Petticoat Rebellion (6 page)

“Yes, I am,”
she said, edging her arm free.

“I think you are very unambitious to settle for a gent who has been dead these three hundred years.”

“Not at all. I appreciate maturity in a gentleman.”

“A skeleton would be a nice quiet companion as well. Not given to foolish chatter, like some we could mention, eh, Miss Fairchild? You should really thank me, you know.”

“So I shall, once I have been allowed to see the sketches.”

“I mean for delaying the pleasure for you. You, if memory serves, have been chasing after them for some time?”

“Yes, I wrote to you on two different occasions.”

“Anticipation increases the pleasure. In fact, anticipation is often the greater part of the pleasure.”
His voice lowered as he spoke. The way he looked at her, with warmth in his lingering smile, suggested he was not speaking of the chase of anything but women. “It has been my experience that the thrill of the chase often exceeds the capture.”

“That must depend on what, or whom, one is chasing. I cannot believe Leonardo da Vinci will be a disappointment.”

“I don’t know about that. That is a very equivocal smile the Mona Lisa wears. I believe she was bored to tears before he had finished taking her likeness. Nor is there any mention of his ever having won a wife.”

“I am not pursuing the cartoons with any hope of marrying their creator. I just want to study them, and perhaps try my hand at copying them, if you would allow it. It is only by trying to imitate that one becomes aware of her own shortcomings. Da Vinci’s pictures, even his cartoons, live. When you look into the eyes of his creations, you almost feel you know his sitter. His line is so sure, his shading is exquisite—it’s marvelous.”

As she spoke, his eyes flickered over her animated face. One hand came out, as if to touch her cheek, but he withdrew it when she pulled back.

“I forgot myself,”
he apologized. “It was da Vinci’s ugly old men you were speaking of, not the sparkling eyes and exquisite lines of Miss Fairchild.”

“Ugly!”
she exclaimed. “They are beautiful!”

“No, no, you were supposed to simper and protest that I call you beautiful.”

She was glad of the darkness, which concealed her flush of pleasure. “You are perfectly absurd!”

“I must disagree. Lady Susan is perfectly absurd. I may criticize her as I am her cousin, and she never hesitates to give me a thumping set-down. I am imperfectly absurd. I have moments when I am completely rational. When we come to know each other better, you will agree with me.”

“Lady Susan is always rational, if somewhat outspoken.”

“There is a piece of understatement if I ever heard one. Somewhat outspoken, indeed! While we are having a good gossip, tell me, what do you know of the young lady John is making a cake of himself over? It runs in the family,”
he added, with a glinting smile that suggested he knew he was making a cake of himself over her, and enjoying it very much.

Abbie had never met anyone like him. Her few suitors had been such dull worthies as a vicar, an aging major who visited her papa, and a cousin who had a smallish estate in Somerset. She knew she was completely out of her depth with this handsome, practiced Lothario, and renewed her efforts to keep the conversation within the bounds of propriety.

“Miss Fenshaw comes from the west of England. Her papa owns a coal mine. She is well behaved, has a dot of twenty thousand, and is the most popular lady in the school.”

“No ill to say of her, eh? I find that curious. No one is all sweetness and light.”

“She does not do well at her lessons, not through any mental deficiency, but due to a lack of effort.”

“Does she have any conversation beyond hating things and loving them?”

“Certainly she has. Sometimes she varies her talk by saying she does not give a hoot about something.”

“And the blond?”

“Miss Kirby’s papa owns Kirby Brewing.”

“That explains Susan’s interest in the chit. Is it Tony or Sylvester she plans to give Miss Kirby to?”

“Lord Sylvester.”

“Poor Miss Kirby.”

“Poor Sylvester,”
she replied, then gave a gasp as she realized she had sunk again into such frankness with her host.

He smiled a charming smile that sent shivers down her spine. His eyes, in the shadows, glittered like black diamonds. “You were kind enough to tell me I need not account to you for my shortcomings. I can only reciprocate. I shan’t tell Miss Slatkin how barbarously you denigrate your charges. She’s a pretty little widgeon, Miss Kirby.”

“Yes, and sweet-tempered.”

“I shall have a dancing party to allow her to meet some gentlemen. And we shan’t invite Lord Sylvester, even though he is visiting only ten miles away.”

“Is he? Lady Susan did not mention it.”

He inclined his head to hers in a conspiratorial manner, and whispered, “There is a good reason for it. You must not say a word, but—”
Then he stopped and peered all around for spies. She looked at him, with her eyes wide open. “The awful truth is, he is visiting commoners. Not a title to their name! Plain Mr. Sheridan is his host. But we shan’t mention it,”

A gurgle of laughter caught in her throat. “You are really too absurd,”
she chided. “I thought you were going to say he was a thief or a murderer or a lecher.”

“I see lechery is last on your list of evils. That, being my own sin, is encouraging.”

She remembered, then, Lord Penfel’s lechery, and drew herself up sharp. How had she allowed herself to sink into such familiarity with this acknowledged rake? “I am astonished that you, who claim to know so much about women, don’t realize that for us, lechery is a man’s worst sin. Ladies can tolerate other deficiencies of character, but that one puts a man beyond the pale. No one loves a lecher for long.”

Penfel heard the genuine anger in her voice and blinked in astonishment, wondering how this delightful little flirtation had suddenly turned into a lecture. He had thoroughly enjoyed Miss Fairchild’s efforts to resist his charm. He had met these straitlaced ladies before, and knew just how to handle them. But he had no notion how to handle a schoolmistress who looked at him as if he were a worm.

“I don’t claim to know so much about women,”
he said. “It is their infinite variety that intrigues me.”
He had never met one before who cut up at him in the middle of a flirtation. “I know virtually nothing of you, for instance. Who and what is Miss Fairchild? Other than being a schoolmistress with a strange passion for Leonardo da Vinci, I mean?”

“She is an orphan now, but you must not pity her on that account. She has no memory of her papa, for she was only six when he died, and she was already grown up when her mama passed away three years ago. I went to live with my paternal uncle in Maidstone, who neither beats nor starves me nor forces me to work my fingers to the bone for my daily bread. I teach because I enjoy the change. Getting out of the house, you know, and meeting people. I am what is called a day teacher. I return home at night.”

“And your uncle—is he married, by the by?”

“He is a widower, with no children. I suppose one could say I am like a daughter to him. He was a colonel with the army in India. He does very little entertaining—he is getting on in years now. His main interest is the battle of Mysore, in which he played some part.”

“And proses your poor ears off with a recital of it, to judge by the edge of ennui that has crept into your voice. At least I hope it is not my own conversation that has caused it.”

“Oh, no!”
She was surprised at how easy he was to talk to, as if he really cared about her dull life. In many ways, she was fortunate. More so than the other teachers, who were her closest friends. One could hardly complain to them, but she did have her burdens to bear, and it helped to be able to discuss them with someone who was sympathetic. She was surprised, too, at his understanding, the quick sympathy that glowed a moment in his eyes, and softened his expression to tenderness. “And what of Lord Penfel? Who and what is he?”

He lifted his hands, palms out. “Just what you see. A spoiled elder son of whom little good can be said, except that he has never knowingly harmed anyone, male or female. A somewhat negative virtue, though I do try to retain some semblance of chivalry toward the fair sex in particular.”

In a good mood with him, she said, “That is better than a vice, at any rate.”

Then she turned her gaze to the stage. A new act was just beginning, featuring the white monkey, who always did exactly the opposite of what his master commanded. If the man in the shiny black suit said, “Sit!”
the monkey stood up. When the man played on his concertina and said, “Dance,”
the monkey sat down and covered a yawn with his hand. When the man said, “Bad Mojo,”
the monkey struck his master a blow on the cheek. The crowd was vastly amused. Abbie did not smile, but sat in a bemused state. She was acutely aware of Penfel sitting beside her, watching her from the corner of his eye.

Midway through the act he leaned toward her again. “If this is how you are going to behave, ignoring me for a monkey, I shall leave. So there!”
he added, to make perfectly clear he was joking. “John and Singleton will see you home. I have some business with O’Leary.”

“A dancing lesson, perhaps?”
she asked, with a knowing smile.

“Ah, you did hear me this afternoon. I had hoped—
No matter. I shan’t be long. I am a fair to middling dancer already.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“These accusations of perfection are all unwarranted, ma’am. Fair to middling is what I said. I’ll be back at the house before you retire.”

“I mean to see the girls have an early night.”

A sly smile lit his eyes. “Then, you are not interested in a quick glance at the da Vincis? I had thought I might show you where they are kept, and give you the key so you could get an early start on your copying in the morning.”
He watched, chewing a smile as she bit her lip in indecision. Then he laughed. “I shan’t be late. My ‘dancing lesson’
won’t take a moment. I’m a fast learner, am I not?”

She knew exactly what he meant. He had learned how to bear lead her. The da Vincis were his strong suit, and he meant to play it for all it was worth.

“Could your mama not give me the key?”
she asked.

“I dare not entrust such priceless objects to her. She would stick a pin in one and hang it in the kitchen to be splattered with grease. And how would I make Miss Fairchild dance to my tune without them?”

He rose, waved, and sauntered off, not toward O’Leary’s covered wagon, but toward the dancing girls’
tent. He had still not returned at the show’s end. Lord John and Mr. Singleton saw the ladies home.

“That was dandy,”
Lady Penfel said, smiling from ear to ear. “I shall go to see the show again before they leave. Where would one get a monkey, Johnnie? Such jolly company. Cuddles will be green with envy. Serve him right for running off on me.”

“P’raps O’Leary could tell us,”
Lord John replied.

“I shall ask Algie to arrange it. It need not be a white monkey. That would be hard to keep clean. Well, shall we have tea before retiring?”

A great silver tea tray holding sandwiches and a plum cake was brought to the saloon. While they ate, there was some discussion of what the girls should do on the morrow. Abbie mentioned the tour of the gallery and an art lesson.

“Save that for the afternoon,”
Lady Penfel said. “Tomorrow morning will be fine, whatever of the afternoon. Red sky at night, sailors’
delight. There was a red sunset. That means fair weather in the morning. Get out and enjoy the morning. Go riding or for a drive or for a walk about the estate. You and Singleton must take the ladies into the village one day, Johnnie. Young gels always like rooting about the shops.”

The ladies and Lord John gave enthusiastic vocal agreement, and Mr. Singleton hummed his. Abbie foresaw she would not be required to chaperon the girls when they had two male escorts. She would be free to wander the gallery and work on the da Vincis. She kept an eye on the longcase clock in the corner as it ticked off the minutes, wondering if Penfel would return before they retired. He had said he would not be long, but already he had been gone the better part of an hour. It was half past ten. The young ladies usually retired at ten.

The tea was drunk, the plum cake and sandwiches eaten, and still he had not come.

“It is time for bed, ladies,”
she said, rising and thanking their hostess.

As they left the saloon, the front door opened, and Lord Penfel stepped in. His questioning glance flew to Abbie. “Not retiring so soon?”
he asked.

“It is going on eleven,”
she replied stiffly.

“I was detained longer than I had hoped.”

Lady Susan left the group and went toward Penfel. “Your mama was saying we ought to go out tomorrow morning, Penfel. I thought you might show me about the estate. I could ride your mania’s mount.”

“Perhaps Johnnie could show you. I am pretty busy at the present time, Susan.”

“The next day will do as well,”
she said, and returned to the group.

Penfel just shook his head and said to Abbie, “I’ll just get you the key to the art room for those cartoons you wished to see.”
He bowed to the girls. “Good night, ladies. Sleep tight.”

Abbie hesitated a moment, caught between excitement and an urge to give Penfel a set-down. That confident face suddenly annoyed her. It would not do to let him know how badly she wanted to see those da Vincis. What this rogue really wanted was to get her alone in the art room, and she feared she was not up to the challenge of controlling him.

“Tomorrow will be fine, Lord Penfel. Thank you,”
she said. Then she turned back to the girls and led them abovestairs, gloating over the shocked expression she had glimpsed on Lord Penfel’s handsome face.

The girls were chattering among themselves as they climbed the stairs.

Kate said to Annabelle, “I wouldn’t encourage Mr. Singleton too much if I were you, Belle. He is only a tutor, you know.”

“I think he’s sweet.”

“He is perfectly harmless,”
Lady Susan said. “Lady Penfel said we should all enjoy a flirtation.”