A Grand Deception (9 page)

"I'll send word for us to meet tomorrow morning. We shall
leave early, when no one is about and more than half the
town is still abed." Muriel felt quite confident they would
not be discovered.

"But what of the Lady Devonshire's party? Mrs. Parker
will not allow you to refuse."

"I plan to attend. You'll be astonished how happy I will be
to do so" Muriel tended to feel elated after attending her
sessions with Signore Biondi. "However, I might caution you
that we not be overly friendly at Lady Devonshire's party.
Lest we are overheard or give ourselves away."

"That might be best," he acceded with a slow nod of his
head.

"Now, let us join the others, Sir Samuel, and pretend we
have not just cast ourselves into the briars."

If only Sherwin did not need to attend a party every night.
His life was becoming tiresome, indeed. The evenings of
leisure reading were gone, and he wasn't sure he'd see them
again for a very long time.

This ball, soiree, rout-whatever they called this type of
gathering-he spent dancing and "in conversation" with
various young ladies.

"What a disaster!" Miss Torrington proclaimed for the
fifth time in the scant ten-minute interval she and Sherwin
had stood together. "Do you not think so?"

Sherwin inhaled before making a noncommittal reply
but did not have the chance to utter an answer before Miss
Torrington continued. "I wonder who started it? I'm sure it
was some caper-witted gudgeon. Don't you think?"

Sherwin wasn't sure how he'd-

"Do you not know, my lord? Were you not present when
it happened? Not watching from the side but among the
dancers themselves, I daresay."

If he had to listen to another person speak of the mishap
from the previous evening, Sherwin would ... He wasn't
quite sure what would happen, but he felt certain it would
be nothing less than scandalous.

"Have I complimented you on your gown this evening?"
He offered up one of the standard compliments his mother
had given him to use on an occasion such as this. He could
not say why young ladies seemed to take his remarks to
heart and go on and on about the pains they had endured to
achieve their appearance.

"Why, no, you have not." Miss Torrington lowered her
gaze. "I thank you for taking notice."

He hadn't noticed anything. Sherwin could not make out
any details of her gown, only that it was pale in color-white,
if he had to guess. And he prayed that she would not ask if
any accessory she wore matched her eyes. He could not
distinguish their color.

"It takes some talent to make allowable alterations to a `white gown,' because you must know that every young lady
must wear white during her first Season, but they can be so
dull, don't you think?" Miss Torrington continued. "The
changes must be very subtle: a soft flourish here, a small,
pale ruffle there, a bit of trimming to embellish one's hem
or draw attention to one's neckline."

And men were supposed to notice these things?

"A young lady attending her first Season must compete
with other young ladies out for their second or third Season
who wear colors that are much more expressive. Just as
gentlemen have the distinct advantage of wearing various
patterns and prints on their jackets and waistcoats."

Sherwin's hands moved to the cloth-covered buttons of
his jacket, but the two appendages alone could not prevent
her from turning her scrutinizing eye toward him.

"As for you . . ." Miss Torrington tilted her head in his direction. "Your lordship is a very practical man, I'd say. You
have minimal but tasteful accessories. The bold pattern of
your waistcoat and deep color of your jacket show maturity.
They are the work of a fine tailor. Your cravat was obviously
sculpted by a competent valet." She smiled, seemingly pleased
with him. "You, Lord Amhurst, are one finely dressed, very
serious gentleman."

Miss Torrington could assess his character by what he
wore?

Sherwin tugged his cravat, which felt as if it was constricting his neck. Then he glanced to the other gentlemen
in a halfhearted attempt to assess their appearance as Miss
Torrington had his, but he could not see them clearly.

His mother had shopped, chosen, and purchased every
item he wore. The "maturity" of which Miss Torrington spoke
was his mother's, not his. Lady Amhurst had always taken exceptional pains with his appearance. She must have known
exactly what she was doing and what image she wanted him
to present.

His companion's observation made him very uncomfortable. Sherwin had no notion that he had been on display
while he attended these functions.

The idea of it did not appeal to him at all.

Sir Samuel bid Muriel farewell after their tete-a-tete. He had
plans to attend a musical soiree that evening. Muriel then retreated into the small parlor with her aunt, where she did not
remain long. Aunt Penny advised her niece that she should
be off to bed and acquire the sleep she so sorely lacked.

Upon entering her bedchamber, Muriel found Lydia laying
out a night rail and wrapper, preparations for the night.

Lydia turned toward the door. "Is there something you
need, Lady Muriel?"

"I believe I am ready to retire for the evening," Muriel
informed her abigail.

"It's still very early." But Lydia hurried to close the bedchamber door.

"Aunt Penny bid me to do so, and I must confess, I have
been excessively fatigued of late." Muriel stood with her back
toward Lydia, ready to be divested of her frock. "I believe
my aunt is right: the extra rest shall do me good."

"She and Mrs. Wilbanks have been concerned that you
might be attending too many parties." Lydia unfastened the
tapes, removed the garment, and laid it over a chair. She retrieved the night rail and slipped it over Muriel's head, allowing it to hang free. "I confess, I might have to agree with her."

"I hate to overly worry her about such things." Muriel sat
at her dressing table. "I think an early night will be just the
thing to set me to rights."

Lydia agreed. The abigail stood behind her and brushed
her long, dark hair and asked about Muriel's beaus and whom
she favored and if she thought he might come up to scratch.
She inquired after Miss Wilbanks' suitors as well, saying,
"Oh, that Mr. Stanley is a great favorite of hers, is he not?
And so handsome too."

Muriel made a noncommittal reply.

Muriel's braided hair lay upon her shoulder. Lydia helped
Muriel into bed, pulled the covers around her chin, and bid
her a good night's sleep.

"Remember, Lydia, I plan to sleep until well after noon."
Muriel was sure to remind her. "I shall ring for you when I
wake."

Muriel may have gone to bed early, but she was far from
falling asleep. She lay still, but her mind was busy pondering the tasks ahead of her. She needed to retrieve the dress,
bonnet, shoes, and plain, serviceable cloak she'd hidden.
There were notes, paper, pencils, and books already secured
in her satchel, which she did not wish to forget. All would
need to be placed somewhere quickly accessible so she should
not fumble about in the dark early in the morning.

After waiting a good half hour, she drew the covers away,
swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slid to the floor, and
went to work. She needed to make her preparations to leave
down the back stairs and out a side door early the next morning. Above all it was important she keep very quiet.

As she had planned the night before, Muriel readied
herself for travel, donning her plain bonnet and cloak just
after sunrise the next morning. Under her arm she carried
the satchel containing her notes, extra paper, pencils, and
books she would need.

Slipping out of Worth House, she followed the few handwritten directions on Sir Samuel's map. His aunt's town
house was not far, well within walking distance. Soon, Muriel stopped before an ivy-covered portal and used the key
he'd given her. Pushing open the large iron gate, she stepped
inside, off the main street, and latched it behind her.

The dim morning light hardly illuminated the garden.
From what she could tell, it looked like a veritable jungle.
Not five minutes had passed before a small black carriage
rolled to a stop in the street. It was Sir Samuel, come to relay
her to Signore Biondi's.

With the aid of the Baronet, Muriel entered the vehicle
and settled on the bench seat across from Sir Samuel.

"Let us be off." Sir Samuel glared at her from his side of the interior. With a quick double tap to the roof, the carriage sprang into motion. "This is most improper, Muriel. I
cannot see how His Grace could condone our actions."

"I'm not asking for his blessing." Muriel placed her satchel
next to her. "I trust you implicitly. I know you shan't allow
any harm to come to me, chaperoned or not."

"That is quite true. Would it be wiser to have your brother,
Freddie-"

"No." Muriel didn't expect Sir Samuel to understand. "He
and Papa are thick as thieves and cannot be trusted. You are
the only one whom I can depend upon."

It was clear Sir Samuel was not particularly pleased with
her-further proof he might as well have been her brother.
If not by blood, then she would claim their relation stemmed
from their mutually disagreeable opinions.

For most of the hour during her session, Signore Biondi sat
behind his massive, ornately carved wooden desk. Muriel
would not have been surprised to discover it originated from
the time of the Italian Renaissance. He kept his head lowered, focused on a pad of paper before him. She might have
suspected he was ignoring her except for the few times he
raised his index finger and corrected her pronunciation.

Muriel was then obliged to stop and repeat the phrase. A
rustle of movement coming from the doorway distracted
her.

"Si, Giorgio, grazier" The Latin tutor glanced over his narrow, wire-rimmed glasses, acknowledging the intruder with
a nod.

Muriel finished reading the last sentence aloud and then
faced her tutor.

He did not look up but kept working a pencil. Had Signore
Biondi been taking notes? Had he been making so many comments on her errors today, it took him much longer to
finish writing them out?

"Enough, Signorina. Well done." He set whatever he'd
been working on aside and removed his glasses. "We shall
continue next time we meet. I believe your young man has
arrived to see you home."

"Thank you, Signore." Muriel closed her book and collected the papers before her. She stood and stepped out of
the room. Continuing down the short hallway toward the
front door where Sir Samuel waited, Muriel retrieved her
cloak and bonnet.

"A successful session, I trust?" Sir Samuel greeted her.

"Yes, very." Muriel pulled on her bonnet and tied the ribbons. "I thank you for returning for me."

"I couldn't very well leave you to find your own way home."
He swung his beaver hat onto his head by the brim and
stood ready to depart at the doorway.

They stepped outside the modest apartment, one in a row
of buildings, as it neared noon. Muriel needed to get home
and crawl back into bed.

Sir Samuel took her hand to help her up the steps of his
carriage. He entered after her and sat on the opposite bench.
The steps were folded up, and the door closed behind them.

The vehicle moved forward, and Muriel could not keep a
smile from touching her lips. "It was wonderful. I do not
know how I am ever to repay you."

"You could forget this madness and be satisfied, as any
other young lady, to attend the endless round of parties," he
suggested without humor. "I'm quite certain that if you
could form an attachment, it would delight your family to no
end."

"Oh, no. I cannot do that." Muriel pulled her satchel closer,
wrapping her arms around it tightly. Did Sir Samuel think he could change her mind? "Even you must own that I am
not any ordinary young lady."

"I'm afraid you are correct, there." He pushed his hat to
the back of his head and sighed, making him appear quite
exasperated. "And I fear for Mrs. Parker and His Grace, for
they are involved in a battle they cannot win."

"You make it sound as if I am a spoiled child who must
have her way."

"Willful, impulsive, perhaps, but not spoiled," Sir Samuel
clarified. He cleared his throat. "I find you also inquisitive
and intelligent, which would not be considered a compliment
to any fashionable young lady. I should receive a resounding
scolding for speaking my mind, as should you."

"How amusing you are-what was that?" Muriel spied
what she thought was a crumbling wall from the window.
"Stop the carriage! Stop, I say!"

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Sir Samuel cried out
in alarm.

The momentum of the coach began to slow, and Muriel
leaped out the door before the vehicle rolled to a complete
halt.