by Carola Dunn
“Thank you for bringing me the syllabub,” she said, sounding oddly shy. “I was about to go and help myself.”
“I was surprised you hadn't already done so.”
“I didn't make loud comments about how insipid Sophia's dress looked, either. That was an even greater temptation, but I wouldn't lower myself to her level. And I didn't want all those strangers to blame Mrs. Cooper for my behavior when she was so kind as to relieve Mrs. Forbes of the onerous duty of chaperoning me.”
“I daresay you're a sad trial to Mrs. Forbes, Princess. She's a trifle old-fashioned in her notions, I expect.”
“She certainly is.” Mimi was restored to her usual cheerfulness. “Just think, she disapproves of the waltz.”
“Then we can agree in disagreeing with her, can we not?”
“Oh yes!”
Simon pulled her closer to him, perhaps an inch or two closer than strict propriety allowed, and whirled her about the room.
Chapter 14
The full moon shining in through the carriage window revealed Lady Thompson slumbering cherubically in one corner. On the opposite seat her two nephews lounged, both wide awake despite the lateness of the hour.
“How Lady Elizabeth would sneer at such a country assembly,” observed Gerald.
“Who?” asked Simon, abstracted.
“Lady Elizabeth Venables, only daughter of the Earl of Prestwitton, and Toast of the Ton.” There was laughter in Gerald's voice. “You remember her?”
“Oh yes. Sophia Marbury reminds me of her a bit.”
“Sophia Marbury!” His lordship's yelp made his aunt stir and mutter a protest. He lowered his voice. “Good gad, how can you possibly equate the two?”
“Both are cold-hearted, self-interested females, and I'm quite sure Miss Marbury would sneer at a country assembly if it weren't the best she can aspire to.”
“I daresay she would.”
“But you don't, coz? You the jaded exquisite, you the frequenter of the salons and ballrooms and clubs of the politest of the Polite World?”
“You wax unwonted eloquent, coz. No, I would not sneer. I confess to having suffered a certain tedium at times, but that is equally true of town entertainments. And there were compensations.”
“I'd wager you mean my contest with Mimi,” said Simon resignedly.
“That among other things, yes.”
“I'm glad to have provided some amusement.”
“She was quite the most striking young lady present, well worth your efforts. Did she resign herself to losing?”
“Oh yes, we parted friends.” Simon fell silent, reliving the waltz. Mimi had accepted defeat gracefully, without resentment, as she had when he invited himself to dinner. She had seated him beside her then, and tonight she had moved feather-light in his arms, her dark eyes dreamy. What had she been dreaming of?
He had gained the dance and the dinner by subterfuge—paying her back in her own coin, he thought, smiling—but he wanted the kiss she still owed to be honestly won. And he wanted her to give it before she discovered that he was really the Earl of Derwent, heir to the Marquis of Stokesbury.
He wanted the princess to kiss the frog, and he was not at all sure that she ever would. For all her odd ways, Mimi was not one to bestow her favors freely.
* * * *
“But I still owe him a kiss!” Mimi wailed.
“A kiss!” said Harriet, dropping her sewing in her shock. “You never promised him a kiss!”
“I wasn't thinking. I wanted my bracelet back, and I thought he was a stranger just passing through. I never thought he'd claim it.”
“Perhaps he will not.”
“He's already tricked me into inviting him to dinner and dancing with him. Oh Harriet, I don't want to kiss anyone, but especially not Simon!”
“Why especially not Simon?”
Mimi blushed. “Because I'm trying to get him to offer for you, of course. You do want to marry him, do you not?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Harriet sighed. “I like him very well.”
“You haven't gone and fallen in love with Lord Litton, have you?”
“He is like a dream come true, tall and handsome, charming, courteous, so elegant and polished, and yet so kind... I am half in love, Mimi, but I'm fighting against it, for I know there is no hope.”
“Oh dear, I was afraid of this. I wish he had turned out to be as arrogant as I thought him. I wish he had never come here, at least not to stay.”
“This is the first time I have had a chance to really come to know him. He usually stays at Mere House no longer than a few days.”
“With any luck he'll leave soon. Simon will stay, though, as he's learning from Mr. Wickham. He's not tall and handsome and elegant, but perhaps when you are not forever comparing him with the viscount you will find yourself able to love him.”
Somehow this cheering thought failed to cheer either young lady. They sat in silent gloom. Somewhere in the house Judith was practicing a song. Through the open window, with the scent of lilac, floated the liquid warble of a blackbird and the chattering voices of Sally and Prue.
“They are helping Mama plant out the French bean seedlings,” said Harriet. She picked up the pair of drawers she was hemming and set a few stitches while Mimi went to the window and looked out at the sunny garden.
The front door knocker sounded.
“Will one of the boys answer it?” asked Mimi.
“No, they went to the village green to test the cricket bat Ferdie sent Peter for his tenth birthday. Real Suffolk willow! And Judith is upstairs.”
“Don't get up, I'll go.” Mimi went out into the passage. The front door stood open to admit the early-summer warmth, and on the doorstep Sir Wilfred was just raising his hand to knock again.
“Servant, Miss Lassiter. Went up to the Hall and your butler told me you was at the vicarage.”
“Waring was quite correct, as you see, sir. Did you wish to see me about anything in particular?”
“Proper thing to call on a young lady after dancing with her at a ball. Was going to call on Miss Cooper too, of course.”
“I see. I'd better go and find out if Harriet is at home.” There was another ridiculous English convention, she thought. No wonder Sir Wilfred looked slightly surprised—she would not be here if Harriet was not. But Harriet would want to put away the drawers and take up some innocuous needlework before a gentleman was introduced into her presence.
Grateful for the warning, Harriet bundled the drawers into the mending basket, shoved the basket under a table, and took a piece of embroidery from her workbox. Mimi was about to go and invite Sir Wilfred to step in when Harriet shook her head.
“You are a guest, not a servant,” she reminded her. “Sit down and look like a guest while I ask him in.”
So Mimi disposed herself on the small sofa which was the smartest piece of furniture in the parlor, in what she hoped was a guestlike attitude. Really, a lack of servants did add unexpected complications to life!
She heard Lord Litton's voice in the passage and so was prepared when his lordship followed Harriet and Sir Wilfred into the little room. Harriet picked up her tambour hoop, sat down in the chair that sagged the worst, and invited the gentlemen to be seated. Sir Wilfred joined Mimi on the sofa but Lord Litton, after a doubtful glance at the two remaining chairs, leaned against the mantelpiece.
“I see by your sparkling eyes and blooming cheeks, ladies, that you are both perfectly recovered from last night's dissipation,” he observed.
“A country ball ain't much in the way of dissipation,” Sir Wilfred pointed out. “Daresay you're dancing and gaming till dawn every night during the London Season in town, Litton.”
“Oh, not quite every night. It becomes tedious, I assure you.”
“I can imagine that it might,” said Harriet, “but I confess I should like to dance more often. Last year Lord and Lady Daumier held an August ball at Highbury, when they came home from Brighton. Do you remember, Mimi?”
“It was my first ball ever. Every instruction Mrs. Forbes ever gave me about English Society vanished from my head. I'd never have survived it without your help, Harriet.”
“The Daumiers ain't going to Brighton this year,” Sir Wilfred announced. “Was talking to their bailiff the other day, expecting them home end of the month.”
“I hope they have another ball,” Mimi said. “Will you still be here at the end of the month, my lord? And Mr. Hurst?”
“I cannot speak for Simon, and my own plans are uncertain, I regret to say, Miss Lassiter. However, I know Daumier slightly, so if we are here no doubt we shall both attend. I left Simon with Wickham just now,” the viscount continued. “He asked me to assure you, Miss Cooper, that he will be here shortly to pay his respects. No doubt that is he,” he added as the door knocker sounded again.
Harriet and Mimi were both about to rise when they heard Judith's voice in the passage. A moment later, she ushered the Reverend Lloyd into the crowded room. She curtsied to the guests and was about to leave when Mimi stopped her.
“Don't go, Judith. It's time I was leaving, and you can sit with Harriet since your mama is busy outside.”
Harriet protested, but Mimi was firm. Refusing Sir Wilfred's escort, she took her leave and was soon walking up the lane, feeling noble. For once Harriet should have all the gentlemen to herself, including Simon when he arrived.
The sun was warm between the sheltering hedges. Mimi took off her gloves and stuffed them in her reticule, took off her hat and swung it by the ribbons as she strolled along, pausing now and then to look at the flowers on the hedgebanks. Harriet had named them to her: the white stars of stitchwort, rosy ragged robin, a few late primroses, and tall stalks of cow parsley. Remembering her musical evening, Mimi giggled.
Reaching the gate, she climbed the stile beside it and crossed the meadow, bright now with ox-eye daisies and golden buttercups, to the kissing gate in the next hedge. As she went through, she imagined a milkmaid meeting her swain there, leaning one each side of the free-swinging gate to exchange a kiss. What was it like to kiss a man? Not a good-night kiss such as she dropped on Papa's cheek every evening, but a true lover's...
Oh no! Simon was riding across the paddock toward her. Her face hot, she hurried to put some distance between herself and the kissing gate, crushing the delicate, palest-pink lady's smock blossoms beneath her feet as she sped to meet him.
He swung down from Intrepid's back. “Well met, Princess. I was on my way to the Hall to pay my duty call on the lady who did me the honor of standing up with me last night.”
“Well, now that you have seen me your duty is done so you can go straight to the vicarage. Lord Litton is there and he said you were on your way.”
“There's no rush. You're going home now? You ought not to walk alone, Princess.”
“This is my father's land.”
“But if you're coming from the vicarage, you have been walking in the public road.”
Mimi couldn't tell him that she had felt safer in the public road than she did here alone with him. His closeness was oddly disturbing. If he chose to insist on taking his kiss, she wouldn't be able to stop him.
“Asota doesn't like walking, and Jacko had to take Deva Lal to the smithy to have a loose shoe nailed.” Words were a barrier, she found. “Does it hurt a horse when the blacksmith bangs nails into its foot?”
“I've never known a horse object to being shod, unless by an incompetent smith, except for the first time a yearling is taken to the smithy. The noise and heat and fire must be frightening.”
“I should like to see it, but Mrs. Forbes says a smithy is no place for a young lady.”
“We're agreed that Mrs. Forbes is a trifle old-fashioned in her notions of propriety, are we not? I can see no harm in it. Shall I take you one day?”
“Yes, please!”
“Very well. And now I'll escort you home.”
“You cannot take Intrepid up the ha-ha wall,” she pointed out, “and the other way is too far to walk. You had best go on to the vicarage.”
“I'll leave Intrepid grazing here. Come, Princess, let us take a look at our livestock and crops.”
As they talked they had moved toward the pond. Now Simon turned Intrepid loose, then joined Mimi on the bank.
The flags were still flowering, the rushes thriving, and some of the watercress had at last decided to take root and produce a few insignificant white flowers. There was a patch of pale blue forget-me-nots, too, and marsh marigolds, which must have been growing in the boggy ground before the pond was dug.
“It's looking very pretty,” Mimi said with satisfaction, “and the tadpoles must be happy, because they get bigger every day. But their gills have shrunk. Is that why they keep coming to the surface with their mouths open?”
“I expect so. If their gills are gone, they will need to breathe air.” Simon took off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. Crouching at her side, he put his hand in the water and managed to scoop up a tadpole. They examined it as it wriggled in his palm. “You see those knobs where the gills were, just behind the head? Those will grow into legs soon.”
He dropped it back into the pond and it dashed away. Mimi stood up.
“I must go and see if mine at home are beginning to grow legs. I didn't really look when I fed them yesterday.”
“It's about time we changed their water,” said Simon. “I'll come and help.”
She smiled at him, comfortable with him again. She'd done her best to send him to the vicarage, and she couldn't help it if he was more interested in tadpoles than in Harriet. Not that she meant to give up.
At the top of the stone steps they took the gravel path past the gazebo, across wide lawns and through the gardens to the ornately patterned house.
“I thought Harriet looked particularly lovely last night,” Mimi observed as they walked. Just in time she stopped herself from saying that it was a pity her friend had so few pretty gowns. Simon was not likely to be able to provide for his wife the luxuries the vicar could not afford for his daughter. “She is such a graceful dancer, and white becomes her.”
“She looked very pretty. How fortunate that her cool moonlight complemented your blazing sunshine so splendidly.”
“We did cause quite a stir when we entered the ballroom, did we not? Poor Sophia with her seed pearls that she was so proud of! But you must not think, because Harriet appears cool and her manners are reserved, that she is not a truly warm and loving person.”
“I don't think it, Princess. Any more than I think, because you enjoy setting local society by the ears, that you don't know how to behave with propriety.”
“I had better put on my hat before Mrs. Forbes sees me,” said Mimi guiltily.
“It seems a pity not to, when it's such a fetching confection.” Simon took the wide-brimmed straw Leghorn hat with its bunch of cherries, set it on her head, and tied the broad cherry-colored ribbons under her chin.
The back of his hand brushed her cheek and his head bent toward her, lips slightly parted. Mimi's heart went pit-a-pat, her breath caught in her throat—and then he stepped back.
Carefully not meeting his gaze as she adjusted the ribbons for comfort, she scolded herself: for her agitation, for not trusting him, most of all for feeling a trifle regretful that he hadn't kissed her. Only the merest trifle, of course. She was really excessively glad that she had misinterpreted his intentions.
They walked on. Under cover of her hat brim, she glanced at him sideways. No, he was not as handsome as Gerald Litton, but he had a pleasing face, open and friendly. She couldn't understand why Harriet preferred the starchy viscount.
“It's too warm for gloves,” she said.
“Yes, I shan't put mine on,” he agreed.
They went directly to the scullery through the kitchen court. Changing the tadpoles' water was by now a polished operation that took them only a few minutes. The casseroled tadpoles, like their free brethren, were losing their gills and
thinking seriously about growing legs.
“It's still hard to believe they are going to turn into frogs,” Mimi said as she crumbled some stale bread into the water and watched them flock to gobble it down.
“It's a law of nature,” Simon assured her. “Tadpoles turn into frogs, and frogs turn into princes.”
“Gracious, what shall I do with a scullery full of princes?” Laughing, she led the way into the kitchen.
“Tha'll be wanting a drop o' lemonade after walking in t'heat, Miss Mimi,” suggested Cook. “And a glass of ale for t'gentleman? Mr. Waring s'll bring it to t'drawing room along o' madam's tea.”
“Thank you, Cook, that sounds good,” said Mimi, but as the kitchen door shut behind them she added severely, “And as soon as you have drunk your ale, Mr. Hurst, you must be on your way to the vicarage. You are expected.”
He saluted, laughing at her. “Aye, aye, Cap'n.”
They joined Mrs. Forbes in the drawing room, where she was knitting gray worsted stockings for the Poor Basket. As usual she was silent in company, but Mimi and Simon chatted about the assembly until Waring brought in the refreshments.
As soon as Simon finished his ale and a slice of Cook's sticky, spicy Yorkshire parkin, Mimi reminded him, “You are expected at the vicarage, Mr. Hurst, and Intrepid will be wondering what has become of you.”
“I'm on my way, Miss Lassiter,” he said obediently, and bowed to Mrs. Forbes. “Your servant, ma'am.”
She nodded coolly. As soon as the drawing-room door closed behind him, she turned to Mimi and said, “I am glad to see you discouraging Mr. Hurst's attentions. He will not do for you at all.”
“He is only a friend, ma'am, not a suitor. Indeed, he makes no attempt to flirt with me, nor to fix his interest. But surely he is no less eligible than Mr. Blake and Mr. Lloyd, a lawyer and a parson?”
“Most certainly he is. A lawyer is an independent man, and one must always respect a man of the cloth, whereas a bailiff can never be more than a superior servant. Not that I consider either of those gentlemen good enough to be your husband, though your papa refuses to discourage them.”