Maggie MacKeever (11 page)

With that sentiment, his lordship agreed. “A pity! Allow me to escort you back to Phyfe House.”

Bosky as her ladyship undeniably was, she was not so bosky she would allow her outing to be curtailed. “No!” she snapped, and dug in her pretty little heels. But flirtation would not be advanced by belligerence. “You might exhibit some compassion, sir! My youth is rapidly fleeing! And already I have been twice widowed!”

“Doing it rather too brown!” Lord Darby broke in ruthlessly. “If you did not marry men old enough to be your grandfather, you would not be eternally in mourning for them. As for your age, if conduct is any indication, you might as well still be in the nursery.”

Had there been, in this blunt speech, an oblique compliment, a hint of regard? Lady Barbour pondered and decided there had not been. “Well!” she cried, and allowed her huge blue eyes to fill with tears.

“It will avail you nothing,” his lordship added wearily, “to try and cast out lures. Paper-skulled as it may seem in me. Lady Barbour, I do
not
wish to engage in a flirtation with you.”

Here was a bizarre statement—one sufficiently unprecedented as to plunge her ladyship into near-sobriety. “No? Whyever not?” inquired Sidoney.

Once more Lord Darby hoped that his Creator lacked the perverse sense of humor that would consign the most profligate of his creations to pass eternity with a nitwit. Despite his exasperation, however, he could hardly inform Lady Barbour that she was without exception the most tedious female he had ever met.

He sought to be kind. “You are a tremendous flirt, and so am I. Like does not attract like. Now perhaps you will allow me to escort you—”

But Sidoney’s mouth had fallen open, and her blue eyes flashed cold fire.
“Like!”
she cried, so stridently that several of their fellow revelers paused mid-stride in hope of witnessing a right rare rowdy-dow. “How
dare
you infer that I am like you! I do not know what can have given you such an
odious
idea! Certainly I would like to add a little adventure to my life, and I see no reason why I shouldn’t, because my life has been very flat for a very long time! And I have borne it
quite
without complaint! Never did I tell
either
of my husbands that I found them dull as ditchwater! But even if I am a
complete flirt, and even if I
do
crave to cut a lark, I have
never
engaged in immoral behavior with common women, like everyone knows
you
do; and therefore, for you to say we are alike is abominably unjust!”

During this outburst, interrupted only by her ladyship’s hiccoughs, Lord Darby cast his eyes heavenward to the Creator who had so callously abandoned him and, without reservation, prayed. “It is you who are unjust,” he said, when his companion finally ran out of words. “I did not mean to infer that you had an acquaintance with the—er—Fashionably Impure.”

“I should hope not!” huffed her ladyship, unappeased.

Lest all the world learn of their presence at Vauxhall this night, Lady Barbour must be removed from the public gaze. A large crowd had massed during her tirade, entertainment adjudged by one voluble witness to be a great deal nackier than the usual fireworks display. Therefore, although he would much rather have strangled his companion, Lord Darby exercised his legendary charm to the utmost. “I
meant,”
he murmured, “not that we were similarly—er—rakish but that we were similarly—ah—irresistible!”

This singular conceit roused none of Sidoney’s disapproval; she was accustomed to regarding herself in such light. Nor did she mind Lord Darby’s suggestion that his allure might almost equal her own, though she might have been less tolerant had he not been England’s most notorious rakehell and thus demonstrably possessed of a considerable attractiveness. Sidoney could not see it herself, more was the pity; because for adventure, what better guide could one ask than a gazetted profligate?

She giggled, good humor restored. “I fear I have been a
teeny
bit precipitate! You will forgive me, I am certain. You of all people must understand my longing for adventure.
Your
life has been filled with it! It must be very pleasant to answer to no one else’s wishes, and to do exactly as one pleases, I think!”

Lord Darby had thus far to see indication that Lady Barbour gave serious consideration to any wishes but her own; and he was led by her admiration of his life-style to entertain sudden serious doubts. He hoped he was not quite so frivolous as she made him sound. He hoped also that the crowd would not follow them along this avenue of trees and into the Rotunda, a circular building housing illuminated paintings and statues.

Demonstrably, Lord Darby was out of favor with his Creator that eve. The crowd did not follow, but lurking in the Rotunda were three females whom Lord Darby knew very well. Moreover, they immediately noted his arrival and abandoned their vigil for other quarry. Determination in their stride, the sisters advanced. “Hell and the devil confound it!” ejaculated his lordship, and took to his heels.

Rapt in her own mirrored reflection, Sidoney was not aware of the exact moment of her abandonment, but the discovery left her less perturbed than pleased. One did not court adventure, accompanied by a chaperon, in which
rôle
Darby excelled. It was almost enough to plunge one straight into the pathetics, the discovery that the notorious “Devil” Darby was a pudding-heart. Sidoney would never have believed it, had she heard such a thing. The Fashionably Impure must be a great deal less particular in their tastes than she had hitherto imagined, else Darby would never have made such a success. The kindest thing Lady Barbour could say of the gentleman was that he was very much an oddity.

As she thus consigned his lordship to obscurity, Sidoney proceeded blithely along one of Vauxhall’s many shaded walks. Past splashing waterfalls and wooded valleys she wandered, past crumbling ruins and dark ravines. Then a voice caught her attention. “Hist!” the voice said, from a leafy grove.

Hist? Did adventure in so plebeian a manner beckon? No spirited lady could refrain from finding out. Sidoney approached. An arm reached out and caught her and dragged her within the copse. Another arm similarly reached out and caught her around the waist.

Here was adventure in truth, even if Lady Barbour was too bemused—and too inebriated—to view it properly. He wore a mask also, as a good adventurer should. “Oh!” gasped Sidoney, at her most enticing. “How you startled me, sir!”

“I shall startle you even more, Lady Barbour!” the masked gentleman promised in exceedingly gruff tones. “Oh, yes, I know your name. Long have I worshiped from afar. And long have I been wishing to do
this!”

Since “this” consisted of being subject to a most thoroughly ardent embrace, Lady Barbour was spared the necessity of comment; and so strong was her accoster that she was also spared putting up more than minimum resistance. “Oh!” she sighed blissfully when he at length released her. “That was
prodigious
unlike the way my husbands ... I mean, how
dare
you, sir!”

But he was not attending to her. Instead he was peering intently out of the grove, listening to argumentative raised voices. “I must go,” he whispered.

Had not Lady Barbour shot the cat, and had she not been, prior to her intoxication, the most adorable of pea-brains, she might have realized that there was a certain familiarity about both the masked gentleman’s person and his tones. But her attention was focused also on the argument underway in the path outside
;
and her mind was not such as allowed for two simultaneous trains of thought. Recognition of Lord Darby’s irate voice was sufficient achievement.

“I tell you I don’t
know
where he’s gone!” his lordship insisted. “Devil take it, I don’t even know the man, so there’s no use accusing me of being engaged in conspiracy. And
no,
I will not take you to visit Mr. Rundell and his partners in an effort to atone. Nor will I buy you a high perch phaeton. I am wholly out of patience with the lot of you, because if not for you my own—er—ladybird would not have given me the slip!”

Ladybird? echoed Sidoney silently, and then almost laughed aloud. Darby could not reveal her identity, of course. He was, despite his reputation, very much the gentleman at heart.

Not so her companion, obviously. Gentlemen did not go about embracing strangers, or hiding in wooded groves to escape their admirers. To have
three
ladies in pursuit was no small feat, Sidoney thought in admiration. Here was obviously an adventurer of no little degree. He must not be allowed to think he had made of her an easy conquest, all the same.

Without a word, Sidoney emerged from the grove. “Were you looking for me, Darby?” she plaintively inquired. “I have been waiting for you this age. I wish you would take me home.”

As she had expected, the three ladies disappeared immediately into the shadows. His lordship looked grateful. He would not be so grateful as the watcher in the copse, thought Sidoney. She had no doubt but that she would encounter her masked adventurer again.

Chapter Ten

Nor was Lord Darby in better odor with his Creator on the following morn, as indicated by a peremptory summons to Phyfe House. He cast a knowledgeable eye over this terse summons, indicative of some strong emotion held in check, and decided, regretfully, that said emotion was not admiration for himself.

That decision was confirmed by his reception at Phyfe House. The Scottish housekeeper was not so unaware of her position as to chastise him outright, nor so well behaved that she refrained from muttering imprecations beneath her breath. His arrival in the drawing room roused no happier comment. Miss Phyfe stood by a window, the formal ribands and large flower sprays of the satin hangings in incongruous contrast to her dishevelled, unfashionable and very rigid person.

She did not greet him, merely glowered. Lord Darby found himself unaccountably cheered. “I do not expect you invited me here to talk about reform, Miss Phyfe.”

Miss Phyfe’s delicate jaw unclenched. “I did not! I wish you would tell me, Darby, what the
deuce
you think you are about!”

His hostess being in no reasonable frame of mind, Lord Darby thought it behooved him to coax her into a better mood. Therefore, he smiled as he strolled further into the room. “You
should
talk to me about reform, Miss Phyfe; I am becoming quite conversant with the subject. Tell me, do you favor universal suffrage and annual parliaments only, or is it your goal to rip up monarchy by the roots and plant democracy in its stead,
à
la
Mr. Paine? I do not know if I could go quite so far as to encourage a convention elected by the people to draft a new constitution, although neither would I burn Paine in effigy to the cry of ‘God save the King’! On the other hand, I would never make a public toast to George III, or propose damnation to all crowned heads as certain of your fellow agitators have done. What’s this? You do not seem especially delighted that I might be persuaded to assist you in stirring up the lower orders, my darling.”

During this brisk dissertation, Miss Phyfe’s jaw had been seen to drop open and then again snap shut. “I am not your darling!” she now asserted through clenched teeth. “How dare you make mock of me! At least I try
to combat injustice, paltry as my efforts may seem.
You,
sir, are nothing but a lily of the field! You sow not—”

“Spin,” interrupted his lordship. “It’s not sow and reap, but spin and toil. A subtle distinction, I grant you, but I thought you’d want to know.” Close scrutiny discovered in Miss Phyfe’s flushed countenance no gratitude. Onward his lordship labored. “I was not making mock, my —ah! I might indeed be persuaded to lend my efforts to your cause, short of standing my trial for sedition. It is not that I am poor-spirited, you understand, or afraid of attracting notoriety, but I do not see that making a spectacle of myself will in any way improve the lot of the common man.”

Certainly Lord Darby would not fear to attract notoriety; he was already steeped in such. Suspiciously, Morgan regarded him.

Lord Darby met her gaze. Again he smiled.

       His lordship might go about acting like a walking advertisement for his favorite dental preparation, exuding potent masculinity and exhibiting his excellent teeth, until the crack of doom, decided Miss Phyfe. Neither on the day of judgment nor at any point in the interim would she allow herself to be disarmed.

Why Lord Darby should wish to breach her defenses, Morgan did not know; nor could she devise any logical explanation of his conduct. Miss Phyfe’s mind was not functioning in its usual tidy manner, result no doubt of an accumulation of sleepless nights. “You see, my darling,” his lordship added, then; “I have discovered in myself an ardent desire to win your approval.”

Her approval, was it? Lord Darby’s frank confession earned him only a repetition of his darling’s scowl. Scowls were not among the usual reactions to his lordship’s declarations. He could not repress still another smile.

“I do wish you would stop grinning at me in that odious manner!” snapped Miss Phyfe. “It is beyond my comprehension what in this wretched situation can cause you amusement. Or perhaps you consider it all a great jest? I do not, sir! And as for my approval, you choose a queer way to go about earning it.”

Lord Darby looked rueful. “You will not believe this, perhaps, but I meant it for the best. Your pea-brained cousin is ripe for mischief, and I thought that I might spare you distress if I could curb the worst of her high spirits. I promise you I wouldn’t have done it, my little hornet, had I known it would put you in a tweak.”

“Tweak” was not quite descriptive of Miss Phyfe’s mental condition; now she knew how it must feel to have windmills in the head. Poor Sidoney, she thought in a moment’s brief charity; doomed to wander along life’s byways with intelligent comprehension lurking just out of sight around the next bend. Then she realized that Sidoney was responsible for her own befuddlement, and all compassion fled. Sidoney and a conscienceless rakehell, she amended. Her brow wrinkled in perplexity.