by Buck, Gayle
Sir Frederick turned to greet one of his oldest friends with a few bantering words and firm handshake. “Henry, I am devilish glad to see you.”
“We haven’t seen much of you at White’s of late. How are you, old fellow?” asked Mr. Duckwood. He was a gentleman given much to fashion. His coat was very tight, his starched shirt points were very high, his stark white cravat was always exquisitely tied, and he sported a number of fobs and seals dangling from black ribbons at his waist. A cherubic countenance, enlivened by his fawn-colored eyes, stamped him as an amiable soul. He had only one passion, and that was gaming of any kind.
Sir Frederick glanced over his shoulder, making certain that he would not be overheard, then returned his earnest gaze to his friend. In a lowered voice he confided, “I am not at all sure, Henry. Here I stand in one of the most influential hostess’s ballrooms, attended by every high political figure necessary to my future career, and all I can think about is marriage!”
Mr. Duckwood whistled, giving Sir Frederick a thoughtful glance. “That’s bad, very bad. You oughtn’t to do it, Freddy. You won’t like it. Take it from me, I have it on the best authority—the example of my uncle— the wedded state is miserable indeed. Why, he isn’t allowed to blow a cloud in his own library or to have a few cronies over to break a bottle or two over a few hands of whist. As for the dinner fare served up at his table now, I shudder whenever I think of it. I tell you, my uncle isn’t the same man. He’s a mere shadow of his former self.”
“Barbaric,” said Sir Frederick sympathetically.
Mr. Duckwood conceded it with gloom. He took out a lace-edged linen handkerchief and blew his nose in an excess of emotion. As he tucked the square away, he said, “Close to my uncle, you know. Don’t know what possessed him to get leg-shackled so late in life.”
“Caroline Richardson,” said Sir Frederick succinctly. “I heard she had her hand in it.”
Mr. Duckwood sighed and nodded. “Too true; my uncle never had a sporting chance. I tell you, Freddy, if ever Mrs. Richardson turned her sights on me, my knees would begin to knock together from fear.”
A dark-featured tall gentleman sauntered up. He waved negligently to Sir Frederick, but addressed Mr. Duckwood. “What ails you, Henry? I’ve never seen a longer Friday-face than yours.”
“It is Freddy, here,” said Mr. Duckwood, heaving a sigh. “He is thinking about marrying.”
Sir Peregrine Ashford swung a startled blue gaze toward Sir Frederick. “Good God! Er-have you anyone particular in mind, Freddy?”
“Devil a bit! I was merely thinking about the recent elopement, and one thing led to another,” said Sir Frederick, gesturing vaguely. He was somewhat embarrassed to have generated such interest in his private affairs from his friends.
“Oh, the Kirov affair!” Mr. Duckwood’s countenance cleared. “That explains it, then. It is no wonder your thoughts took such an erratic turn, Freddy. Perfectly understandable, for everyone is talking about it.”
“Indeed, it is a small cause célèbre,” said Sir Peregrine, with the merest hint of a smile. He shrugged a good pair of shoulders. “However, I for one am quite willing to allow the topic to die of natural causes. I am far more interested in the chances of the latest champion at the Fives Court.”
Mr. Duckwood’s gaming instincts were instantly roused. “Do you go, then, Peregrine? I shall accompany you.”
“As you will, Henry. You should put that man of yours into the ring, Freddy,” said Sir Peregrine. “I suspect he would display to advantage.”
“Who, Will? He’d like nothing better, I daresay,” said Sir Frederick with a laugh. “I’ve never known a man who takes to a good turnout the way Will does, but he is retired from the ring.”
“Just as well, I suppose. I doubt he could sport his canvas against the talent these days,” said Mr. Duckwood thoughtfully.
Sir Frederick instantly leaped to the defense of his pugilist henchman. “Nonsense! I’d back Will against any latecomer.”
“I don’t know, Freddy. That’s going a bit far. Henry may have the right of it,” said Sir Peregrine, shaking his head.
Sir Frederick denied it. The trio heatedly compared the rival merits of various pugilists until a lady dressed in the height of fashion glided up to them, interrupting their debate.
Mrs. Caroline Richardson shook her head in reproof at them, her eyes glinting with humor. “Well! All of you standing about without partners and deep in a sporting discussion! I have been commissioned by our hostess to bring you back into the fold, gentlemen.”
“I was on my way to the card room, ma’am,” said Mr. Duckwood hastily. His fawn-colored eyes bulged a little as he regarded the lady, giving him a startling resemblance to a frightened stag. He grasped Sir Peregrine’s sleeve urgently between thumb and forefinger. “We are to play a hand of whist, aren’t we, Peregrine?”
“If you say so, Henry,” said Sir Peregrine with a grin. He bowed politely to Mrs. Richardson and sauntered off with Mr. Duckwood toward the card room.
Laughing, Mrs. Richardson turned her knowing gaze on Sir Frederick. “You are surely too seasoned a diplomat to abandon your duty to your hostess, Freddy.”
Sir Frederick laid a hand over his heart in exaggerated fashion as he declared dramatically, “Lady Smythe’s wish is my command, Caroline.”
Mrs. Richardson tucked her slender gloved fingers into his crooked elbow as he offered it to her. She cast a smiling glance at her companion’s face. “That is one of the things I like best about you, Freddy. You are so utterly agreeable and charming.”
“Stock in trade for a diplomat, Caroline,” said Sir Frederick with an easy grin. “Obviously my particular talents are wanted, or you would not have let Henry and Peregrine off so easily. What hatchet-faced dragon am I to charm?”
“No such thing! There is a certain widow, Mrs. Holland, who has come this evening and—”
“A widow!” exclaimed Sir Frederick, stopping abruptly. His dark brows peaked over the alarm in his brown eyes. He paid no heed to the curious glances that were directed toward them. “You aren’t up to your old matchmaking tricks, are you, Caroline? Pray tell me the worst! This Mrs. Holland is perfectly respectable and perfectly handsome and has a perfect number of offspring requiring a new papa!”
“Oh, Freddy! Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mrs. Richardson on a rich ripple of amusement. She urged him to continue on with her, and he complied with a show of reluctance. “Mrs. Holland is by far too old for you, and she has two grown children. In fact – ”
Sir Frederick groaned. “It’s worse than I thought! The widow has two daughters. One is undoubtedly horse-faced and possesses a squint. The other is carrot-topped and has rabbity teeth. I should have known. But I can’t marry both of them, Caroline, so don’t think it.”
Mrs. Richardson laughed at his nonsense. Her voice still quivered with amusement as she said, “Really, Freddy! One would think that you are terrified of my matchmaking. I’ve never done anything but good, I assure you.”
“Oh? Look at Hedgewight. He’s so nutty over that girl that he won’t go anywhere without her.” Sir Frederick waved his hand in the general direction of a young couple out on the dance floor. “He practically lives in her pocket. I have it on the best authority that Hedgewight won’t dance with anyone else unless she urges him to do so.”
“Isn’t it the sweetest thing,” commented Mrs. Richardson with a pleased expression. “They make such a delightful couple. And their steps are so perfectly matched. I am sure it is no wonder they prefer to dance with one another.”
Sir Frederick felt he hadn’t made his point adequately enough, but then inspiration struck. “Yes, and there’s Henry’s uncle, now that I think of it! According to Henry, his uncle is but a shadow of his former self.”
“And a good thing, too. Alphonse Duckwood was by far too fat. I am happy to hear that Mrs. Duckwood is overseeing his diet so strictly, for undoubtedly her efforts will add years to his life,” said Mrs. Richardson firmly.<
br />
Sir Frederick gave up the fight for the moment and resigned himself to his fate. He saw that they were approaching a matron seated just off to the side of the dance floor. A slim gentleman of average height leaned over the back of the matron’s chair. There was another woman with them, but her chair was half-hidden by the others and she could not be clearly observed. However, from what he was able to discern of her form, she appeared to be a young woman. Sir Frederick instantly concluded that this lady would be the object of his friend’s matchmaking efforts.
His suspicions were truly aroused. Despite his drollery, he had a healthy and wary respect for Mrs. Richardson’s abilities. She had been too successful in matching up couples in the past. He might have been reflecting on marriage earlier not many minutes before, but he balked at the thought of being pitchforked to the altar. “I warn you, Caroline, I’ll run off to Paris first,” he muttered.
Mrs. Richardson pinched his arm through his coat sleeve. “Behave, Freddy!” She drew him around to the attention of the small group. With her attractive smile, she made the introduction. “Mrs. Holland, may I present Sir Frederick Hawkesworth? He is a dear friend of my husband and myself. Sir Frederick is one of our most distinguished diplomats.”
“I am delighted, Mrs. Holland,” said Sir Frederick, none of his inner perturbation in evidence. He made one of his graceful bows, his glance at once cataloging Mrs. Holland. The widow was a striking woman, dark of hair and eyes with pale skin and still possessed a relatively good figure. However, there was petulance in her eyes, and tiny lines of temper at the corners of her thin-lipped but well-shaped mouth, which spoke volumes to one of his wide-flung experience. Mrs. Holland had obviously once been a society beauty, but was now a fading rose. Her age was indeterminate, but since she possessed two grown children, Sir Frederick felt safe in placing her at forty at least. Sir Frederick had a shrewd notion that Mrs. Holland would never willingly divulge her actual age to any living soul.
Mrs. Holland inclined her head, simpering slightly. “Sir Frederick.” She waved her fan slowly, the movement drawing attention to her deeply rounded décolletage. The lady wore a silken gown in the new style, cut low over her shapely bosom and gathered close underneath, so that the resulting display of her charms was one that would irresistibly draw any gentleman’s gaze.
Sir Frederick looked hastily away. Dangerous, this one, he cautioned himself. Beside him, he thought he heard a soft choking sound. He realized with an instant flash of amusement that Mrs. Richardson had been neither blind nor approving of the byplay. He had seen much of the world, and there was not much that could any longer disgust him, but he rather thought Mrs. Richardson’s tolerance for vulgarity was somewhat lower than his own.
Mrs. Holland smiled, her teeth very white and even. She snapped shut her fan and indicated the young man standing beside her gilt-edged chair. “My son, the Earl of Holybrooke, Sir Frederick.” There was a wealth of pride in her voice and in the glance she cast up at her offspring.
Sir Frederick looked swiftly at the handsome young gallant. “The Earl of Holybrooke?” He recovered swiftly from his surprise and made a short bow. “It is an honor, my lord.”
The dark young gentleman, who had straightened at the outset of the introductions, flushed slightly. His gray-blue eyes met Sir Frederick’s with a steady gaze. He held out his hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Sir Frederick accepted the younger man’s handshake, liking him for his humility. Like everyone else, he had heard how the old earl had died after dispossessing his firstborn and leaving the title and estate to the son of a younger son. It was an unusual story, and the gossipmongers had delighted in it. His recollection was that it was a year past since this serious-faced boy had inherited.
Sir Frederick’s glance passed swiftly over the widow and her two children. Of course, they were out of black gloves now and were taking their place in society.
Sir Frederick smiled at the last of the party, who had not yet been introduced to him. It was obvious that the young lady was related, for there was no mistaking her resemblance in face and coloring to Mrs. Holland and the young earl.
Though he had teased Mrs. Richardson about what the young lady might look like, he had seriously never thought to be brought face-to-face with an antidote. Mrs. Richardson knew too well that gentlemen preferred some aspiration to beauty in the ladies to which she introduced them.
However, Sir Frederick had not anticipated that Miss Holland would be an out-and-out beauty. Black ringlets, a cupid’s bow mouth, pale translucent skin and a slim but well-rounded figure were not at all difficult to look upon, he thought appreciatively. In addition, there was no sign of the spoiled vanity which marred the widow’s fading claim to beauty. There was humility and a quality of innocence in the younger woman’s extraordinarily dark blue eyes that caused Sir Frederick, that jaded cosmopolitan, to stare.
The young woman blushed under his intent gaze and cast down her black lashed eyes. Her slim gloved hands entwined together in her lap. Obviously she was unused to open admiration and was thrown into confusion by his pointed attention. Sir Frederick pulled himself together, silently scolding himself for the momentary lapse in his generally unflappable insouciance.
Sir Frederick sent an inquiring glance at Mrs. Holland, but it was the earl who stepped forward. His lordship dropped a hand on the young woman’s slender shoulder. “My sister, Miss Guineveve Holland.”
“Oh, yes. My daughter, Sir Frederick,” said Mrs. Holland shortly, gesturing with her fan without glancing around in the direction of her daughter.
Sir Frederick was somewhat disconcerted by the widow’s negligent attitude. In general, matrons with daughters were all too eager to bring them to his notice. He had a comfortable fortune and owned an estate, besides having a brilliant career. Mrs. Holland had given the impression that she did not care whether her daughter was introduced to him or not. Banishing the puzzling impression, Sir Frederick returned his attention to the young lady. He made an elegant bow. “Miss Holland, I am happy to make your acquaintance.”
Miss Holland cast a swift glance upward at him, then slid her gaze toward her mother as though seeking direction. It was swift to come.
“Well, girl, have you not anything polite to say to Sir Frederick?” asked Mrs. Holland sharply, turning around to stare disapprovingly at her daughter.
“Mama, pray—!” muttered the earl, obviously embarrassed.
Miss Holland flushed hotly. With a bad stammer, she said, “H-how do you do, sir?”
Sir Frederick was taken aback by Mrs. Holland’s stinging rebuke of her daughter. Public humiliation was never easy to witness. At that moment he felt Mrs. Richardson’s fingers close on the back of his arm. Suddenly, he knew why she had introduced him to the Hollands. It was not because she was trying to get up a match between himself and Miss Holland. It was because Mrs. Richardson pitied the young woman. Undoubtedly Mrs. Richardson had already witnessed something of the widow’s lack of simple courtesy toward the daughter. He knew Caroline Richardson well enough to understand that it had set up her back, as it had certainly done his.
Sir Frederick, to his own rueful recognition, had never been able to resist the urge to aid a damsel in distress.
Chapter Five
Sir Frederick stepped forward and gently pried loose one of the tensely held hands in Miss Holland’s lap. Clasping her reluctant fingers, he smiled down into her startled eyes. He had heard the striking up of the orchestra, and now used it to his advantage. “May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Holland?”
Miss Holland turned paper white. The deep pools of her eyes widened in a panicked expression. “I-I don’t know! That is—”
“Don’t be a dolt, Guin. Of course you will dance with any gentleman who asks. You haven’t a single name on your card, to your shame,” snapped Mrs. Holland. She returned her attention to Sir Frederick, her face magically transforming with a gracious smile. “You must forgive my daughter, Sir Frederick
. She is rather backward, I fear. We have just come up from the country, and Guin is still overawed at the thought of her come-out.”
“Shyness is most becoming in a young miss,” said Mrs. Richardson in a cool voice. “Don’t you think so, Sir Frederick?”
Mrs. Holland was still smiling, but at Mrs. Richardson’s words a decidedly unfriendly light came into her eyes. She stared at the lady as though trying to decide whether or not to reply.
“Eminently so,” said Sir Frederick, slightly turning his head to respond to Mrs. Richardson. He had not let go of Miss Holland’s hand, and so he was standing close enough to hear her desperate whisper.
“Percy!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sir Frederick saw how the young earl’s long fingers tightened comfortingly on his sister’s shoulder. Miss Holland drew a steadying breath, almost as though she was going to trial, he thought pityingly. He saw that it was only with the earl’s encouragement that Miss Holland felt able to accept his invitation to dance. Truly the young lady lacked countenance, and he had no hesitation in ascribing it to a selfish, uncaring mother.
“I-I should be honored, Sir Frederick,” she said, rising gracefully from the silk-covered chair, her fingers still clasped in his hand. She stood there a second, heightened color in her face as she gazed up at him. Sir Frederick smiled at her encouragingly.
“I just saw Lady Smythe beckoning to me,” said Mrs. Richardson briskly. “Pray excuse me, my lord. Mrs. Holland, you must bring your daughter driving with me in the park one day.” She walked away, but not before she had bestowed a particularly satisfied smile on Sir Frederick as he drew Miss Holland forward onto the marble dance floor to join one of the sets forming up for a country-dance.
Sir Frederick discovered that he had acquired the most wooden partner of his entire career. Miss Holland performed each turn and movement with perfect accuracy but without heart. She held herself stiffly and not once did she look up at him.