Barbara Metzger (32 page)

He made up the fire again, then lifted Jacelyn in his arms and carried her to the sofa. She stirred and mumbled “Leigh?”

“No, it’s Simple Simon. Go back to sleep.” He cradled her in his lap, wrapping them both in his coat, and went back to sleep himself.

That was the way the rescuers, all twenty-odd of them, found them two hours later. Some of the saviours were liveried servants with ancient muskets. Some who had been searching the woods all night were still in their evening clothes. There were two soldiers and a few yeoman farmers, draughted, presumably, because they knew the countryside. There were Lem and Arthur and Farthingale and de Silva, all the other young men Jacelyn usually danced with. They were standing around in varying degrees and combinations of astonishment, aggravation, and embarrassment at the cozy little scene. Jacelyn, in britches, hair tumbled down her back, was wiping her eyes in confusion while Leigh stood and drawled, “Congratulate me, gentlemen. Not only am I still alive, but I am already a proud papa.” He held a puppy in each hand. “Oh, yes, Miss Trevaine and I will be announcing our betrothal next week at her aunt’s ball.”

“Damn your luck, you blue-blooded bastard.”

“Jacelyn had dinner with the Regent last week,” Lord Trevaine told his friend, over the chessboard.

“Did she, b’gad. What did she think of our Prince Florizel?” Squire asked, making his move.

“Not much. More to the point is what he thought of her. She took him to task for the opulence of Carlton House, when so many of the people are hungry, to say nothing of the condition of the animals in the Royal Menagerie.”

“She didn’t! On second thought, I’m sure she did just that. Lord, I’d like to have seen Prinny’s face! What did he say?”

“According to Jacelyn’s letter, he is going to visit the Menagerie with her, to see for himself.”

“Claibourne better keep an eagle eye out. Our Prinny’s been known for his appreciation of the, ah, finer things in life.”

“Jacelyn didn’t mention Claibourne. She wrote about seeing Othello and a new opera, and a picnic. Not a word about Claibourne. I received a letter from my sister today also. Hers was dated Saturday, three days after Jacelyn’s.”

“Can’t trust the mails these days. What did Lady Parkhurst say?”

“She recrossed her lines so often I had trouble deciphering. As far as I can tell, she’s in a swivet. Her servants said Jacelyn and Claibourne had some kind of row, and he hadn’t been seen nor heard from since.”

“I knew it was too good to last. That gal’s too hot at hand. You should have—”

“Wait. I got another letter this afternoon, an express from Claibourne. That’s why I asked you over. Where is it? Here, listen: ‘Informing you I shall announce the betrothal at Lady Parkhurst’s ball Saturday. Yours, Claibourne.’ That’s all. What do you think?”

“I think Miss Jacey’s up to her usual bobbery! That girl’s never done what anyone expected.”

“I don’t want to see her make a mistake and have to live with it for the rest of her life.”

“Course not, but who’s to say what’s the right thing? Look at my nevvy, Arthur. Getting betrothed before talking to Spenborough. What if the Duke don’t take to Arthur, and he cuts the girl out of his will? Arthur says he’ll have her either way. These young people go around making life hard on themselves.”

“Still, I wish I could go to London. This curst cough of mine, though…”

“We’ll be going down, come Friday, the wife and I and Samantha, for the party. There was no peace in the house till I agreed. I’ll take a look-see for you, find what the rumgumtion is this time. You don’t want to move there, man, leaves your queen open.”

“Oh, sorry. My mind’s just not on the game. Friday will be too late, George. By the time you get to London, you won’t be able to stop the announcement.”

“Stop it? It’ll be the best thing for the gal! What she needs is someone to shake some sense into her!”

“The doctor says I mustn’t travel, at least not until it is warm again.”

“Quite right, you might take a chill. You know, Elliot, the fox season’s nearly over…”

“Is it? You know I don’t pay attention to those things.”

“The ground gets too hard. Dogs can’t pick up the scent. The hunt wasn’t so fine this year anyway.”

“That’s strange. I would have thought with Jacelyn gone…”

“I know. I thought so too, but, oddly enough, it wasn’t the same. I’d ride out knowing nothing untoward would occur. Oh, Vicar might take a toss, or a horse might refuse at the wall at Kraft’s farm, but it was dull! I even pulled the dogs back, when I could, letting Reynard go, by damn.”

“Jacelyn would be happy to hear that.”

“She would, wouldn’t she? It’s been quiet without her. Too quiet. Maybe I’ll toddle off to Town early. Give m’womenfolk a treat, extra shopping and all that. It’ll cost me, but dang, it’s been dull here.”

*

A treat? When their gowns weren’t ready, the house wasn’t in order, Lady Ponsonby couldn’t be warned to expect her relatives three days early? Samantha was
aux anges
, but Squire’s wife was not pleased, until Bottwick told her about Trevaine’s three letters. They managed to reach London on Thursday, only one day early.

They were to call at Parkhurst House at eleven Friday morning, having heard conflicting reports from the Ponsonbys about kidnappings and such. Priscilla was in her usual high dudgeon, having decided that Farthingale would finally have come up to scratch at his mother’s ball last Saturday, if not for Jacelyn’s latest hobble.

Another imbroglio, eh? Squire thought along the way. Well, look how neatly he’d tied up the last. There was plenty of time to set Miss Trevaine right and reassure her father. See? There was Claibourne, standing right beside the girl to greet them. This should be easy as pie.

Five minutes later Squire was lost, heart, mind, and body. He forgot all about Jacelyn and her questionable engagement, all about his ailing friend’s concerns, all about his waiting wife and daughter. No amount of pleading could pry him out of the kitchen, where Pen and her brood were star attractions.

“Settle your own hash,” he told Jacelyn when she brought him tea at the servant’s table. “You never listened to me anyhow. What do you think? The one with the white spot on his tail or this fellow here?”

*

It was up to Mrs. Bottwick and Samantha to make sense of Jacelyn’s explanations.

“So you’re going through with the betrothal because of the night at the cottage?”

“Yes, I see where we must, but Leigh says we still needn’t marry.”

“Don’t you want to marry him, Jacey? He’s so attractive,” Samantha enthused.

“I know, you peagoose. I’m not blind, you know. And I do want to marry him, more than anything. But it wouldn’t be right.”

“But if you love him, dear, the other reasons, the cottage and all, are nothing to the point.”

“I know that too, Mrs. Bottwick, but it’s so confused. He never said he wants to marry me, only that we should be engaged. Now he doesn’t even want me near him. He says we cannot ride in the park or go for carriage drives or anything, until he decides it’s safe.”

“Safe?”

“He thinks someone is trying to harm him, and the fool tells me not to worry! As though his telling me not to worry takes away the danger! How can I not worry when men attack him in the park with daggers and kidnap him on the King’s highway? What kind of unthinking, uncaring, unloving man would tell me not to worry?”

“None, dearest. I think you’d better have him anyway, when all this is over.”

“I think I intended to from the first. I just wanted to make the gudgeon love me!”

*

It was her ball and it was beautiful. Her friends were all enjoying themselves, even the guests Squire dragged one by one into the kitchen, giving the chef palpitations. Arthur and Leigh had managed to pry Squire away to White’s for the afternoon, leaving Chef to his creative concentration. The resultant dinner had been a masterpiece.

Aunt Amabel was so relieved that her mother-in-law had decided not to attend that she relaxed and enjoyed the meal too, especially since Jacey had done all the work of organising the ball.

Jacey was proud of all her efforts, not just the superb dinner she and Chef had consulted over for days. The seating chart had taken almost as long, with equally satisfying results. Monsieur Blanc had been deep in conversation, between Aunt Simone and the musical Miss Montmorency; Squire was pleased to find Arthur’s intended a gentle, quiet sort of girl who let a man eat in peace; Samantha had charmed both Mr. Sprague, who found her an intelligent listener, and Lord Tayson, who found her full of bubbly chatter, so he didn’t have to strain to make conversation. Jacey couldn’t imagine Squire complacent about the dandified Lord Tayson as son-in-law, but he was a likeable enough sort, and well connected. Carter Sprague was still Jacey’s first choice for Samantha. They made a handsome couple, she noted, as they passed by together on the way to the ballroom.

Jacelyn was standing in the hallway, greeting the rest of the evening’s guests with her aunt and uncle—and Claibourne. This made it official, then, even before the announcement Uncle would make at the first dance. Leigh looked so handsome she wanted to sit down and stare at him! What she didn’t want was him kissing the hands of all those women whose mouths said congratulations, but whose eyes said they were still available, what was a little engagement, between sophisticated friends? She caught his eye and he winked at her. That was all right, than.

The last guests having arrived, Aunt Amabel led the way to the ballroom, which was decorated with the usual swagged greenery and pots of flowers. When Jacey decided to wear the cream gown from Ryefield, with its bodice embroidered with butterflies, she also thought of adding silk butterflies to the decor, as a novelty. Now the multicoloured creatures seemed to hover over the flowers, on gold threads, and flit among the greens. With all their airy shimmer they seemed to epitomise the evening for Jacey: bright, insubstantial beings dancing their courtship rituals till the end of their short seasons. Don’t let her love be as ephemeral, she prayed, as hard to hold and to keep. She squeezed Leigh’s hand, and he brought hers to his lips, just as Lord Parkhurst made the announcement. Everyone applauded. She and Leigh walked to the centre of the room to begin the first waltz while they all watched.

Butterflies on the walls, butterflies on her gown, and butterflies in her stomach. Tonight she was going to ask Leigh, once and for all, if he could love her, if not now, then some day. Otherwise…

“Smile, dear heart, these are all your friends.”

“I know, Leigh, it’s just that—”

“Shh, pet, we’ll talk later, when there aren’t two hundred people watching. Just think, now that we are officially engaged, we’ll be permitted ten minutes or so alone. Perhaps we could disappear after supper without causing an uproar. I still haven’t presented the Claibourne diamond to you.”

“I don’t know where we could find any privacy! There are card tables in the east parlour, Monsieur will be playing pianoforte in the west, with Lord Milbrooke, if I’m not mistaken, and Squire Bottwick has decided Pen would do better in the library.”

“I’ll wager the petty despot in the kitchen tossed him out. Don’t I see lanterns in the courtyard?”

“Yes, but it’s cool out there.”

He swung her in a twirling flourish to end the dance. “Don’t worry,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ll keep you warm.”

After the waltz came the congratulations and well-wishes, Aunt Amabel’s tears, and Tante Simone’s contented
bien
, before she left for the music room. Arthur and Rhodine teased about who would be wed first, and Samantha just hugged her. Even Priscilla was magnanimous, now that Jacelyn was no longer a threat.

Squire’s words, though, affected Jacelyn the most. He led her aside, on a stroll to the library, in fact, and took a small suede pouch from his pocket.

“Your father asked me to give you this tonight, but it, ah, slipped my mind until now. It was your mother’s. He sent a message too, said to tell you he hopes you’ll be as happy as he and your mother were, but that your joy should last forever.”

There were tears in Jacey’s eyes as she opened the drawstring. Inside was a simple gold heart on a chain. The inscription read
With all my heart, for all time.

Jacelyn undid the topaz necklace she was wearing and slipped it into her uncle’s desk drawer. She asked Squire to clasp the locket for her, which he did with trembling hands.

“We haven’t always seen eye to eye, Jacey, and you’re not what I’d want my girls to be, but damn, I’m as proud of you as if you were my own, as proud as your father would be, if he saw you here. I had my doubts, I’ll admit it now, that you could play the lady or fix Claibourne’s interests. You proved me wrong, lass, and I’m glad. He’s a fine man, Claibourne is, and…and if he doesn’t make you happy, you tell him he’s got me to answer to.”

Squire patted her back awkwardly while she wept on his shoulder.

“There, girl, you don’t want to go all splotchy for your own ball,” he said, sniffling himself. “Come see, I think the lads have grown an inch since noontime.”

*

By supper, Jacey’s hand ached from being shaken, her face hurt from smiling. It was a relief to sit down to lobster patties and champagne, even more of a pleasure to leave all the music and laughter behind as she followed Leigh into the library. Squire was helping Farthingale choose a pup while Priscilla tapped her foot in impatient aggravation. Farthingale should be out under the stars proposing to her, not picking names for dogs! Leigh and Jacey smiled at each other as they walked out the open library doors to the courtyard.

Leigh took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“Now you’ll be cold,” she protested.

“So come warm me.” So she did, walking into his embrace as naturally as breathing.

“But, Leigh, we have to talk,” she told him a few minutes later.

“Indeed, it’s not proper to kiss a woman without putting a ring on her finger.” He fumbled in the inside chest pockets, next to her chest, longer than strictly necessary, but Jacey wasn’t complaining. He finally retrieved a tiny box. They walked until they were directly beneath one of the lanterns, before he opened the lid.