Ridiculous (21 page)

“Do something,” demanded Shoffer, digging his elbow into North's ribs.

Mr. North tried to catch the chaperone's eyes and was ignored. “I think we need to replace Lady Edith with someone interested in people more than sparkly things.”

“Mr. North!” hissed Shoffer and repeated his nudge.

* * *

Millicent sympathized with Shoffer. The man had no way of understanding a shy sister and poor Beth, wanting so to please, was sitting watching the conversation going on before her and completely unable to find her part in it.

By this time there were significant clusters of women, both old and young, arranged along the walls, and gentlemen slowly promenading. The ladies nearest were casting hungry glances toward the tall figure of the Duke of Trolenfield, of which he was entirely unaware. No doubt they were hoping to catch his eye since every time he glanced around the room there was a wave of curtsies. Unfortunately for his admirers, Shoffer's attention was entirely upon his sister. Millicent's eye, however, was caught by a small group of débutantes fanning themselves idly who stood just beyond her sisters’ chairs; and an idea struck her.

“Lady Beth,” cried Millicent. “Have I told you my most recent observations on the subject of cats?”

“Mr. North, I do not think this is the right time for a discussion of cats,” growled Shoffer. “This is a ballroom!”

“How can you say that, Your Grace? The cat is the most honest of God's creatures, and our best guide for society.”

Since Beth immediately sat up and paid attention, as she did whenever Mr. North began one of his entertainments, Shoffer raised his eyes and hands to heaven and yielded.

“Oh, very well, Mr. North. Teach us about cats.”

“How can cats guide us in society?” asked Beth, always willing in her role as foil for Mr. North's nonsense.

Mr. North leaned conspiratorially toward the watching débutantes and with a bow, drew a befeathered fan out of one of their hands. “My thanks, Lady. Cats, as you know, communicate with their tails, as ladies do with their fans.”

The ladies tittered and a few idling gentlemen drew closer.

“Ah, come, of course you know this. When a lady wishes a gentleman to attend her she does thus with her fan.” And Mr. North barely opened the feathered fan, put it on his shoulder and beckoned with it so that only the very tips of the feathers waved in the air. There were a few giggles as another man came from that corner of the room, a puzzled look on his face, to find out what was going on. “And when a cat is angry, she moves her tail thusly,” and he whipped the fan rapidly from side to side, to another ripple of giggles. “Any man seeing a fan moving that way would be wise to be cautious.”

Indeed, the man who had been approaching paused and walked away in another direction.

In a few moments there was a fascinated crowd listening to Mr. North demonstrate the many waves of a cat's tail. With each move, each flutter of feathers, came an increasing chorus of laughter. Shoffer was entertained by it, but could not tell if it was doing any good. Under the concealment of another move, Shoffer saw Mr. North gesturing to Beth to stand and dropped her a wink.

“And when you are to be punished, the tail strikes you thusly,” said Mr. North, and Shoffer jumped when his forearm was smartly struck. “Then there are the gentle movements. Come, Lady Beth, you demonstrate. How does a little golden kitten signal that it wishes to be petted and made much of?”

Lady Beth raised her embroidered silk fan to her eyes, opened it just a little and moved it sinuously through the air; the audience laughed and a pretty blush rose in Beth's cheeks. Mr. North turned to his young cousins. “And when the cat has been offended?”

The crowd roared as two closed fans rose fast and stiff before Mildred's and Maude's faces and whipped away slicing through the air – at neck level to the watching men.

“Exactly so,” declared Mr. North, clapping his hands as the first strains of the orchestra were heard. “Oh, dear. I am so very sorry. Here are these gentlemen waiting to beg for dances and I am being silly.” Mr. North returned the fan to the giggling débutante, stepped back, and waved the young men in. “I do apologize.”

Those who had crossed the room to find out the reason for the noise suddenly found themselves facing rows of expectant faces. Good manners could not provide an escape. Each gentleman bowed to one of the ladies and begged an introduction. The pairing off took a little time and at the end Shoffer was pleased to see his sister pausing to write one gentleman's name on her dance card before being led onto the floor by yet another for the opening set.

Shoffer turned to face the dance floor, prepared to watch his sister dance with paternal pride, but he had not counted on Mr. North.

“Here he is,” he heard Mr. North say from a few feet away. “He will vouch for me. Come, Your Grace, admit that you know me.” Shoffer glanced over to see Mr. North with a young lady on each arm, facing off with a determined appearing mother. “His Grace will tell you I am a fribble and a wastrel who cannot be trusted with a bent penny. However, I do enjoy dancing.”

Shoffer sighed and bowed. “Madam, I am the Duke of Trolenfield. Mr. North is my particular friend. I can assure you that he is indeed a fool and a clown, but as I trust him with my own sister, I believe you may trust him with your daughters for the measure of a dance.”

The lady's expression cleared when she heard the word “duke” and she gave her permission with a smile.

“Here, Your Grace. This one is Miss Mary and this one is Miss Joy. I will pass Miss Mary to you, as tonight, I wish to dance with Joy.” And with the giggling girl hanging off his arm, Mr. North found a place in the lines forming for a country dance. Shaking his head, the duke followed.

Later in the evening Shoffer and North were commanded by a brilliantly smiling Lady Beth to fetch refreshments. North muttered and mumbled to himself while a footman poured lemonade into tiny cups. Shoffer, pleased to see the bright glow in Beth’s eyes, the animation of her conversation, obeyed with a light heart.

“Tell me,” demanded North, “How is one to carry these perishing little cups while wearing gloves?”

“It is a gift.” Shoffer regarded the dance floor with satisfaction. His sister had not sat out a single dance, and while Shoffer had claimed her for the supper dance, she stood up with complete strangers for the rest of the evening and chatted with them all.

“Of your kindness, Your Grace, it is what you may give me for Christmas.”

Eventually, North persuaded a footman to hook each little cup onto his fingers and then pour in a measure of lemonade. His concentration was completely on the task. Shoffer watched, amused, and wondered if he should bother to offer advice.

“Shoffer! My dear duke, it has been far too long. I am so pleased to see you again.”

Shoffer turned to find himself face to feathered headdress with Lady Holudin, one of his grandmother’s cronies, traveling underneath. He would not call Lady Holudin one of his grandmother’s friends, being that she was merely the wife of a baron, the dowager regarded her as inferior, but they were much of an age and were presented at court at the same time, which gave them a bond of sorts. She was one of the highest sticklers of the
ton
and well known for her biting comments. Shoffer was not pleased to see her.

“Lady Holudin.” Shoffer bowed and extended a hand to indicate his friend. “This is Mr. Anthony North from Yorkshire.”

Lady Holudin gave a very small nod in response to North’s bow. Instead she tucked her hand in Shoffer’s elbow and turned him about. “Come with me.” And with that she led him across the floor. Shoffer cast one apologetic glance toward his friend in time to see Mr. North roll his eyes at the flounces and lace around the hem of Lady Holudin’s gown.

Poor North. Shoffer had intended to relieve him of a couple of those little cups once he had suffered a few minutes longer, but now he would have to manage crossing the ballroom alone and thus burdened.

“Well, that is well done,” declared Lady Holudin in a satisfied tone. “You are well free of that mess.”

Shoffer glanced about. He could not see anyone doing anything in particular. “My Lady?”

Lady Holudin continued walking. “You owe me a great deal for rescuing you from that upstart. I shall hold you to that for a favor, so do not forget.”

Shoffer’s brows drew together as a suspicion formed.

“Madam, I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”

She paid not a bit of attention to him, but halted where they could see Beth and the Boarder girls in the center of a group of flattering bucks. The heightened color in Beth’s cheeks and her laughter filled Shoffer’s heart with joy. This girl, this happy center of attention was his sister’s true form, not the pale and unhappy wallflower of last season.

“Look at that,” demanded the lady, pointing with her lorgnette. “Have you ever seen the like? I have tried twice to shake your sister free of those encroaching mushrooms, but they will not be shifted. We must move quickly before your sister’s reputation is tarnished by association. They are nothing. Mere country gentry. She must not be seen to be giving consequence to such riff raff.”

“May I take it, madam, that you have brought me here to object to my sister’s companions?” Shoffer’s voice was chill.

“Of course! I know not what your grandmother would say if she knew your sister to be associating with those … those…”

Shoffer pulled himself up to his full height and stared at Lady Holudin until she took a step back. “I have approved Lady Elizabeth’s association with this family. Consider, madam, that no favor is owed you.”

And with that he turned back toward the refreshment table and almost groaned. In the few seconds his attention had been elsewhere, Mr. North had managed to get himself into more trouble.

Chapter Nine

At the refreshment table a group of young swells surrounded Mr. North. Their leader, his watch chain decorated with so many fobs that he rattled as he walked, had his nose so high in the air that he not so much looked down his nose at Mr. North, but rather looked at him through his bucked front teeth. The silly fop was settling snuff on the back of his glove in an affected manner and stared audaciously at North, scanning him from recently trimmed hair to polished dancing shoes. The sneer on his lips intensified as he took in the collar points that barely reached midway up Mr. North’s neck, unlike these pinks of fashion who currently could not look from side to side lest they put out their own eyes. Likewise, he disapproved of Mr. North’s loosely fitting clothing and the overly baggy pantaloons.

From the slight smile turning up the corners of Mr. North’s lips, Shoffer knew that this group appealed to his sense of the absurd, but it would not do his cousins or his case good to offer offense to these overly decorated idiots. They were bachelors of good families after all and
someone
might want to marry them.

Dodging through the suddenly crowded room, Shoffer headed for the refreshment table to rescue his friend. The orchestra played the last bars of a waltz, then stopped, allowing Shoffer and most of the surrounding guests to hear the conversation.

“Good God, sir,” drawled the fop. “Does your tailor hate you?”

“I should hardly think so,” said Mr. North. “As he has been generously paid, I assume he holds me in some esteem.”

This statement only seemed to confuse the crowd.

“Your coat is a disgrace,” declared the fop. “You have no fashion at all! I am shocked, shocked that you should have the gall to appear in public before acquiring some polish.”

Mr. North shrugged.

“Where are you from?”

“Do not answer. Wait,” muttered Shoffer, as he dodged behind a dowager with a badly dyed wig.

With a half bow his friend replied. “I am Mr. Anthony North of Yorkshire.”

“Yooooooorkshire,” with a glance over his shoulder to his snickering cronies the fop scanned Mr. North’s attire a second time. “I see that they have no style in Yooooooorkshire. You must be very grateful to have reached the center of civilization, London, and be eager to learn our fashions.”

Shoffer ducked past a footman, almost upsetting his tray and reached the other side of the table in time to hear Mr. North’s reply.

“Indeed, sir, I am. When we leave our mud and wattle huts, up in uncivilized Yorkshire, and go about barefoot in the muck, why we find it very cold and uncomfortable. Imagine my surprise to discover that Londoners have invented these things called ‘shoes.’” Mr. North peered down at his footwear. “Why, as I go about the streets with my feet warm and dry I cannot but be grateful for the invention. I do commend them to you, sir.”

Shoffer halted, his hands resting on the table and lowered his head. He should have had more faith in his friend. There was a round of titters from the listeners and the fop preened, not realizing that the laughter was at his expense. Shoffer glanced up again and his stomach clenched. Both he and the fop caught sight of an elegantly attired man at the same moment.

“I say, Brummel. Come tell us what you think of this man’s cravat?” cried the fop.

The Beau halted, offended at being hailed in that familiar manner, but came across.

Brummel! Shoffer smothered a groan. Why did it have to be Brummel? That posturing poser could ruin a man’s reputation with a careless shrug. Before Shoffer could intercede and freeze Brummel into retreat, Mr. North had turned already to face this new threat.

Lemonade cups still in hand, Mr. North first reared back in shock, then leaned forward to minutely study Brummel’s elaborate neck cloth while Shoffer almost swallowed his tongue.

“Oh, I am awestruck,” cried North before any other could speak. “I know what my cravat looks like. It looks like a one-armed, blind, drunken sailor was struck with a seizure while trying to fit me for a noose before he fell down dead. Which is in truth what happened. Out of sympathy for the fellow’s memory, I left my cravat just as he made it. But you, sir. You… Surely a flock of angels descended from heaven, and dancing to a celestial choir, wound themselves around your person, draping the silk in folds at the direction of God Himself. And once done they fell to earth weeping, for surely in all of God’s creation, nothing will ever be as perfect as your cravat.”