Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind (12 page)

Ginny drew a deep breath. “Oh, well done! That was very sensible of you” Her color was almost restored to its natural shade. “I must thank you for your presence of mind.”

“It was rather clever of me” Then again, he had had most of the night to come up with the story. “In gratitude, would it be remiss of me to ask that you keep my secret?”

“That you spent the night riding? Yes, I suppose I could. That is, as long as you are not endangering anyone in doing so,” she added.

“No. That is, unless, of course, horses are vulnerable to the chicken pox”

Ginny laughed. At last! It seemed he had waited an age for that laugh. So much for his late-night resolve to stay away from her, but something had to be done. He couldn’t allow her to think he had sullied her good name. And at the breakfast table of their hosts, no less.

There was a rustling of silk skirts outside in the hall. Ginny’s bright smile took on a look of unease. “I think it best if we rejoin the others. It wouldn’t do to jeopardize my so recently regained reputation.”

“Of course.” He took her arm and walked her to the door. She fit into his side perfectly. He could become accustomed to that sensation. It really was too bad that he and marriage didn’t fit.

At the door she paused and said, “Shall we be friends, then?” She looked up at him with such warmth and sincerity, his heart turned over.

“Yes, I think that would fit the bill nicely.” Really too bad indeed, he thought.

Ginny went directly upstairs to see Nan. She found Mrs. Crandall, the housekeeper, applying poultices to the worst of the spots. “Thank you, Mrs. Crandall. I’ll see to that” Ginny gently pried the last poultice from the startled housekeeper, who clucked in disbelief all the way to the door.

“I thought that woman would never let me be!” Nan cried.

“Has she been pestering you, love?” Ginny applied the poultice of oats dipped in milk to Nan’s elbow, relieved to see the glint returned to her eye.

“Tormenting me is more like. She is worse than the spots, and they itch something fierce” Nan raised a hand to her face but Ginny deftly caught it and placed it under the bedclothes.

“You had best go, miss. I would hate for you to come by this ‘cause of me. It’s been two days, and I’m still getting new spots every hour.”

“You will feel better soon.” Ginny moved with speedy efficiency about the room, plumping pillows and opening windows. “I know, I had it when I was nine.”

“Nine! However did they keep you from scratching the skin right off your bones?” Nan reached for a pox but remembered herself just in time.

“My mother often sat and read books or told stories. Would you like me to do so now? I see there is a volume of Sir Thomas Moore’s Irish Melodies on the bed table”

Nan made a face. “Miss Barrington had that sent up. I suppose I should be grateful for the kindness, but it only served to bluedevil me”

“Why is that?” Ginny took the volume in hand and a paper fluttered out. It was covered by a flowery script, which read:

I had this of my papa when I was similarly afflicted, and it brought me much comfort to know the history behind one little poem. The poet wrote itfor his wife when she contracted the pox and she was worried about having itty-bitty scars all over her body when the itty-bitty spots went away. I was ever so worried myself, but if a man who is the special friend of the Prince Regent and Byron could still love his wife after seeing her with spots, I’m sure I can find someone to love me too. I’m not so sure about you, seeing as you are an abigail and I have never seen you, with or without spots. I would, but Mama strictly forbids it. Yours, Lucinda.

“Well,” Ginny said, replacing the note, “I cannot see why this should have you the least bluedeviled. If you had ever seen Lucinda, you would feel honored to have been so singled out by such as she” Not to mention amazed. Really, the girl meant well, but she was prodigiously dull-witted. How many abigails of her acquaintance could read? The fact that Nan could was beside the point.

“Is she very pretty?” Nan asked. “She must be to worry so about having her looks spoilt.”

“Yes, very, and vain besides.” Ginny drew a chair closer to the bed and sat. “She speaks just as she writes but with an abominable lisp.”

“Truly? The poor dear!”

“Oh, you needn’t feel sorry for her. It is an affectation. I hope she gives it up soon. It is vexing beyond anything!”

“And what does Sir Anthony think of her?” Nan asked. Ginny saw that she watched her closely for her reaction.

“You know I don’t care two pins for what Sir Anthony thinks. I daresay he finds her well enough” She shrugged her nonchalance. “Anyway, it doesn’t signify if he does favor her. Her parents have her practically promised to Lord Avery, a fine gentleman and very handsome”

“Never as handsome as Sir Anthony,” Nan insisted.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Why, no one would know how to be, that’s how. Sir Anthony may be too caring of his clothes and he may pay his valet more than the Prince Regent spends on corsets, but that’s no never mind. Sir Anthony has a natural attraction that any woman would find hard to resist.”

“Why, Nan Plunkett, I am surprised at you! You’re too young to know of which you speak”

“I’m a full year older than you when you received your first offer of marriage,” Nan retorted. “And I was never so glad when you turned that cawker down flat! You would do much better to marry Sir Anthony. I knew as much the minute I laid eyes on him.”

Ginny stood and hastily began tucking in bedsheets to hide her face. She had heard this diatribe regularly for three years, but it still served to raise a mighty blush in her cheeks. “I had best talk to Mrs. Crandall about making you a new poultice for that fever. Yours has gone to your brain, it seems”

“My fever is long gone and you know it. Do come back and tell me more of your goings on,” Nan begged.

“I shall if you promise not to speak of Sir Anthony in such a way again,” Ginny relented.

“I promise because you want me to, but truly you can’t expect me to remember a thing I said once I’m over this horrid plague.”

“I suppose I shall have to be content with that” Ginny smiled and left the room. Out in the hallway, her smile faded. If only Grandaunt Regina hadn’t sent for Sir Anthony to be her escort, Nan would never have started harping on that old subject.

At least she had until the end of the quarantine to be assured Nan wouldn’t pester her about Sir Anthony. It would never do for the abigail to guess how her mistress had passed the night, her eyes tightly closed against the memory of his smoldering eyes. She hoped agreeing to be his friend wouldn’t prove to be her undoing.

Sir Anthony had spent the better part of the morning in the damask rose salon, gazing out the window. It was double-doored, looked out on the beginnings of what promised to be a monumental rose garden, was trimmed in rosewood, naturally, and had thirty-nine panes. He ought to know better than anyone; he had counted them at least sixty-seven times since he had grown bored watching Avery woo Lucinda and had taken himself off.

It was deuced difficult for one to amuse himself under the circumstances. Apparently, someone had let on that Lucinda favored that little Irish chap Sir Thomas Moore. If he had to hear how Avery’s wishes “would entwine themselves verdantly, still” one more time, he would find it necessary to lose his breakfast through any number of those thirty-nine panes.

Worse yet, Lucinda was loving every minute, which meant nothing could induce Avery to cease and desist. Certainly nothing Sir Anthony could possibly say would hold any water, but just as he was about to open his mouth in another vain attempt, Ginny entered the room.

He was gratified when she came directly to his side. “You were about to say something.”

He smiled. “Yes, I was, but demme if I knew what it was. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“What? Do you mean my joining you with full intention?”

He nodded. “You don’t think I wish to make myself any part of that, do you?” He indicated the couple on the sofa discussing the advantages of the sonnet over the ballad. What one had to do with the other was beyond his wish to ever know.

“I think it best if we contrive to involve them in something else, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Delacourt? Perhaps that game of Hunt the Slipper Lucinda referred to the other evening.”

“La, sir! Don’t be gulled into thinking myself unaware of your intentions!” Ginny exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. “A dark passage here, an innocent kiss there, and Lucinda shall be none the wiser, am I right?”

“Is that what you think of me, then? I will have you know my intentions toward Miss Barrington are most honorable” After all, what could be more honorable than his total disinterest?

Ginny’s bright smile became a bit fixed. “In that case, sir, I think you ought to know that Lucinda’s parents have chosen Lord Avery for their daughter. It wouldn’t do to upset their plans”

“Not even for the sake of true love?” He had no intention of marrying the likes of Lucinda Barrington, but he enjoyed allowing Ginny to think he might.

“No, not even for that. I think the Barringtons put more value on other things.” By which she meant a lofty title, he felt most sure. “Besides, they seem quite taken with the man” Ginny leaned back against the window and looked archly up at him. “I don’t think you should be able to tear Lucinda away from him if you tried.”

Why, the chit had some nerve! He felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. Unclenching his teeth, he said, “I believe she had eyes for only me at breakfast.” He placed a hand against the window above Ginny’s head and stared down at her. She gazed back at him. “You could take a lesson in the art of flirtation from such a one as she, I’ll have you know.”

He was never to hear what promised to be a most tart reply, for suddenly the window flew open and Ginny began to fall. Before she had time to scream, he had thrown his arms around her and jerked her away from danger.

Clutching her, he realized she felt much smaller than he had imagined, really just a tiny little thing. Her heart hammered against him through the soft curves of her breast, and she trembled. Time seemed, for a moment, to stop until gradually Sir Anthony became aware that one end of the ribbon so fetchingly laced through Ginny’s dark curls was fluttering against his lips, a stiff breeze was coming through the still-open window, and his arms ached like the devil from holding her so tightly against his chest.

He loosened his grip and Ginny stepped out of his arms. It was as if the sun had stepped away into night. Bemused, he looked about the room and saw that Lucinda and Lord Avery stared at them in consternation. Clearly an explanation was in order. “Er, Miss Delacourt nearly fell out of the window.”

Lucinda sprang from her seat and ran lightly to Ginny’s side. “Oh, yes, we saw the whole thing.” She turned to look out the window. “And we are so high up. If you had fallen all the way down, I believe it would have hurt prodigiously!”

Ginny gave a shaky laugh and lightly touched Sir Anthony on the arm. “It seems as if you are responsible for rescuing me once again. I was never so glad for your being by except, perhaps, when Seb and Dobbs chose to call”

He carried her hand from his arm up to his lips which he allowed to hover above her fingers a fraction longer than strictly proper. “It was my pleasure”

Ginny blushed and Lord Avery sauntered over to assess the situation. “What a narrow escape, sir,” he expostulated. “However did you think so fast as to catch her right out of the window? It defies imagination!”

Sir Anthony glanced at Ginny and saw that she blushed, though her eyes danced with merriment. Gad, she looked a different girl from the one who had looked at him so coldly across Grandmama’s desk. Tearing his eyes away from her, he bestirred himself to explain. “I was well aware of the danger as I had been studying the window for the past hour. I believe Miss Delacourt was about to suggest we do something to amuse ourselves. Or would have, had she not been so rudely interrupted” He bowed, and allowed a slight smile to play about his lips.

Ginny looked momentarily nonplussed but made an admirable recovery. “Yes, I seem to recall something said about Hunt the Slipper.”

“Oh, indeed yes, let us do so at once!” Lucinda cried with her customary urgency. “It will be famous! I haven’t played in ever so long. Why, it must have been before I was laid so low with the spots. Come Eustace, let’s ask Mama for a slipper.”

Sir Anthony watched Avery trot off with Lucinda. The way he stayed glued to her side, he no doubt intended to find himself stuck with Lucinda in that dark little corner of which Ginny had spoken. He headed after the pair and noted Ginny followed companionably by his side. “Miss Delacourt,” he inquired after a bit of thought. “Would you know where I could lay my hands on a copy of Moore?”

She looked up at him. “Whyever do you ask?”

Meeting her gaze, Sir Anthony felt something soft uncurl within him. “I had thought to find a poem rhapsodizing on the beauty of eyes.” Grayish-green ones, of course.

“You can’t be serious!” Ginny laughed and took his arm. She was looking forward to their game. Unlike Lucinda, it had been eons since Ginny had played Hunt the Slipper. Unlike Sir Anthony, she hadn’t been quarantined during a house party either, and thereby hadn’t mastered the finer points of the game. Notwithstanding, Ginny felt certain the object in pursuit was meant to be the slipper, not unprotected females. Even in the “dark walk” at Vauxhall Gardens she hadn’t been attacked by so many groping hands.