Springtime Pleasures (15 page)

“Armed?!” the other man spluttered and nearly swiped Griff’s very nice brandy off the table.

“She carried a monstrously big reticule—more of a portmanteau, really—which contained a loaded blunderbuss, she informed me. On account of the highwaymen and other ruffians. Apparently, these parts of the world are infested with them.”

For a few moments Boo simply stared at him. Then he reached for Griff’s glass and drowned its contents. “Well…” He cleared his throat. “And did you encounter any? Highwaymen that is?”

“No. It was their lucky day, I suppose,” Griff said evenly as he poured himself another glass.

In his usual fashion, Boo very quickly recovered from these startling revelations and started another round of attack. “Then I don’t understand why you are sitting here in a blue funk. Sommerley came to find me at White’s to ask me why my cousin was intent on getting inebriated even before dinner-time. He thinks you must have gambled away your father’s fortune and are now fortifying yourself for doing away with yourself. A romantic soul, young Willie is.”

Griff rolled his eyes. “More like an old woman,” he growled.

His cousin gave him a sharp look. “Well,
are
you?”

Snorting, Griff lifted his glass to his lips. Yet before he had taken a sip, he changed his mind and put the glass back on the table. “Do you think I am responsible for the accident?” he asked abruptly.

He didn’t need to elaborate which accident he was talking about. Once more, Boo’s brows shot up. “What has brought this on?—Naturally, I don’t think you are responsible for the accident your buffle-headed brother caused.”

Griff thought about that for a while. He found it difficult enough, as by now he was foxed enough for this thoughts to move about in a deucedly sluggish manner. “I feel responsible,” he finally offered.

“Naturally.”

Griff grimaced. “The earl and the countess hold me responsible. They feel I have usurped my brother’s place.”

Boo said something rather unflattering about Lord and Lady Lymfort. “Much easier to blame you than the much lauded, pampered, precious—and very dead!—heir who was Mama’s delight and Father’s joy.”

Griff frowned. “That’s harsh.”

Yet his accusation was only met by a snort. “Blackballing you at White’s—now
that’s
something I call harsh.” Contempt filled Boo’s voice. “To sink so low as to blackball one’s own son and brother…” He shook his head.

A sudden thought struck Griff. “You couldn’t stand William.”

“Damn right I couldn’t stand him! He was a pompous ass, whose conceit ruined Izzie’s life. Why did he need to drag her onto that phaeton? He must have
known
that he was too bad a whip to handle it and your temperamental horses, too. He probably drove them too hard. He had a penchant for being too hard with a horse’s mouth if you remember.—Why are you staring at me like that?”

“That is exactly what Miss Stanton said,” Griff said slowly. “That he must have driven them too hard…”

“Did she, by Jove? Damn, I like that girl!”

Griff thought of a pair of intense green eyes, the pressure of a narrow hand on his arm, and warmth flooded his body. More than warmth, really, as he remembered how their shoulders had rubbed together, how his thigh had pressed against hers on the box seat. What a curious girl she was! So socially inept on the one hand, but so adamant, earnest, and through and through goodhearted on the other. Full of pluck, too.

He admitted to himself that he had liked it when she had remained completely unfazed at the signs of his irritation and anger. Instead of trying to placate him, as most young ladies would have done, she had ploughed on until she had made her point. After hearing what Boo had told him, he suspected she had orchestrated the phaeton drive solely for his benefit. The notion seemed fantastic, and yet, strangely enough, he thought such behaviour was in character for her. And not once had she shown any interest in his title or his prospects. No, her interest had been focused on
him
.

Him.

A hot shaft of pleasure sliced through his brandy-befuddled brain.

“I like her, too,” he said quietly, and then drank. More than like, in fact. Carefully, he put the empty glass back on the table. Pain followed upon the pleasure, and he had to close his eyes. His breath escaped on a sigh. “But I still feel responsible.”

As you bore your family so much pain in the past I expect that you will not disappoint us in the future.

And he had a duty to perform.

~*~

“Do you know what a courtesan is? Lord Chanderley wouldn’t tell me.”

Charlie watched her friend spewing tea every which way. They were sitting in the Brockwins’ small parlour, drinking tea and eating a heap of buttered scones. Emma-Lee turned beet red while she coughed and wheezed. “Charlie!” she finally spluttered. “Now look what you’ve made me do!”

“I am sorry,” Charlie said earnestly, “but—”

“Please don’t tell me that you’ve asked Viscount Chanderley what a courtesan is!” Emma-Lee dabbed first at her dress and then at the tablecloth in the vain effort to remove the drops of spilled tea.

“
He
brought the subject up,” Charlie defended herself. “
I
was merely admiring a lovely red curricle.”

“Oh Charlie.” Sighing, her friend let the tea-stains be and shook her head. “You do have a propensity for making a hash of things!”

Defensively, Charlie crossed her arms in front of her chest and put her chin up. “It is this place,” she said in what sounded like mulish tones even to her own ears. “I do not like it.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then added in an ominous voice, “
London
!” She threw her hands up. “Everything is so different from what I expected it to be!”

Emma-Lee put her head to the side. “But there are the balls. You so enjoyed dancing back at Miss Pinkerton’s. Surely, the balls must be to your liking…” Her voice trailed off as Charlie hung her head. “Charlie?”

Heat suffused Charlie’s face. “I am not…” she tried. “My figure… It is not
fashionable
. And
these
—” She touched her spectacles. “And… and…” She made a sweeping upward motion with her hand. “I’m too tall.” Helplessly, she glanced at her friend. “They make jokes about me, Em. They call me a… a giantess. And worse.” She sighed.

“Oh Charlie.”

“It is not all bad,” Charlie said quickly when she read the pity in Emma-Lee’s eyes. “I usually sit with Isabella these days, and she truly is a sweet creature. Her cousin sometimes invites me for a dance, which is very fine of him, don’t you think so?” She felt a small pang because, so far, a certain viscount had not asked her to dance again. Perhaps he had not liked her dancing technique after all. It was a shame, really, because she had so enjoyed dancing with him. Or perhaps he had been put off by their conversation during their drive in the phaeton. She very much feared it might be that. Had it been the mention of the boars that had appalled him so? He had been very annoyed when she had mentioned Jamie Moore. “Mr Cole is a very tall gentleman, so I don’t look at all ridiculous next to him, so…” Charlie took a deep breath, then released it abruptly. “I am babbling, aren’t I?”

Her friend nodded.

Charlie grimaced. “Oh dear.”

“It is that bad, then?”

“I’ve told you: it is this place! It is so different. The people are so different.” Turning her head, she stared out of the window of the small parlour, stared at the front of the building on the other side of the street, and remembered the view over the orchard from her bedroom window at the academy. “Sometimes I wish I’d be back in Scotland,” she said softly. For a ghastly moment she feared she might burst into tears. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, she turned back to her friend. “Aren’t I the most morose pea-goose?”

“Oh Charlie!” Emma-Lee came scooting around the table and, putting her arm around Charlie’s shoulders, kissed the top of her head. “I am so sorry, sweeting.”

Charlie sniffed inelegantly and quickly wiped a finger under her eyes, nearly dislodging her spectacles in the process. What a pea-goose she was! As if turning into a tearful fountain would help anybody! Hadn’t Miss Pinkerton insisted one ought to look at the bright side of life?
For if you do
, Charlie heard her old teacher say,
you will soon find that this is the Best of All Possible Worlds
. Miss Pinkerton had even instructed Mr Bernstone, the music teacher, to write a song about this axiom.

So, Charlie, my dear,
Charlie roused herself,
think cheerful thoughts. “
Well…” She allowed herself one last, wet sniffle. “It is not all bad. Have I told you that I’ve won the use of a high-perch phaeton for a day? The highest high-perch phaeton in London at that! And the drive with Lord Chanderley was pleasant.
Very
pleasant, truth to be told.” She looked up at her friend. “I wish you could meet him one day. He is so handsome. Indeed, I should say he is the most handsome man in all of London!” She smiled dreamily. “He can make his eyebrows mesh. Like this—” She curled her forehead, imitating Chanderley’s frown.

“
A most peculiar feat,” her friend commented drily.

Grinning, Charlie nudged her with her elbow. “It
is
. And it has the most peculiar effect on me.” Reddening, she quickly continued, “But he is a charming man. And a nice one. It is not often that one finds a genuinely
nice
person, is it?”

Emma-Lee made herself comfortable on the arm of Charlie’s armchair. “He certainly sounds very pleasant.”

“Yes, pleasant. And sitting next to him on that box seat yesterday, now
that
was very pleasant as well.” Charlie grinned up at her. “It is most shocking, is it not?”

“Most,” Emma-Lee agreed. “Do continue.”

Charlie leaned her head against her friend’s shoulder “He smells very nice. And he has those lovely big hands.” She stretched out her right arm in front of her and wriggled her fingers. “They are quite lovely in gloves, but when everybody sits down to supper at the end of a ball, I can’t help looking at them in the, you know—” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “—nude.”

The two girls exchanged a glance before they burst into giggles.

“I suppose he would be much shocked if he knew that I am fantasising about his hands,” Charlie finally gasped.

“Fantasising!” Emma-Lee’s brows rose. “You’ve said nothing about
fantasising
, Carlotta Stanton!”

“I know, it is most shocking. But his hands are so big and brawny and… and
manly
.” Charlie gave a happy sigh. “I never knew that
hands
could be so fascinating.” She glanced up at her friend. “Do you think I might be developing a brain fever? When I sat next to him in that phaeton, my body felt all warm and tingly. Prickly. As if I had fallen into nettles. Though not as unpleasant.”

“One should hope not!” Emma-Lee murmured.

“It was most curious. And I was babbling. I told him the most shocking things. About Jamie Moore and the boar. And about Old Squire Nettles and Miss Pinkerton. And about Cook and her port…” Charlie sighed and felt her friend quivering. “Em?”

Emma-Lee smothered a laugh against Charlie’s hair. “The poor man!”

~*~

Charlie slid into the chair next to Isabella’s. Lord and Lady Frimsey’s party was in full swing. They had apparently made sure that only very few wallflowers were included on the guest list, so the chairs along the wall were nicely deserted—except for Isabella, that was. “Do
you
know what a courtesan is?” Charlie asked.

The girl’s head jerked around and her eyes widened. “Miss Stanton!” she exclaimed, then lowered her voice to an anxious whisper. “Please do not tell me that my brother conversed with you about courtesans during your drive!”

“No, he refused to do so. That is the problem, you. My good friend Emma-Louise did not enlighten me either, which in hindsight I consider is most beastly of her.” Charlie glanced around the ballroom and spotted Cousin Caroline being led to the dance floor for a country dance. She turned her attention back to Isabella. “Would you mind it very much if my cousin accompanied us on our next drive? She…” Charlie cleared her throat. “She would very much like to meet you, that is.”
What balderdash!
she thought glumly, but was mindful of her aunt’s admonishments.

Her friend was obviously taken aback, but said good-naturedly enough, “Of course, I don’t mind. Are you two very close?”

Charlie grimaced. “Not exactly. She has been very busy these weeks with the Season and everything.” Making endless rounds of morning calls and running to the modiste nearly every week in an effort to keep up with current fashions
was
an effort, Charlie supposed. Unconsciously, her hand smoothed over the skirts of her own pale yellow dress, or rather, of Cousin Caroline’s old pale yellow dress with inserted ruffles at the hem and a hastily adjusted bodice. Aunt Dolmore had decided that the dress not only was no longer fashionable, but that also the colour did not suit her daughter at all. It did not suit Charlie either, but nobody had really cared about
that
.

With an inward sigh, Charlie adjusted her spectacles and forced herself to smile. “But we are making efforts to improve our relationship. After all, one
ought
to be on affectionate terms with one’s cousin, don’t you think so? And Aunt and Uncle Dolmore
have
been very good to me, first sending me to school and then taking me into their family and everything.” Charlie wondered whether the effort to school her features into a suitably cheerful expression for this little speech would leave her face frozen stiff. It certainly felt like it. “And Cousin Caroline has been so kind, too,” she added in her merriest voice. “Giving me her dresses and, you know, not minding that I am positively encroaching upon her Season.”

Isabella gave her a strange look, but then her mouth curved into that sweet, kind smile of hers. “Then
of
course
Miss Dolmore must accompany us on our drive. Shall we say the day after tomorrow?”

“Excellent.” With her duty thus discharged, Charlie’s mood immediately brightened and she readily returned to her first subject. “So, what
is
a courtesan, then? I gather it must be a most dreadful thing because nobody wants to tell me. Still, that Mrs Robinson was driving the most dashing curricle so I don’t think it can be so very dreadful after all.”