Danse de la Folie (40 page)

“I will not,” she said. “Unless you promise not to touch
me.”

The sound of the brake engaging darted fear through her
nerves. So
this
was an abduction. A
real one! There was nothing romantical about it, she thought desolately, as
lightning flared, this time accompanied by a clap of thunder.

Mr. Redding jumped down and started toward her. She ran to
the other side of the gig, crying, “Stay away from me.”

“What is this play-acting?” he retorted. “It pleases me not.
Sir Henry’s girl promised you liked me fine, and here we are, miles from
anyone. I play fair—if you are the maiden you pretend to be, I am willing to
stand up in church, but if you like—”

“How
dare
you
offer me violence,” Kitty cried, edging around the side of the gig. If she
could get her hands on the reins...

But Mr. Redding gripped them tight, the horse plunging and
jobbing as its head twisted. “Do you see a pistol in my hand?”

“Dastard. Coxcomb!”

“Upon my word, you are a prosy one. What is it you want to
hear,
I love you
and
adore
you? I will say anything you like,
only get in the gig!”

At that moment, the storm reached them, a sudden downpour battering
Kitty, Mr. Redding, and the restive horse.

“I just want to go home,” Kitty stated between shut teeth.

Mr. Redding lunged around the wheel, then swayed, catching
himself against the tracings. Kitty sprang away—and tripped over her hem.

Mr. Redding uttered a hiccoughing laugh, then cursed. From
the sound of his impatience, the rain was beginning to sober him a little.
“Where are you, gel?”

“Just go away,” Kitty said as she rolled to her feet. “I do
not
wish to be abducted by you
or
married to you!”

“Then you shall not be,” came a calm voice out of the
darkness.

“Clarissa!” Kitty cried with heartfelt gratitude.

“Who is that?” Mr. Redding cried, as rain hissed all around
them.

“Miss Harlowe,” Clarissa stated calmly.

“
Chadwick’s
girl?”
Mr. Redding said, in accents of dismay. His expectations had been confounded,
and foremost in his emotions were disappointment and anger, and under those,
the sickening suspicion that he had been made game of.

He leaped back into the gig, which would not have seated
three even if he wished to tax his horse so abominably. “That is very well,” he
said angrily. “If you will have none of me, then I’ll none of you.”

With that he clucked to the horse, and the gig swiftly
vanished down the road, leaving the two ladies standing in the rain.

“Poltroon,” Clarissa called in clear accents.

Kitty began to laugh uncertainly, which nearly turned to
tears. She wiped rain off her face repeatedly, her fingers trembling.

“Oh, Kitty, I am so sorry,” Clarissa said.

“I am fine,” Kitty stated rather grittily. “That man does
not deserve tears.”

“Quite so. I wish I had my umbrella,” Clarissa responded. “I
could have used it to thump him over the head. As well as to ward the rain.”

Kitty lost control then, and gave vent to wild laughter,
which caused Clarissa to laugh as well. For a time they stood there in the
rain, laughing and laughing, in spite of sodden gowns and ruined hats.

When the gusts died away, Clarissa said, “We had better
begin walking.”

Kitty fell in step beside her, but observed, “It is quite
ten miles. It will take us all night, if highwaymen do not get us first.”

“No,” Clarissa said, practical as always. “I fully expect a
respectable house or cottage to appear before long, to which we may apply.
Visitors go to Richmond Park every day, and surely we are not the only ones who
missed their party.”

“Is that what we will say?” Kitty asked.

“Yes,” Clarissa stated firmly.

“Is that how you came to be alone on the road, did you miss
the others?”

There was a long pause, then Clarissa said, “No. Miss
Bouldeston was a little too quick to jumble us all into the barouche without
you. So I let myself out the other side. I do not know if she noticed or not,
and I do not care. Especially as she promptly gave the driver the signal to go.
I was on the other side of the gig, which prevented me from gaining Mr.
Redding’s attention. Or perhaps he ignored me, but I got left behind.” Clarissa
smiled Kitty’s way. “So I started walking. I thought I might catch you up
before long.”

Kitty said, “Mr. Redding gained a false impression of me.”

“I think,” Clarissa said, enjoyed the relief of speaking her
mind, “Miss Bouldeston deliberately misled Mr. Redding about you. That is not
to excuse his behavior.”

“He was certainly in liquor, which may explain the
things
he said. But
she
was not. Why would she do that?”

Clarissa pressed her lips together, then said, “As I am not
in the lady’s confidence, her motives can only be guessed at.”

Kitty said aggrievedly, “I am a simpleton. I set myself up
for understanding, yet I have
never
understood Lucretia.”

“That is because there are so many inconsistencies in her
words as well as her conduct.”

Kitty sighed. “I was going to tell you once, about my single
entry into society, when I was eighteen. Lucretia had been to Town for the
first time, and, well, it was before Papa died, while Grandmama was ill.”

“Go on,” Clarissa said.

“The Bouldestons always went to Tunbridge Wells for the
assemblies. They invited me. I think my brother asked Lucretia too, but at all
events, I
know
I told Lucretia that I
was making over one of my mother’s gowns. It was a very pretty yellow silk,
with a long sash with a fringe, and when we met outside the Assembly, she had
nothing but compliments to speak, though I did have my cloak on, but I am
certain it did not cover my gown entirely. But once we were inside, someone
came up to be introduced, to ask me to dance, and she came up, and made a show
of looking at me all over, and she said how pretty I was, but then she said in
very loud accents
, Catherine, I am
desolated, but if I do not do my duty, who will? Only married ladies wear
yellow silk, or is there an Interesting Event I did not know about?
Everyone
laughed—or at least, my memory insists everyone laughed, though they may not
have done. They may not have noticed at all. But I was so ashamed, I made an
excuse, and went to the cloak room, and cried until it was time to leave, and
then I had to lie to Papa and tell him I was ill. And I did not want to go into
company for ages after, for I was convinced I had become infamous. Why could
she have not told me before? I never understood that.”

“Spite,” Clarissa said.

Kitty looked her way, but she could make out nothing except
the barest outline of Clarissa’s form in the emerging starlight, as the clouds
above began to disperse. “Spite? But what could I have done to deserve it?”

“Again, I cannot penetrate her motivations, but I would
assert that if your conduct was then as it is now, the problem has never lain
with you.”

“Spite,” Kitty repeated, then said in a rush, “I have tried
and tried to like her, to be glad for Carlisle, but I never could. Every summer
when she returned from London and talked about how many men were secretly in
love with her, I kept hoping she would jilt my brother and marry someone else.
Well, I shall take great pleasure in telling my brother about
this
.”

Clarissa said, “I quite understand the impulse, but I
believe it would be better not to do so.”

“Why not?”

“Think it through with me, Kitty. First of all, your brother
must naturally go to Lucretia for an explanation, and what will she say? That
you were not missed in the bustle—a bustle that she carefully planned, but I
cannot prove that. That she thought to help you find a husband. She will even
insist that you encouraged Mr. Redding.”

“But Mr. Redding said that
she
put that idea into his head. I must send Carlisle to him.”

“Then what must be the result of that?”

Kitty raised hands to her hot cheeks. “Oh, then Carlisle
must call him out, or insist we be married, either of which would be horrid.”

“At the very least your name would end up on everyone’s
lips, and that, I may venture to say, was probably her intention.”

“But Mr. Redding
can
ruin me,” Kitty said, as the possible consequences began to harrow her. “He has
only to say that we were alone in that gig...”

“I do not think he will,” Clarissa said.

“You do not?”

“No. First of all, as you observed, he was in liquor.
Lucretia, I saw, kept his glass well poured. In that heat, and all that wine—I
feel fairly safe in venturing that he will be fit for nothing by tomorrow. And
when he does regain his intellects, a moment’s reflection will show that he
would appear a sorry, even laughable figure. My appearance would do nothing to
help his case, and then, you know, his going off and abandoning two ladies in a
storm... no.” Clarissa ran her hands up her arms, then wrung her fingers. “The
more I consider, the likelier I think it that the gentleman might prefer to retire
to his estate in case
you
tell a tale
that does not redound to his credit. He may also fear my father,” she added.
“He does not know your brother except whatever tales Miss Bouldeston might have
told of him, but he is old enough to know that my father fought a couple of
duels when he was younger. He had rather a reputation.”

In spite of the rain, her clammy, sodden clothing, and her
vexation, Kitty could not help being diverted by this unexpected disclosure.
The indolent Lord Chadwick, fighting duels? “Very well. If it is as you say,
then I must suppose my reputation will not be smirched, but it seems hard not
to tell Carlisle what happened. And to think he will take her to wife!”

The longest silence yet grew between them as they walked
steadily, Clarissa saying finally, “I believe we must leave it to your brother
to question his intended wife, or not, as he sees fit. But I think it would be
a great mistake to force him to choose between the two of you. For I would be
surprised if Lucretia has not a tale ready to explain both our absences by now.”

They had reached Richmond Gate, which still stood open, as
the last of the visitors had not departed. The ladies walked out, and twice
carriages dashed by, splashing both sides high with muddy water. They leaped
back to avoid the splash, which perhaps prevented them from being seen, but in
any case, neither carriage halted.

They resumed their trek, their shoes ruined, not that they
noticed. Each was too burdened by conflicting thoughts.

At least the rain had become intermittent, as the moon shone
bright and silvery-blue in between the silently sailing clouds.

The girls began to talk determinedly of other things as they
walked along the road. No more carriages passed. The moon had moved higher in
the sky when the rhythmic thud of horse hooves once again reached their ears.
Only this time, they were coming from the direction of town.

The two looked at once another, each seeing no more than a
pale blob of a face, before Clarissa said, “This will not be a party leaving
the Park. Perhaps we ought to take a place beyond the safety of that hedge.”

Kitty ducked her head, and scrambled off the muddy road,
Clarissa on her heels. They peered out. Visible at first were the carriage
lamps, two eyes of winking gold, and between them a uniform darkness.

The sound grew, the darkness resolved into the silhouette of
a team of horses, and behind them, seated high, the shape of a man in a caped
driving coat.

The equipage neared, began to pass. The driver turned his gaze
from one side as to the other, and as his moonlit profile was briefly outlined
against the darkened countryside, Kitty gasped.

Clarissa’s nerves turned to snow as Kitty cried frantically,
“Carlisle!”

St. Tarval pulled up the curricle. Kitty pelted down the
road, Clarissa running after. Kitty leaped up onto the floorboard of the
vehicle to fling her arms around her brother, but the horses, thoroughly
unsettled, jobbed and pitched, causing the curricle to sidle, and Kitty fell
backward, once more landing in the mud.

Clarissa bent to offer a hand, but Kitty said breathlessly,
“I am fine, truly. It’s not as if I have not taken a tumble before.” She stood
up, trying to brush the worst of the mud from her gown as she exclaimed,
“Carlisle, what brings
you
here! Did
you come to rescue us?”

As she spoke she looked up, to discover her brother was not
listening to her at all. His hands were busy with the reins, but his
countenance was turned away from her, his hat throwing all but his chin in
shadow.

Looking from him to Clarissa, upon whose uplifted face the
moonlight shone in full, Kitty made a stunning discovery.

The marquess did not begin the day in a good temper.

He had been in a reflective mood ever since the night at
Almack’s, at which he had witnessed his betrothed’s determined efforts to catch
the attention of Mr. Devereaux.

In part he hoped that she could succeed in catching the
gentleman’s eye, for that would solve his own problem so neatly. At any rate,
he was convinced that in spite of her getting her father to insert that notice
into the newspaper, she had no regard for him whatsoever.

After a couple of days of thought, he came to the conclusion
that he had better have a frank talk with his betrothed. This prospect he regarded
with dread, for he had seen her temper when she pinched at her sister. But
temper or not, he was determined to come to an understanding with Lucretia before
he left London.

The morning he made his decision, it seemed impossible to
extricate himself, for he came downstairs to discover Lord Arden having joined
Ned at breakfast, full of reminders of their plan to go off to a shooting
parlor. Ned did not want to forego, and the marquess could not think of a
sufficient excuse to avoid something he’d agreed to.