Evelyn Richardson (17 page)

All this had occurred not twenty minutes after Lord Mainwaring had handed Lady Frances into his curricle. The staff and Aunt Harriet agreed unanimously that the afternoon treat so rare in Frances’ life was not to be spoiled until absolutely necessary, and by the time she returned, Freddie had been examined by the good doctor and pronounced a lucky young devil who was fortunate to get off with a mild concussion and a number of scrapes and bruises. “And so I hope he's learned a good lesson, though 1 doubt it,” sniffed Aunt Harriet, concluding her tale. Her undramatic recital of the afternoon's events had calmed Frances' worst fears, but failed to allay them completely. “Very well, come see him if you must, but he's quite safe now and the less fuss there is, the better, to my way of thinking. And any bother at all is more than the scamp deserves.”

Frances, seeing her little brother propped up against the pillows, pale but absorbed in the neglected tin soldiers, said to herself that Aunt Harriet was probably completely in the right, but another part of her, which had never fully recovered from the loss of her mother and father, felt desperately afraid that another one of her dearest companions was in danger. She managed, at least outwardly, to stifle such fears and was able to say in an admirably offhand way, “What a silly clunch you are, Freddie. Don't you know the Astleys spend years practicing with all sorts of special aids and tricks before they try such a stunt?”

She had hit the right note. Frederick, prepared to resist and resent an onslaught of sisterly tears of remonstrance as feminine silliness, was stricken with guilt at the thought of the worry he had caused by the stupidity of his escapade. But he managed to smile in his usual winning way. “I am most dreadfully sorry, Fanny. I was a regular chawbacon. I do promise not to do it again . . . leastways not without more practice,” he amended truthfully.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I should think your head will be too dizzy for you to balance with much skill for a considerable while. Wait until we return to the soft turf at Cresswell and then John and I shall help you.”

“You're a great gun. Fan,” said her small brother appreciatively. This tribute and the subsequent wince of pain as he shifted position went straight to her heart, and she left the room in some haste. The careless attitude she had so carefully maintained in front of Frederick evaporated as she closed the door to the nursery and fled to her own dressing room to collapse in a chair, drop her head into her hands, and think. No constructive, rational thoughts came, and she stared out of the window, fighting the conviction that she was naive and optimistic in thinking it a there schoolboy mishap.

A light tap on her door broke into these unwelcome thoughts, and her maid came bearing an exquisite bouquet in a filigree holder. There was nothing at all unusual about the inscription on the card. In fact, there was rather less inscription than ladies ordinarily received, but something about the forcefully scrawled “Mainwaring'' brought the faintest flush to her cheeks and left her slightly breathless. “Ain't it lovely, though, miss,” breathed Daisy.

“Yes, thank you,” agreed her mistress as she savored their scent. And then, “Heavens! The ball! Daisy, you must ask Higgins to send a footman round to deliver a note to Lady Streatham.” She hastily wrote a note, briefly recounting the mishap and begging off the evening's festivities.

It seemed no time at all before Cassie appeared to inform her breathlessly, “Lady Streatham is below, Fan, and she's been telling me all about the time Nigel fell off his horse going over a jump. He was unconscious half a day but was right as a trivet in no time. Is she come to tell you to go to the ball? I think you should go. It will be the most famous thing. Ned has been telling Freddie and me about the quantities of flowers and red carpet and how everyone has been cleaning chandeliers and polishing for weeks. He says the ballroom looks like a palace and there's going to be ever so much food—jellies and cakes and ices. You must go. I can take care of Freddie. All he has to do is sit quietly. We can play jackstraws, and if his head aches I can read to him. Just tell me what you would do. I know where the lavender water is and I remember just how you put it on my face when I had measles last summer. Please, Fan, let me take care of Freddie,” she pleaded.

By this time they had reached the drawing room and Lady Streatham was able to add her voice to Cassie's. “Yes, Frances, I think that's an excellent idea. Cassie seems a sensible girl. I'm sure she could do very well. After all, you did quite passably when you were left in charge of twin babies. I believe you were not much older than Cassie is now.” She shot a conspiratorial glance toward Cassie, who was looking eagerly at her sister. “Besides, this is such a momentous occasion that Kitty and I are in far more need of you than Freddie is.” After a brief hesitation, Frances capitulated and was given a hug and glowing look by her younger sister, who dashed off to inform her patient.

“Truly,” Lady Streatham continued after the little girl had left, “he needs no care—just confinement to his bed. He'll probably fret less at that if Cassie is there than if you are.”

“I suppose you are right,” sighed Frances. “But that still does not put me in the mood for a ball.”

“You may certainly disregard that, because you know perfectly well you are never 'in the mood' for a ball,” her friend teased.

Frances, forced to admit the accuracy of that observation, also recognized the necessity of her presence at the most critical moment in her young neighbor's existence. “Very well,” she said, and was rewarded with a quick, grateful hug from her ladyship, who declared that she must be on her way in order to keep Kilson from slitting his throat or someone else's. “He does very well organizing Mainwaring's affairs in some outlandish backwater, but he isn't up to London servants. Thank you again, my dear—see you this evening. You will see, everything will come about.” And with a wave of her hand, Lady Streatham drove off.

Left alone, Frances wandered back into the drawing room and sat for the better part of an hour staring out of the windows and pulling absently at Wellington's ears. This, though highly gratifying to the little dog who lay on his back with a blissful smile on his lips, did nothing to relieve her mind. In her years as mistress of Cresswell, Frances had become accustomed to emergencies of every variety, from broken legs to pregnant maids, from sick horses to flooded fields. She had schooled herself to deal with them in a cool and rational manner. However, none of her family had been directly involved in these, and she had thus found it fairly easy to remain detached. Now it was a different matter altogether. Her intelligence told her there was nothing to fear. Little boys always had adventures that more often than not ended in disaster. Such unfortunate accidents were a requisite part of any young man's education. But her heart, which had suffered the great losses of a beloved father and mother, anticipated the worst in a manner that made a mockery of her rational approach of life's problems.

Before Lady Frances had been able to demoralize herself completely, she as interrupted in the middle of her visions of doom by Aunt Harriet. “Buck up, my girl. You really don't want to make a cake of yourself over this. If you weren't everlastingly letting your infernal sense of responsibility for the family's welfare cloud your senses, you would remember that you were no older than Frederick when you fell off your own pony. Not only were you dead to the world for an entire day, you broke your wrist as well.”

“You're right, of course.” She smiled ruefully. “If Papa were alive, I would be telling him it was nothing a good solid rest wouldn't cure.” Giving herself a little shake, Frances jumped up. “And I would be right! If I am not to be an antidote at Kitty's ball, I must get some fresh air and make sure that the dressmaker has done what I asked with the pink-and-white satin.”

“That's my girl. Run along now and I shall endeavor to keep Cassie from completely wearing out her twin with her ministrations.”

Wellington, who enjoyed a walk even more than having his ears stroked, leapt up determined to give his mistress an outing invigorating enough to restore her equanimity and make her positively glow with good health.

Chapter Nineteen

Wellington performed his duties so well that if Lady Frances, mounting the steps of Mainwaring House that evening, did not outshine all the accredited beauties, she certainly presented a picture of grace and elegance. The delicate pink in her gown enhanced her fine coloring and the sparkle of her mother's diamonds at her throat and in her ears was reflected in her eyes and brought out the warmth of her skin while lending sophistication to the simple line of her dress. Not even the most prejudiced observer would have singled her out among London's beauties as a diamond, but her assured and graceful manner was a refreshing contrast to those tricked out to absurdity in the highest kick of fashion.

If anyone were the cynosure of all eyes that evening, it was Kitty, standing at the head of the stairs with her uncle and the Streathams. The exquisitely simple white muslin, relieved only by cherry ribbons at the sleeves and hem, gave her the ethereal look of a fairy princess just awakened. Her wide brown eyes took in the glittering scene with shy fascination. A delicate flush just rising in her cheeks matched the ribbons in her hair and dress. Her toilette was completed by her mother's pearls, and a delicate nosegay made her truly radiant with youth and anticipation, becomingly timid, but eager to please and be pleased.

“Oh, Frances,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “isn't it beautiful?” Her eyes clouded with sisterly sympathy. “Thank you ever so much for coming. I am so glad you were able to, and I do hope Freddie is doing better.”

Frances answered with an assurance she was far from feeling. “Yes, a few days of rest and he should be quite the thing.” She smiled fondly at her friend. “I am glad I came. You are looking fine as fivepence, Kitty. But I can see that I am not the only one to notice. I'd best let the rest of them meet you.” Lady Frances moved along to give room to a hatchet-faced dowager leading a blushing son who could only gaze admiringly as he stammered his greetings.

Lady Streatham kissed Frances on the cheek while her husband pressed her hand and smiled at her warmly. “My dear, not only do you look lovely, but you appear as though you had nothing on your mind more serious than dancing—not that that is not serious business at a ball. Thank you again for coming.”

Her husband added his reassurance. “You know Freddie should be sleeping now anyway, my dear. If you were at home, he'd only be begging you for stories instead of getting the rest he needs.”

Frances smiled gratefully at him and found herself looking up into Mainwaring's tanned face, where she could read a wealth of understanding and approval in his dark blue eyes. “Now that you and Grandmama are here, our ranks are complete and we can rush to Kitty's defense as she takes the ton by storm.” The sardonic tone was belied by the encouraging pressure of his fingers and the warmth of his lips as he bent over her hand. Inexplicably Frances felt more comforted and reassured by that simple gesture than she had by all the sage and carefully expressed advice offered by Aunt Harriet, Lady Streatham, and several others.

Before she had time to reflect upon this perverse state of affairs, she was accosted by Bertie. “Hallo, Frances!” he greeted her gaily. “I do hope you are saving the opening dance for me. Except for Kitty, of course, you are quite the finest lady here, and I shall be extremely puffed up if I'm allowed to do the pretty with you.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder to ascertain whether he had spoken loudly enough for Kitty to hear, and was gratified to see her blush with pleasure. “Seriously, Fan,” he continued in an undertone as he took her arm, “I'll be more than puffed up, I shall be spared a fate worse than death. That Darlington woman has been throwing her platter-faced daughter at me everywhere I turn.”

“What, the duchess? But, Bertie, you are to be congratulated! She will only take the most eligible partis for that girl. You are excessively fortunate. Willoughby has been trying to fix his interest for years.'' Frances tried desperately to keep a straight face, but Bertie's patent dismay was too much and she gave a gurgle of laughter.

“Dash it, Fanny,” he complained in an injured tone, “it ain't funny.”

“I know,” she gasped. “But your face is. How good it is to see you! I can count on you to put things in the right perspective. Here I am worrying about a bump on Freddie's head when you stand in danger of being saddled with an antidote for the rest of your life.”

“Give over, Fan. It ain't the least bit funny to be chased, and I mean chased, by that hag. My peace is entirely cut up. I can't walk down Bond Street or take a stroll in the park but what she's there. I shall have to get myself invited on one of your educational excursions just to save myself.”

She smiled sympathetically. “You're too well-mannered for your own good. You need to give her a sharp set-down.”

He nodded. “Several of them, I should think.” He added gloomily, “But it takes such a devilish lot of work to think one up. Tell you what.” He brightened. “You're good with words. You think of some during this set and I'll practice on you when there's a waltz.” And, his equanimity restored, he led her gracefully through the opening quadrille.

To Lady Frances' utter astonishment, she was able to forget Freddie in the music and the steps of the dance. Bertie's diverting chatter was just what she needed at the moment. Knowing that his insouciance hid a very kind heart, she half-suspected that the story of Lady Darlington had been concocted on the spot to take her mind off more serious things.

When the set broke up, he led her over to the corner where Lady Streatham and the dowager marchioness were surveying the festivities with barely concealed satisfaction. “Haven't seen the place so crowded since you were puffed off, Elizabeth,” the old lady chortled gleefully. “You and Mainwaring have done Kitty proud. Shouldn't wonder if this ain't one of the events of the Season.” She nodded sagely and turned to a breathless Kitty, who was being restored to her chaperones by an eager young man.