-penny Post

  My dear Charlie,

  these are exciting news indeed! To be invited to a drive in the Park with Lord Ch.’s mother! I daresay this means that the future will hold great happiness for you, & I cannot begin to tell you how very, very glad I am for you, my dearest Charlie. Though you must take care to adhere to Miss P.’s strictures on How To Be A Proper Young Lady: Smile enchantingly, and the world will smile back at you. (Can’t you just hear Miss P.’s voice as you read this? Dear Miss P.! So many useful things she has taught us!) I am sure Lady L. will find you most enchanting!—As to myself, my mother fancies me the luckiest girl alive as I seem to have acquired yet another beau. Mr Chillingworth is an exceptional young man, I am sure (& my mother tells me), even though he is so very pale & slender & prone to fainting fits. His father owns a nursery just outside the metropolis, which makes Mr Chillingworth junior a most excellent catch. Why is it, do you suppose, that all these excellent matches are so very unromantic?

  Your loving friend,

  Emma-Louise

  ~*~

  “My dear Charlie!” Isabella held out her hands to Charlie as the latter joined her for their morning drive around the Park. “Is it really true? My mother has invited you to a drive tomorrow morning? George said she had.”

  Charlie stowed her reticule underneath the seat and sank down opposite Isabella, catching hold of her hands. “Yes, it is true. I received her invitation yesterday.—All clear, Petie,” she said to the groom. “We are ready to go.”

  The landau rumbled into motion.

  Isabella beamed at her. “Oh, this is wonderful! Surely this can mean only one thing!” She pressed Charlie’s hands. “I have always wanted a sister, you must know. And I have seen the way George looks at you, and so I have hoped…”

  Charlie’s cheeks warmed. “Well.” Did the invitation from Lady Lymfort really mean that Chanderley was going to propose to her? Of course, she had thought about it… had wished and hoped… But it didn’t do to forget the old adage that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

  “Oh, I do apologise!” Isabella said ruefully. “I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like this. For now, my lips will be sealed on this subject.” She let go of Charlie’s left hand to put her index finger against her lips. The next moment she had caught hold of Charlie’s hand again, twinkling at her. “But you must allow me to say how very, very pleased I am!—Now.” Her expression sobered. She pulled her hands back and folded them in her lap. “My mother is what you might call a stickler for propriety.”

  “Oh dear.” Charlie frowned. “I had feared this might be the case. My dear friend Emma-Lee has already advised me to very properly follow Miss Pinkerton’s strictures of How To Be A Proper Young Lady.” She blew out a sigh. “No doubt will I make many a faux pas and Lady Lymfort will be much shocked.” She felt her stomach clench at the mere thought.

  “Nonsense!” Isabella touched her knee. “I am sure my mother will be delighted with you!”

  “You are?” Charlie stared at her friend in disbelief.

  “I have told her everything about you.”

  “Everything?” Charlie echoed, and her disbelief turned to sheer horror. If Lady Lymfort knew about the boars! Surely, she would consider wild boars most improper!

  “Well, perhaps not everything,” Isabella quickly amended, touching Charlie’s knees again in reassurance. “I have told her what a fine needlewoman you are—which is only the truth, after all!—and that you are quite musical. Can you also do watercolours? I didn’t quite know.”

  “I’m not very good with still lifes,” Charlie offered doubtfully.

  “We can always say that you prefer landscapes, can’t we? I did tell my mother that you are very accomplished, so be prepared to be quizzed about that. Do you speak French?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “Are you good at it? You could talk to my mother in French. I am sure she would be much impressed.—What about German? Perhaps you could mention a German poem that you find pleasing.” She looked at Charlie expectantly.

  Charlie blinked. “Uh…”

  “Not the ballad that makes everyone faint, though,” Isabella added. “The one where the dead young lover comes back and pulls the poor girl to the grave?”

  “‘Lenore’ by Bürger?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Do not refer to that one. My mother detests gothic tales. She won’t let me read gothic novels either.” For a moment, Isabella looked wistful. “I have heard such wonderful things about Minerva Press novels. I feel I would enjoy them very much. Alas…” She sighed, then focussed once more on the problem at hand. “Poems, in German.”

  “‘Die Bürgschaft’ by Schiller,” Charlie offered. “It’s about true friendship and—”

  “An attempted assassination of a king. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Mother would think you have revolutionary tendencies.”

  Perplexed, Charlie frowned. “What kind of revolutionary tendencies?”

  “Any revolutionary tendencies. Mother would consider that very improper indeed.”

  The scenery of Hyde Park wheeled past unnoticed, while the two girls pondered the problem of German verse.

  Finally, Isabella’s face brightened. “You could simply say something like ‘German! Oh, how I love that old German saying…’”

  “‘Edel sei der Mensch, Hilfreich und gut,’” Charlie finished. “By Goethe.” It was a very nice sentiment, surely: Man ought to be noble, helpful, and good.

  “Oh, that’s a splendid idea! And from such a sublime poem as well! My mother will be so pleased!—Italian? Refer to a song—everybody knows some Italian song or other.”

  Charlie nodded dutifully. “Yes.”

  “As to the fortepiano—”

  “Fortepiano?”

  Isabella nodded. “She might ask you what kind of music you enjoy. I have given this some thought, you must know.”

  She had given more than just music some thought, Charlie reckoned. How very blessed I am to have her for a friend! And Emma-Lee! Truly, I wouldn’t know what to do without Isabella and Emma-Lee!

  Isabella worried her bottom lip. “Given my mother’s disposition, I believe your views ought to appear as conservative as possible. I am not entirely sure of her opinion on Scottish songs and airs, so it would be better if you wouldn’t mention any of those. I think she would be pleased if you mentioned Haydn, or Sterkel, or Pleyel.”

  “Not Mozart?” Charlie asked.

  Considering the question, Isabella moved her head from side to side. “Hm. My mother might think him a bit outlandish. It is better to stick to the three others, I am sure.”

  Charlie sighed. “If you say so. Though Mozart is my favourite composer.”

  “Oh, I’m not saying he was a bad composer or anything of the sort.” Isabella reached for Charlie’s hand and pressed her fingers. “But knowing my parents…” She gave a helpless shrug.

  Well, truth to be told, they seemed like a frightful couple, Charlie thought darkly. The beastly way in which they treated poor Chanderley was surely enough proof of that! But she understood that gaining his parents’ approval was very important to Chanderley—it would probably be important in any grand family.

  “It will be so very crucial to make my mother think that you are a most proper young lady,” Isabella continued, her voice tinged with a hint of unhappiness. “Anything unconventional displeases them.”

  “And I’m not exactly the epitome of propriety,” Charlie remarked drily.

  “Oh, please don’t think I would love you less for it!” By now, Isabella showed signs of real distress. “Only, my parents—”

  “I know,” Charlie hastened to reassure her. “And I will keep it in my mind, and strive to appear most proper and respectable indeed.”r />
  Isabella’s eyes swam in tears as she looked up. “I know it is most horrid,” she whispered. “But George will need their approval. You will need it.”

  Uncomfortable, Charlie moved on her seat. Nothing had been settled between Chanderley and herself—true, they had kissed, and more, but nothing had been settled between them. It was all so vague, it felt wrong to talk about these things with another person.

  Isabella sniffed. “You will need to sit very straight.” She took a handkerchief from a pocket in her dress and dabbed at her eyes. “Good posture is very important to my mother. She cannot abide stooping. For her, good posture is a sign of good breeding.”

  “I will remember it, and make sure to sit very straight indeed. Do you think it will impress Lady Lymfort if I tell her how many books I can balance on my head while walking around the room?”

  Isabella gave a watery chuckle, just as Charlie had intended.

  Charlie smiled. “See? I am sure I will be doing fine what with your excellent advice. Truly, I am most grateful to you.”

  Her friend blushed prettily. “Oh, I have done so very little.” She touched her hand to her own cheek. “I am very happy indeed that I might repay you for some of the service you have done me these past few weeks. It has been a long time since—”

  Here she was cut short by the groom, who turned to announce, “My Lord Chanderley is waiting up ahead, my lady.”

  Isabella started. “Is he? Is it time already? Well, then, you must stop, Petie, to let Miss Stanton down.”

  Charlie’s brows rose.

  Isabella turned her attention back to her. “You see, I promised my brother we would meet him here in the Park, so he could talk to you in private for a little while.” She looked around. “Only you must take that nobody sees you together. It would be considered quite improper if you two were found alone.”

  Petie threw a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t fret, my lady. Not many people are around at this hour, and there is a tree with overhanging branches just over there.” He grinned. “Affords plenty of privacy, I should say!”

  “Ah, Petie, now be cheeky.” But Isabella was smiling at him. “Here is my brother now.”