Wicked and Wonderful

by King, Valerie

  “You were probably right.” He found himself intrigued by her. “Since you have spoken so candidly, may I ask whether you wish for a handle, as it were?”

  She did not answer right away, but regarded him in her forthright manner. This he already knew about her, she knew nothing of artifice. She would always say what she thought, a quality he valued very much.

  She smiled suddenly, “When I was very young, yes, of course, as did every girl in my school. The only desire greater was to be a princess, but that is hardly attainable so, to some degree, being addressed as “my lady” was the more popular game. I hope, however, that in the ensuing years I have gained some essential wisdom in that regard. The handle, I believe, would only be worth the quality of the man to whom the handle belonged.”

  He liked her answer very much. “And love?” he asked, curious.

  “Yes, love is of the utmost importance. I will not marry where there is not love. I had rather die an ape-leader.”

  “Strong words, indeed,” he said.

  “Strongly held sentiment,” she returned. “On this point I am firmly fixed.”

  He rounded the table again but missed his shot.

  She rose from her seat, bent over the table and slung her cue.

  “You play admirably.”

  “I flatter myself that I do,” she said.

  He chuckled. “You do not seem in the least uncomfortable with our situation.”

  “That I was invited here like a horse being displayed at Tattersall’s?”

  He smiled. “Precisely.”

  She tapped a ball gently, acquiring another point. “I thought I might suffer some distress at being here, at meeting you, but oddly I have not. Your friend in particular has quite put me at my ease and has kept me laughing so much that I have hardly had time to experience even the smallest discomfort. I understand perfectly why you keep Mr. Doulting close at hand.”

  “He is the best of friends in every possible sense.”

  She nodded. “As for our situation, there remains only one question to be answered—whether there can be love between us.”

  He watched her closely. “That is the question. I quite agree.” He moved to stand near her. She rose from her skilled bent position and turned to face him in what was a bold manner.

  He understood the invitation clearly. Never in his life had he hesitated kissing a lady before, particularly one who was obviously willing, her green eyes luminous in the candlelight. There was so much to like about Miss Currivard, not less so her willingness in this moment to be kissed when they had only just barely met.

  The scent of lavender rose to his nostrils again, however, and he released a great breath of air. He could not kiss her, not tonight. He did, however, catch her chin and hold it tenderly. “I am glad you have come, Miss Currivard. Indeed, I am.”

  She drew in a deep breath and smiled. When he released her, she said, “As am I.” She turned back to the table, slung her cue very hard, and missed her shot

  He followed and with two more strikes of his stick ended the game.

  The night was finished. He escorted her back to her bedchamber and learned that she had traveled extensively with her father. The remainder of the distance to her room was spent hearing about her experiences in India, on the hot plains, in the cool mountains, in the humid jungles.

  “You must tell Laurence of your adventures,” he said. “He always longed to travel but never had the means. He will want to know every detail.”

  “Have you never left England?” she asked.

  “After Waterloo, I traveled the continent, but no farther than Italy. I did not have the bottom to cross to Greece since there is so much civil unrest in that country. However, I would like to do more in the future I think.”

  Reaching her door, she turned and offered her hand. “Well, I suppose I shall bid you goodnight, then.”

  He lifted her fingers to his lips. He heard her sigh quite deeply. He kissed the back of her hand and she surprised him by sweeping low and stealing a kiss from his lips. She was gone before he realized just what it was she had done.

  He stared at her door for some time. He had the profound sensation that Mary and Amy were right about Abigail Currivard, that she was, indeed, perfect for him.

  Chapter Six

  “I believe this to be madness,” Judith said. She sat on a stool in John and Margaret’s tent, staring up at the former and pleading her case.

  “Ye make too much of it.”

  “Indeed, ye do,” Margaret added. “Besides, ‘twere the lady wat suggested the picnic, not Kelthorne. Have I the right of that, luv?” She looked up at her husband. Margaret was sitting on their bed, cradling and rocking Shelly in her arms. The child was fast asleep.

  “‘Tis true, Judith. ‘Twere not his lordship. The invitation is written at the hand of Miss Abigail Currivard. Besides, I don’t see why ye are overset. ‘Tis only a performance.”

  How could she make them understand? Kelthorne would be there and as a point of civility she would be required not just to see him, but probably to speak with him as well. The last thing she wanted in the world was to do either of these things. How was she to protect herself from his advances if she was in company with him? ‘Twas bad enough to see him in an audience, but a thousand times worse to actually be near him.

  She had spent a greater part of the morning pondering his visit to her tent of the night before, a visit Margaret had sanctioned. She examined at length the terrible weakness she experienced whenever she was close to him, a circumstance she was convinced Margaret did not in the least comprehend. She wished it were otherwise, but she felt powerless in the rogue’s presence. Last night, she had had ample opportunity to chase him away with her dagger, as she had done with other gentlemen. Instead she had, just as Margaret had said, thrown her arms about his neck.

  “If ye be afraid that Kelthorne will make unwanted advances,” Margaret said, appearing oddly sad as she spoke, “I believe there is something ye ought to know. Mrs. Marnhull, in speaking with the castle cook, was told that Miss Currivard is to be the next Countess of Kelthorne. ‘Tis all but settled.”

  Judith stared at her. “Indeed?” she queried, stunned.

  “I fear ‘tis so, which makes me wish I had not allowed his lordship to come to yer tent. Fer that, I apologize. But as ye can now see, ye have nothing to fear. He will hardly chase yer skirts with his bride-to-be looking on, now will he?”

  Judith blushed at her choice of words. “I suppose not.”

  “Besides,” John added, “we are being paid handsomely, and I do not think I could prevent the engagement without a war among the players.”

  “How much?” she inquired.

  “Two hundred pounds.”

  “What?” she said, stunned all over again. “‘Tis a fortune.”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  She rose from her stool. “I did not know. Well, there can be no question now. My own concerns pale in comparison to this. I would not deny the troupe such a sum for all the world.”

  She turned to go but John caught her hand. “Ye always were a right un, Judy. I am sorry to see ye troubled.”

  She patted his hand and smiled. “‘Tis my own fault. I could have prevented him from kissing me. I had your dagger in hand. Oh, now do not pretend to be surprised or that you have not the faintest notion what happened last night. I know very well that Margaret tells you everything.”

  “’Tis not that. O’ course I know he kissed ye,” he said. “But the truth of the matter is, Judy, I cannot think wat would have happened had ye stuck a lord.”

  At that, Judith began to laugh for it was funny beyond words. He was right, however. There was a great difference in doing injury to some poor farmer or son of a vicar, but another to draw blood from a Peer of the Realm.

  She quit the tent still laughing but not for long. She must now prepare to endure on the morrow an entire day spent in Kelthorne’s company. She must see him and try not to let her heart grow careless. She
must speak with him and not desire to be fully engaged in conversation with him. She must perchance brush against him in the course of all the activities of a picnic and not desire to throw herself into his arms. How was she ever to manage?

  *** *** ***

  The following morning, Kelthorne was pulling on his boots when a scratching sounded on his door. “Come,” he called out.

  Laurence entered the room, running a hand through his loose, curly brown hair, his face pinched in concern. “Aubrey, I have been turning our plans for this day over and over in my mind and I cannot be easy.”

  Kelthorne merely looked up at him from his seat on a chair by the window and continued working his foot into his snug leather boot. He had no idea just how rugged the time at Cheddar Gorge might prove, but he sported his most serviceable footwear nonetheless.

  Laurence began pacing the floor but spoke in a quiet voice lest he be overheard. “I think this scheme of yours might prove to be disastrous. Indeed, I do not know what maggot got into your head that you would actually consider an outing in which both Abig—that is, Miss Currivard and Miss Lovington would be present, and that for hours at a time. How could you be so baconbrained?”

  Kelthorne shook his head. “You are greatly mistaken,” he began, but got no further.

  “Mistaken? I think not, my good man. You simply have not considered the possibility that Miss Currivard will notice your extraordinary interest in Miss Lovington, which only a sapskull could fail to comprehend.”

  “You are quite mistaken.”

  “In what manner? Do explain that much to me. I am all agog to know.”

  Kelthorne finally slipped his heel into his boot. “I am vexed every time I put on these boots from Stultz, but, by God, they fit like gloves. They are, however, even more difficult to remove.”

  Laurence merely crossed his arms over his chest, tapped his foot and scowled. “I still wish to know just how I am mistaken.”

  “Very well, I shall tell you, but I believe you will be utterly astonished. As it happens, this picnic was not in the least my notion, not by half. And if you had heard the argument I had with my sister, who also wished to prevent the picnic, you would be even more amazed. The truth of the matter is that Miss Currivard ordered this day’s amusement. There. What do you think of that?”

  “What?” Laurence appeared utterly confounded, his mouth remaining agape for a very long time.

  “You have not misunderstood me if that is what you are thinking. Miss Currivard desired the outing. She remained adamant even though I pressed her to think the better of it. In the end, I did not feel I could refuse her. She even went so far as to express a desire to pay the troupe, from her own purse, some two hundred pounds. Of course, I could not permit her to do so and, therefore, made the arrangements myself.”

  “I do not understand,” he said, waving his hands about wildly. “She knows of your fascination with Miss Lovington, of that I am convinced.”

  “As am I.”

  “Then why would she do something that would appear even by the most slovenly reasoning to be foolhardy at best?”

  “You must ask her since I have no answer. And we certainly have not discussed the details of the subject as you may well imagine.”

  “Good God, no, I suppose you would not have.” He began to laugh and spoke in his falsetto, “I say, Lord Kelthorne, do you fancy Miss Lovington?”

  Kelthorne laughed and stood up, further arranging his feet in his boots.

  Another scratching on the door revealed his butler. “Yes, Coxley?”

  “The carriages are ready, my lord.”

  “Very good, if you would please inform Lady Radsbury or Mrs. Newnott. Either will gather the ladies.”

  “Of course. The gentlemen are already outside. Lord Radsbury is tending to his cattle.”

  “Thank you.”

  Coxley left and there was nothing that remained but to begin a journey that promised more than a few uncomfortable moments.

  As Kelthorne descended the stairs, he found Miss Currivard standing in the entrance hall pulling on her delicate lace gloves. She was the picture of picnic beauty in a flowing, summery gown of blue sprig muslin embroidered with cherries and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet which sported artificial fruit of the same variety at the base of the crown. He wondered if this was the reason she had desired a picnic. Could any lady have appeared to greater advantage?

  “Faith, but what a lovely portrait you make this morning, Miss Currivard. The personification of the season, I believe.”

  She dipped a playful curtsy and he was struck, as he had been over the past several days, that even when she was in a flirtatious mood she still did not conduct herself with even the smallest measure of abandon. There was too much intelligence in her, he thought, to be truly audacious in anything she did, even in her flirting. He wondered quite oddly if, were he to kiss her, she would give herself so completely to him as Judith had?

  He gave himself a strong mental shake. This would not do, this comparing of the two women, not at the outset of what would no doubt provide any number of opportunities to do so anyway.

  *** *** ***

  Nearing the end of the journey, Judith leaned her head back and let the sun beat on her face. She felt surprisingly wonderful, even though she had begun the trip full of dread. However, there was something quite healing about the fresh air and about traveling in an open wagon to a new place—she had never been to Cheddar Gorge before or on a picnic—even if she would be performing throughout the day.

  Her nerves had quieted after an hour of travel. She had resigned herself to the difficulty of the situation and rather than struggle against fate, chose to accept that for today she would be tried and tested and perhaps tried a little more.

  Given that she would be in company with Kelthorne much of the day, she had worn her dullest gown of a very simple white muslin that had for adornment a faded pink ribbon about the high waist. Her hair was a simple braided coil atop her head, neat and tidy. The stage was the place for embellishment, but among her betters, modesty and reserve were always the proper course.

  Margaret had protested loudly about her gown and her hair. So vehemently, in fact, had she remonstrated with her, that Judith had finally asked her why she had felt it was so important for her to have worn a prettier gown.

  Margaret had grown rather flustered and could not give her an answer. Judith began to suspect that her friend was still attempting to encourage a match that was quite hopeless, even by her own admission and especially given Miss Currivard’s presence at Portislow.

  Judith had therefore refused to change her attire.

  The troupe drew onto a large grassy sward, which opened out from the mouth of the canyon. Cheddar Gorge was formed with impressive cliffs of granite and a most delightful stream, some five miles long, trickled through the gorge itself.

  The troupe began at once setting up a variety of makeshift stages for the numerous acts that would be performed. Given the beauty of her surroundings as well as her acceptance of the difficult situation, Judith entered into the festivities with a light heart and easy mind.

  By the time the castle party arrived some two hours later, the members of the troupe, many of whom were in festive medieval costumes, greeted the coaches by forming two opposing lines. Tambourines shook in the air, warm welcomes were shouted, and as the ladies and gentlemen descended their carriages, John sang for them while playing the lute. Henry plied his flute in accompaniment. The sounds were as quaint as their costumes, which lent a cheerful, romantic aspect to the arrival. Kelthorne’s servants followed in an additional wagon from which an enormous hamper was removed, containing, Judith could only suppose, the day’s victuals.

  Judith remained as far from the party as possible, carrying Shelly about with the pretense of keeping her away from the horses and carriages, even though Margaret frowned at her and rolled her eyes. Judith laughed and said, “You know very well that children are never safe if a vehicle is moving and you know what
horses are. Once they are all properly tied up, I shall relinquish her.”

  Margaret narrowed her eyes. “If ye did not make so much good sense, I should ring a peal over yer head, fer ye must know all the gentlemen long to see ye, though I wish a thousand times ye had not worn that ragged looking thing.” Margaret held in her hand the music for the pianoforte. The instrument had been set up on a small portable stage near the stream. “And now, I must see John about just when he desires us to perform. Oh, but I have such a headache. Once I am finished with ye, John will tell ye what to do. He has the order of events.”

  Margaret headed in her husband’s direction and Judith carried her charge closer to the stream.

  “Look!” Shelly cried suddenly, pointing in the direction of the steep granite cliffs of the gorge. The castle party was gathered near the base of the cliff watching the first of many events. Some of the actors were involved in a series of intricate tumbling passes played out on a stretch of grass that had previously been examined for unsuspecting rocks.

  “Horace is certainly learning well. Look at how high he can jump now.”

  “Not, Horace,” Shelly cried. “Look!”

  Judith glanced at her and saw that her gaze was fixed to the tall ridgeline of the cliffs. There were several deer, including at least two stags, grazing on fine summer grass. She was surprised that they were even in the vicinity with so much noise below. One of the deer suddenly bolted out of sight. Judith thought it would not be long before they all disappeared. “Aren’t they magnificent, Shelly?”

  “Aye,” she responded.

  Judith loved hearing her little girl’s voice and squeezed her gently. She had been present at her birth and stood as godmother to her. She often wondered about the unusual upbringing the child was experiencing. She would probably never attend school and yet how much she would learn being among the troupe and how much she was loved by one and all. With the exception perhaps of Charles who was interestedly solely in what could be of benefit to him.