by Joan Vincent
“They present a handsome couple, do they not,” the squire commented as Lady Lucille’s eyes followed them. The pale cream of Greydon’s evening clothes complemented Audacia’s gown.
“You are in high looks this evening, also,” he dared.
Her eyes refused to meet his. “Thank you,” she breathed softly.
Suddenly tongue-tied, Geoffrey could only gaze in questioning wonder and gaze at her delicate brown coif. He knew her downcast eyes were much the same colour.
“Have you been well?” Lady Lucille asked, raising her eyes to his; her tone, her look attempted to break the stiff, formal politeness of their last encounter.
“I was never one who tended toward illness,” he replied. “The only time I was abed was after my arm was—” The words died when Geoffrey saw Lady Lucille wince and blanch. “How thoughtless of me. I didn’t mean to—there is no reason . . .” He fumbled desperately for words, his hope sinking with his heart.
“I—I have been quite well,” he ended wretchedly.
“I am happy you are fully recovered,” she responded, her colour slowly returning.
The two sat in silence until Roland and Audacia rejoined them. Their faces showed clearly that something was amiss.
“Geoffrey has been boring you with his dull agricultural experiments, I fear,” Roland noted lightly, attempting to relieve the strained atmosphere.
“They are very important,” Audacia defended her friend.
“I would be happy to hear of your work,” Lucille noted, quickly looking to Geoffrey with a weak smile.
“Then I shall impart as much as you wish,” he offered sincerely.
“Geoffrey, isn’t that a waltz they are preparing to play,” Audacia asked excitedly with a glance at the assembling dancers.
“But you must not waltz until you have been given approval, Miss Aderly,” Lady Lucille cautioned. “Here is Mother. She can introduce you to the patronesses.”
After all the fuss about its necessity, the required formality was completed with amazing ease. Audacia’s only thought was to return to Geoffrey
Lady Jersey waspishly commanded, “Lord Greydon shall have the honour of your first waltz, Miss Aderly.”
“That was unkind,” Countess Lieven noted to her co-hostess after Audacia walked away with her consigned partner. “That green young miss had another beau in mind. She looked as if she could eat poor Lord Greydon, and he such an eligible.”
“Then let us say I have done her a favour,” the other returned caustically and dismissed the matter.
On the dance floor Lord Greydon remained impassive to Audacia’s glare. “I for one, do not make it a habit to tread upon another’s foot,” he noted with an ironic half-grin. “You may rest assured you shall remain unscathed.”
Audacia’s eyes flashed, but her ire quickly subsided after the music began. As if by magic she was whirled about the crowded room. Greydon’s strength flawlessly guided them through the fluid motions of the beguiling waltz.
Her heart in her throat, Audacia dared to look at him. His eyes captivated her. The sensation that flowed through her took her breath away. When the last strains faded and he released his hold, Audacia was reluctant to part from him.
“Not one of your lovely toes has suffered damage,” Roland noted. His ironic gaze held hers.
“Really, my lord,” Audacia retorted, vexed that he had broken her mood so abruptly. She hastened to rejoin Geoffrey and Lady Lucille. It was with relief that she found them chatting amiably for she had noticed the intensity of Geoffrey’s eyes as he watched his companion. For the next half hour she had little time to watch the pair as she wished, for all the gentlemen present wished the pleasure of her hand in dance and she was ever occupied.
When at last the next waltz was announced, she laughingly pleaded fatigue and escaped back to the squire. Taking his hand, she urged him to come with her.
He held back and shook his head, blushing beneath Lady Lucille’s gentle, inquiring look. “I cannot.”
“We both know you can.”
“But they may never allow you to return here. Even Lord Byron was cut by all here not two weeks past.”
“It matters not if that occur. Then I may return to Bedworth the sooner,” Audacia tossed his concern aside. “Come.”
Her confident, loving smile pleaded her case successfully. Geoffrey gulped and went with her. Facing the guns of the French had not tied as many knots in his stomach as this.
Low murmurs and questioning exclamations followed by a deafening hush greeted the new couple’s arrival on the dance floor.
“It is too late,” Audacia told Geoffrey, reading his thought to escape. “Let us begin slowly,” she instructed as the music began.
Rejoining his sister after returning his latest partner to a smiling mother, Lord Greydon watched his friend waltz in amazement.
“Did you know this was planned?” Lady Lucille asked.
“It is impossible,” Roland said to himself, “but he is doing it.”
“This has to be Audacia’s doing. I begin to feel she is well named,” his sister said with an odd laugh. “Do you know if he loves her?”
The muscles along the earl’s jaws flexed. His rejoicing faded.
“Does he?” Lady Lucille asked once more.
“I do not know,” he answered offer a long pause. “I simply don’t know.”
His sister gave her brother a long, thoughtful look, then followed his gaze back to the pair.
Other dancers had joined them. Low huzzas granted approval to the unusual pair as they danced, their faces full of the excitement and exertion of the moment.
How long since Geoffrey has looked so totally alive, so completely happy, Lady Lucille thought. But that I were the cause of it. If only I had never questioned my love. Looking to her brother, she felt a further pang. The shadowy, brooding look that haunted his eyes had returned.
Chapter 15
“Look at this.” Helene Darby pushed the latest La Belle Assemble magazine beneath Audacia’s nose. “I think this would suit me best.” A slender finger indicated a coif in the latest French style known as a la Diana. “And this.” She leafed pages rapidly. “In this you would be irresistible with your raven hair.”
“But there is hardly any hair there,” Audacia protested looking at the mode of a la Circe. “It must be but inches long.”
“That is what makes it stylish. Don’t you ever pay attention? Why don’t we cut ours? You could do mine and then—”
“Oh, no.” Audacia shut the magazine. “If anything, I have grown a little wiser during my stay here. Your mother would be very displeased,” she told Helene firmly.
“Now you are beginning to sound like her. What is wrong? You never want to play anymore,” the young girl declared in disgust.
A knock at the door saved Audacia.
Miss Bea entered quietly. “Miss Audacia, her ladyship wishes you to come to the receiving salon.”
“Have you any idea why?” she asked, still awaiting the reproach she had seen on the viscountess’ features after her waltz with Geoffrey at Almack’s. As far as Audacia was concerned that evening had been a triumph. Not only were they applauded at the end of the dance but also others had demanded the right to dance with the squire. He had been given little rest the remainder of the evening. The only false note was Lady Lucille’s reaction, which puzzled Audacia, who had decided Greydon’s sister was fond of Geoffrey.
That lady had spent the rest of the evening with a tight smile upon her features. She watched Geoffrey dance after dance with the eager young matrons and the more daring of the eligibles. Never once did she approach the squire and he, too overwhelmed with attention, was able to search her out only once. That once, by sad chance, Lady Lucille had already been claimed and did not see his approach or disappointed mien.
But Lady Darby had been another matter. Thunderclouds had threatened at Audacia’s return to her side. Only Lady Jersey’s and the other patroness’s enthusiastic appro
val saved her from a blistering tirade.
Patrick’s failure to arrive worsened matters. It was with frigid coldness that the small party climbed into their coach. The viscountess had been coolly polite ever since and all of yesterday, despite several returned morning calls, their first since their arrival in London.
“Young Mr. Darby is with her ladyship, miss,” the abigail explained.
“Then you shall come with me, Helene,” Audacia told her young friend.
“But, miss,” Miss Bea began to protest.
“I am certain Mr. Darby would wish to see his sister,” she cut the abigail off adamantly. Taking Helene’s arm she walked out with the young girl.
“Audacia, my dear, here you are. Patrick has called upon us to apologize for not appearing at Almack’s and to make it up to you,” Lady Darby gushed in greeting. Some of her warmth cooled when she saw Helene who had now trailed behind Audacia.
“Have you no lessons?” she asked bluntly.
“I assisted Helene, my lady. All of her work has been completed. And done rather well,” Audacia said with a satisfied smile.
“An additional reward should be given you for such good care of my sister,” Patrick said. He laid an arm casually about Helene. “It shall be a ride in the park. Come, my phaeton awaits us.” He removed his arm and bowed with a flourish.
“Helene and I would be most pleased to accept your kind offer, Mr. Darby. In truth, it is kind for you to reward your sister so generously,” Audacia answered sweetly, giving a small curtsy.
“Come, Helene, let us fetch our bonnets and light pelisses.”
Frowns followed the two from the salon.
“Can you not handle a simple invitation for a drive?” Lady Darby asked sarcastically.
“I was not responsible for the brat’s appearance. You heard the way Miss Aderly twisted my words. This courting is—”
“Necessary,” his mother ended for him. “As the cause of our misfortunes, you should appreciate so simple a solution. There shall be no more bungling.” She shot him a meaningful glance.
“But they would not admit me. I have explained that. Who wishes the company of the snobs that frequent Almack’s anyway,” he sneered. “There never was a duller gathering.”
“I mean to be among them, and to see you there also,” Lady Darby swore.
“Never fear, Mother, you shall,” he replied to deflect her vehemence. “If Audacia will not be persuaded by fair means—” Patrick nodded pointedly, his words cut short by sounds of the pair’s returning steps.
* * * *
Elegant phaetons, barouches, and landaus paraded along Rotten Row in the afternoon sunshine. Helene gawked, took in all the sights. Audacia was thankful young Darby’s hands were fully occupied with his team.
Several persons nodded or called out greetings to Audacia as they passed. Some congratulated her on her daring at Almack’s for one of England’s brave.
She had begun to think it odd that only the dandyish, the more disreputable looking, greeted Darby. She had supposed he moved in the higher circles of society. More than passing reflection was impossible, however, as Helene peppered off questions about the people, carriages, and even about the naming of the parading area frequented by the haut ton, Rotten Row.
“I believe it is connected with James the First,” Audacia explained somewhat hesitantly, uncertain if her recall was true to fact. “The king and his messengers made their way to Parliament and about their other business matters through this street. It was then lined with dilapidated buildings and occupied by all manner of beggars and footpads—hence the name.”
Darby’s team lurched forward ending all thought of explanations. The number of those driving along Rotten Row had steadily increased until the road was very crowded. Misbehaviour by any team was dangerous to its owner and all those hear it.
Drawing heavily on the reins with a curse, Patrick steadied the team, but not before the wheel of his phaeton locked with that of a passing landau. His oaths at the mishap ended when his eyes encountered the dark, cold eyes of the Earl of Greydon.
“Hold them steady,” Roland demanded in cold harsh tones. , He skilfully backed his matched whites and the wheels slipped free with no spokes broken on either. “So sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Aderly. Miss Darby,” he noted, doffing his hat.
“Those are most magnificent beasts,” Helene responded enthusiastically, ignoring Patrick’s consternation. “Why, Squire Webster, how nice to see you,” she greeted the second gentleman in the earl’s landau. “How did it go at Almack’s? Audacia is such a tease she would not tell me aught but that you danced,” the young girl babbled at the slightly embarrassed squire.
“It went just as she thought it would,” Geoffrey replied. He disengaged an attractive female’s hand from his arm. His shift from her side proved futile as she merely followed.
Audacia suppressed the desire to laugh at Geoffrey’s apparent discomfort. Humour left her when she took in Greydon’s companion, equally attractive and as daringly clad as the other. This woman stared a challenge at Audacia and possessively wrapped her arm through Greydon’s.
The earl’s features darkened. “Handle the reins more gently next time,” he reprimanded Darby and drove on.
“Oh, I wish he had not driven on,” Helene cried, her disappointment plain. “I wished to ask the squire—”
“You are far too forward, Helene,” Patrick scolded her angrily. He flicked the reins much more forcefully than was necessary and nearly caused another mishap. “Until you learn better manners you shall not accompany me again.”
“But Squire Webster did not object to Helene’s inquiries,” Audacia threw in, disliking Patrick’s tone.
“You’ve said quite enough,” young Darby snapped irritably, with a hard-eyed glare at her. After a tension-filled pause, he cleared his throat. “Helene is my sister, after all. It is fitting that she take guidance from me—without interference, even from you,” Darby concluded pompously.
Audacia murmured polite agreement. Patrick’s look frightened her. Her dislike of his mother’s constant prattle about betrothal turned to apprehensive dismay.
* * * *
The quieter noises of night filled the house on Mount Street. For once Lady Darby had no soiree, fête, or ball for them to attend. Everyone was abed early.
Audacia tossed to and fro in her bed, a dream disturbing her sleep. It was as vivid as reality. Helene cut and recut Audacia’s hair as quickly as it grew back. The room filled with mounds of black hair.
In the midst of this walked Greydon and Geoffrey. They eyed the discarded curls with jaundiced eyes. Both roared with laughter and then snapped their fingers. Thinly gowned women appeared, their coiffures elegantly a la Diana. They took the men by the arm, leaned provocatively close. Greydon pointed to Audacia. The women stared, then laughed mockingly as they turned back to the earl and raised their lips to receive his kisses.
“Audee! Audee, wake up. You’re dreaming,” a voice insisted. “Wake up.”
Her eyes flew open and Audacia stared wildly to see where the squire and Roland had gone.
“It is only I,” young Helene assured her, holding the candle flame nearer her face. “I could not sleep. May I sit with you for awhile?”
Audacia shook off the last webs of her too vivid dream. Patting the side of her bed, she moved over to make room for Helene. “What is bothering you?” she asked. “Surely you aren’t letting your brother upset you?”
“I can’t help thinking about it, but that is not what truly bothers me. Don’t you see how . . . countrified we must look with our long, long hair? Everyone we saw today was wearing it cut short in the current style. Didn’t you see how that woman with Lord Greydon stared?
“I know mother would agree to it if she could see how I looked with mine done a la Diana. Won’t you do it for me, Audee? Please? If Mother disapproves I can wear a spinster’s cap until it grows back. Please?” she pleaded, her young face woebegone. “I can say I did it, if
you wish, but I know it will not look right if it is my hand that cuts it,” Helene ended with impish honesty.
Sitting upright, Audacia reached out and held the young girl’s unpinned locks back from her face. Her nose wrinkled in concentration.
“Do not think that hard, Audee,” Helene laughed.
“Hush, or you shall wake the house,” she returned soberly, “and then I could not cut your hair.”
“Oh!” Helene clamped her hands over her mouth but jumped all over the bed in her excitement.
“Stop it before you trample me to death.” Audacia tumbled from the bed laughing. “Let me light this lamp. Now, put the rug beneath the door. Miss Bea might walk the halls. She has not been sleeping well of late. I must see what I can do to cheer her in the morn,” she told Helene as she went through her sewing box.
“Ah, here they are.” Snapping the scissors, she ordered, “Bring the lamp to the vanity. Are you certain you wish to do this?”
With a nod Helene sat. “Go on, do it.”
Letting out a deep breath, Audacia took hold the first lock of brown. She winced as the scissors sliced through it. “A keepsake?” she asked, holding it over Helene’s shoulder and looking at her reflection in the mirror.
“Of course,” the young girl quipped. “Don’t you know it is quite the thing to send a beau one’s lock?”
“And you have a beau, miss?” Audacia asked as she attacked the remaining length.
“Not yet, but Miss Bea is always saying it is best to be forearmed. Well,” she held up the shorn lock, “now I shall be.”
Joking halted as Audacia continued to work. When she halted it was with a satisfied smile. “In the morn we shall use the curling iron. You shall be a very pretty young lady,” she added, not unjustifiably. The short style did become Helene’s round face.
“Father will like it,” the young girl said determinedly, “and perhaps Patrick and Mother as well.” Helene rose and brushed the hair clippings from her shoulders. “Thank you, Audee.” She hugged her close, tears in her eyes. “I am so glad you came.”
“No tears,” Audacia ordered, giving Helene a squeeze before sending her away. “Now off to bed with you. Come straight here when you rise. I’ll have Miss Bea ready the curling irons.”