The Frog Earl (16 page)

Simon went back to the buffet. Glancing at Mimi's table, he saw that she had taken a few bites of pie and pushed it aside. Albert Pell was still eating, presumably a second or third helping, and the colonel and Mrs. Cooper were deep in conversation.

He was surprised that Mimi hadn't defied convention by helping herself at the buffet. Taking pity on her, he delivered a bowl of syllabub and was paid with a glowing look of gratitude.

Shortly after he returned to his table, the sound of a violin tuning up floated through from the ballroom. Sir Wilfred, resplendent in a turquoise and yellow striped coat, came to remind Harriet that she was promised to him for the next set. It was one o'clock in the morning and Lady Thompson was growing sleepy.

Simon and Gerald escorted her to a comfortable chair in an anteroom.

“Are you quite sure you had not rather leave now, Aunt?” Gerald asked.

“No, no, my dears. There are only two sets left, are there not? I daresay I shall nod a little but I would not for the world deprive either of you of the last waltz. It has been a most interesting and instructive evening.”

Her nephews looked at each other with raised eyebrows, but when they turned back to her ladyship to request elucidation she had her eyes firmly shut. They both shrugged their shoulders and went back to the ballroom to watch a minuet whose stately measures were well suited to the postprandial somnolence of which Lady Thompson was not the only victim.

In London the balls would be at their height, the gambling fever scarce begun, but provincial Chester was ready for bed.

Nor had provincial Chester quite made up its mind about the waltz, that daring new dance from the Continent. As Simon made his way toward Mimi after the minuet, he saw more than one tearful young lady pleading with a stern mama while a hopeful beau stood by awaiting permission to indulge in what amounted, in old-fashioned eyes, to a public embrace.

On the far side of the room, Gerald intercepted Harriet on her way back to her mother. Mimi, talking to the colonel and Mrs. Cooper, didn't notice her intended partner's defection.

Simon bowed to her and said, “My dance, I believe, Miss Lassiter.”

“Oh no, Mr. Hurst.” She looked taken aback. “I told you my card was completely full. I'm engaged to Lord Litton for the waltz.”

“You were, to be sure. However, as you had earlier promised me a dance, Gerald and Miss Cooper generously agreed to give up their prior claims.” Trying not to smile at the gathering storm signals in her face, he gestured to where the viscount and the vicar's daughter stood talking, waiting for the music to begin.

“How could they! I won't dance with you.”

“Don't be a peagoose, Mimi,” said her father. “Of course you will.”

“But Papa...”

“That's enough nonsense.” The colonel's voice was quiet but his commanding tone would have made an erring subaltern jump to attention. His daughter was not proof against it.

“Yes, Papa.”

Simon offered his arm. She laid her hand on it and silently they moved onto the floor. Victory somehow lost its sweetness.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It was not fair of me to force you to stand up with a bailiff's apprentice when you were promised to a viscount.”

“That has nothing to do with it!” she flared up. “As though I care... But it was disgracefully underhanded in you, you must admit.”

He smiled tentatively. “I freely admit it, Princess, and beg forgiveness.”

“I shall take the matter under consideration,” she said in the grand manner, then spoiled the effect by adding, “but I'll be da... bothered if I ever forgive Harriet or Lord Litton!”

The music started then. With her warm little hand in his and his arm about her supple waist, he swung her into the waltz in a swirl of scarlet and gold. There were few couples on the floor and he knew everyone was watching, probably wondering why the belle of the ball was in the arms of so shabby a fellow. He didn't care. It was worth every subterfuge.

“Thank you for bringing me the syllabub,” she said, sounding oddly shy. “I was about to go and help myself.”

“I was surprised you hadn't already done so.”

“I didn't make loud comments about how insipid Sophia's dress looked, either. That was an even greater temptation, but I wouldn't lower myself to her level. And I didn't want all those strangers to blame Mrs. Cooper for my behavior when she was so kind as to relieve Mrs. Forbes of the onerous duty of chaperoning me.”

“I daresay you're a sad trial to Mrs. Forbes, Princess. She's a trifle old-fashioned in her notions, I expect.”

“She certainly is.” Mimi was restored to her usual cheerfulness. “Just think, she disapproves of the waltz.”

“Then we can agree in disagreeing with her, can we not?”

“Oh yes!”

Simon pulled her closer to him, perhaps an inch or two closer than strict propriety allowed, and whirled her about the room.

Chapter 14

The full moon shining in through the carriage window revealed Lady Thompson slumbering cherubically in one corner. On the opposite seat her two nephews lounged, both wide awake despite the lateness of the hour.

“How Lady Elizabeth would sneer at such a country assembly,” observed Gerald.

“Who?” asked Simon, abstracted.

“Lady Elizabeth Venables, only daughter of the Earl of Prestwitton, and Toast of the Ton.” There was laughter in Gerald's voice. “You remember her?”

“Oh yes. Sophia Marbury reminds me of her a bit.”

“Sophia Marbury!” His lordship's yelp made his aunt stir and mutter a protest. He lowered his voice. “Good gad, how can you possibly equate the two?”

“Both are cold-hearted, self-interested females, and I'm quite sure Miss Marbury would sneer at a country assembly if it weren't the best she can aspire to.”

“I daresay she would.”

“But you don't, coz? You the jaded exquisite, you the frequenter of the salons and ballrooms and clubs of the politest of the Polite World?”

“You wax unwonted eloquent, coz. No, I would not sneer. I confess to having suffered a certain tedium at times, but that is equally true of town entertainments. And there were compensations.”

“I'd wager you mean my contest with Mimi,” said Simon resignedly.

“That among other things, yes.”

“I'm glad to have provided some amusement.”

“She was quite the most striking young lady present, well worth your efforts. Did she resign herself to losing?”

“Oh yes, we parted friends.” Simon fell silent, reliving the waltz. Mimi had accepted defeat gracefully, without resentment, as she had when he invited himself to dinner. She had seated him beside her then, and tonight she had moved feather-light in his arms, her dark eyes dreamy. What had she been dreaming of?

He had gained the dance and the dinner by subterfuge—paying her back in her own coin, he thought, smiling—but he wanted the kiss she still owed to be honestly won. And he wanted her to give it before she discovered that he was really the Earl of Derwent, heir to the Marquis of Stokesbury.

He wanted the princess to kiss the frog, and he was not at all sure that she ever would. For all her odd ways, Mimi was not one to bestow her favors freely.

* * * *

“But I still owe him a kiss!” Mimi wailed.

“A kiss!” said Harriet, dropping her sewing in her shock. “You never promised him a kiss!”

“I wasn't thinking. I wanted my bracelet back, and I thought he was a stranger just passing through. I never thought he'd claim it.”

“Perhaps he will not.”

“He's already tricked me into inviting him to dinner and dancing with him. Oh Harriet, I don't want to kiss anyone, but especially not Simon!”

“Why especially not Simon?”

Mimi blushed. “Because I'm trying to get him to offer for you, of course. You do want to marry him, do you not?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Harriet sighed. “I like him very well.”

“You haven't gone and fallen in love with Lord Litton, have you?”

“He is like a dream come true, tall and handsome, charming, courteous, so elegant and polished, and yet so kind... I am half in love, Mimi, but I'm fighting against it, for I know there is no hope.”

“Oh dear, I was afraid of this. I wish he had turned out to be as arrogant as I thought him. I wish he had never come here, at least not to stay.”

“This is the first time I have had a chance to really come to know him. He usually stays at Mere House no longer than a few days.”

“With any luck he'll leave soon. Simon will stay, though, as he's learning from Mr. Wickham. He's not tall and handsome and elegant, but perhaps when you are not forever comparing him with the viscount you will find yourself able to love him.”

Somehow this cheering thought failed to cheer either young lady. They sat in silent gloom. Somewhere in the house Judith was practicing a song. Through the open window, with the scent of lilac, floated the liquid warble of a blackbird and the chattering voices of Sally and Prue.

“They are helping Mama plant out the French bean seedlings,” said Harriet. She picked up the pair of drawers she was hemming and set a few stitches while Mimi went to the window and looked out at the sunny garden.

The front door knocker sounded.

“Will one of the boys answer it?” asked Mimi.

“No, they went to the village green to test the cricket bat Ferdie sent Peter for his tenth birthday. Real Suffolk willow! And Judith is upstairs.”

“Don't get up, I'll go.” Mimi went out into the passage. The front door stood open to admit the early-summer warmth, and on the doorstep Sir Wilfred was just raising his hand to knock again.

“Servant, Miss Lassiter. Went up to the Hall and your butler told me you was at the vicarage.”

“Waring was quite correct, as you see, sir. Did you wish to see me about anything in particular?”

“Proper thing to call on a young lady after dancing with her at a ball. Was going to call on Miss Cooper too, of course.”

“I see. I'd better go and find out if Harriet is at home.” There was another ridiculous English convention, she thought. No wonder Sir Wilfred looked slightly surprised—she would not be here if Harriet was not. But Harriet would want to put away the drawers and take up some innocuous needlework before a gentleman was introduced into her presence.

Grateful for the warning, Harriet bundled the drawers into the mending basket, shoved the basket under a table, and took a piece of embroidery from her workbox. Mimi was about to go and invite Sir Wilfred to step in when Harriet shook her head.

“You are a guest, not a servant,” she reminded her. “Sit down and look like a guest while I ask him in.”

So Mimi disposed herself on the small sofa which was the smartest piece of furniture in the parlor, in what she hoped was a guestlike attitude. Really, a lack of servants did add unexpected complications to life!

She heard Lord Litton's voice in the passage and so was prepared when his lordship followed Harriet and Sir Wilfred into the little room. Harriet picked up her tambour hoop, sat down in the chair that sagged the worst, and invited the gentlemen to be seated. Sir Wilfred joined Mimi on the sofa but Lord Litton, after a doubtful glance at the two remaining chairs, leaned against the mantelpiece.

“I see by your sparkling eyes and blooming cheeks, ladies, that you are both perfectly recovered from last night's dissipation,” he observed.

“A country ball ain't much in the way of dissipation,” Sir Wilfred pointed out. “Daresay you're dancing and gaming till dawn every night during the London Season in town, Litton.”

“Oh, not quite every night. It becomes tedious, I assure you.”

“I can imagine that it might,” said Harriet, “but I confess I should like to dance more often. Last year Lord and Lady Daumier held an August ball at Highbury, when they came home from Brighton. Do you remember, Mimi?”

“It was my first ball ever. Every instruction Mrs. Forbes ever gave me about English Society vanished from my head. I'd never have survived it without your help, Harriet.”

“The Daumiers ain't going to Brighton this year,” Sir Wilfred announced. “Was talking to their bailiff the other day, expecting them home end of the month.”

“I hope they have another ball,” Mimi said. “Will you still be here at the end of the month, my lord? And Mr. Hurst?”

“I cannot speak for Simon, and my own plans are uncertain, I regret to say, Miss Lassiter. However, I know Daumier slightly, so if we are here no doubt we shall both attend. I left Simon with Wickham just now,” the viscount continued. “He asked me to assure you, Miss Cooper, that he will be here shortly to pay his respects. No doubt that is he,” he added as the door knocker sounded again.

Harriet and Mimi were both about to rise when they heard Judith's voice in the passage. A moment later, she ushered the Reverend Lloyd into the crowded room. She curtsied to the guests and was about to leave when Mimi stopped her.

“Don't go, Judith. It's time I was leaving, and you can sit with Harriet since your mama is busy outside.”

Harriet protested, but Mimi was firm. Refusing Sir Wilfred's escort, she took her leave and was soon walking up the lane, feeling noble. For once Harriet should have all the gentlemen to herself, including Simon when he arrived.

The sun was warm between the sheltering hedges. Mimi took off her gloves and stuffed them in her reticule, took off her hat and swung it by the ribbons as she strolled along, pausing now and then to look at the flowers on the hedgebanks. Harriet had named them to her: the white stars of stitchwort, rosy ragged robin, a few late primroses, and tall stalks of cow parsley. Remembering her musical evening, Mimi giggled.

Reaching the gate, she climbed the stile beside it and crossed the meadow, bright now with ox-eye daisies and golden buttercups, to the kissing gate in the next hedge. As she went through, she imagined a milkmaid meeting her swain there, leaning one each side of the free-swinging gate to exchange a kiss. What was it like to kiss a man? Not a good-night kiss such as she dropped on Papa's cheek every evening, but a true lover's...

Oh no! Simon was riding across the paddock toward her. Her face hot, she hurried to put some distance between herself and the kissing gate, crushing the delicate, palest-pink lady's smock blossoms beneath her feet as she sped to meet him.