Love Is Blind (8 page)

"Why, my greatcoat and hat, girl," Reginald explained in his high, trilling voice. He then jumped to his feet and did a little pirouette before her, presumably showing off his greatcoat and cap as if he didn't know she was blind.

"What think you? Nice fit, is it not?"

Clarissa squinted for all she was worth, but he was still just a whirling streak of chartreuse. It was Lydia who covered for her silence, gushing, "Oh, 'tis lovely. You must give me the name of your tailor so that I may pass it on to my husband."

"
Tis
quite striking," Lady
Havard
agreed.

Clarissa used a cough to cover her chuckle at the idea of her father even considering wearing such a color. He would have fits. Lord
Crambray
was very conservative.

Apparently satisfied by their praise, Lord
Greville
sank back into his seat with a pleased sigh. "I try always to be in fashion. I did wonder if I should not get a matching
lally
and
kickseys
as well. What think you?"

"I think that sounds lovely," Lydia murmured with obvious confusion, even as Lady
Havard
murmured, similarly lost. It seemed die woman's knowledge of cant wasn't as extensive as she would have had them believe.

It was Clarissa who asked, "What exactly would a
lally
and
kickseys
be, my lord?"

"Shirt and breeches,"
Greville
explained patiently, and Clarissa's eyebrows flew up at the idea of his wearing a matching chartreuse shirt and breeches beneath the coat. He obviously noted her expression. She could hear the amusement in his voice as he added, "But I thought that might be a bit much, so I dabbled my best white
lally
and made do.
'Tis
for the best, no doubt. I do hate to drop the
glanthem
."

"I
am
sorry," Clarissa said with confusion. "What did you do to your shirt. . .
er
. . .
lally
?"

"I dabbled it. . . .
Washed,"
he explained at the silence that met his words. "I washed my shirt."

"Oh, yes, of course. Well, that is good," Lydia said, as if she understood.

Ignoring her, Clarissa asked, "And what would
glanthem
be?"

"Why, money, of course."

"Of course it is!" both older women proclaimed, as

if annoyed with Clarissa's obvious ignorance. But she was sure they'd had no idea what
glanthem
was, either.

"Sink me!"
Greville
exclaimed with mock horror. "You shall think me cheap. I am not, you know, but Father keeps the purse strings tight. He's old, of course, and does not understand the necessity of fashion.
'Tis
absolutely vital one have the proper attire, do you not think?"

When he paused expectantly, Lydia and Lady
Havard
promptly nodded in agreement. What else could they do should they not wish to appear old?

"Oh, yes, proper attire is vital," they murmured in unison.

Greville
heaved a put-upon sigh. "Aye, but every-thing is so expensive nowadays. Why, I ordered a new pair of hockey-
dockeys
last week and nearly fainted when I received the bill. And have you seen the price of floggers lately?"

"Floggers?" Lady
Havard
squeaked. Clarissa could almost hear the woman's eyes blinking in her confusion, but she quickly covered with, "My, yes—very dear."

Clarissa cleared her throat. "I am sorry, but what are floggers and ...
er
... hockey-
dockeys
?"

"Floggers are whips, and hockey-
dockeys
are shoes,"
Greville
explained, then went on to complain, "Only a flat would pay the price they ask for those now." He heaved a distressed sigh and shook his head mournfully. "There is never enough money for a proper outfit. If it would not fret my guts to
fiddlestrings
, I'd shove my trunk and scamp. Don't like the idea of having the traps after me and ending up at Tuck 'em fair, though."

"The gallows!" Lady
Havard
cried with triumph.

When Clarissa and Lydia turned to her in
confu
-

sion
, Lady
Havard
explained proudly, "Tuck 'em fair. It's the place of execution." She frowned suddenly, trying to piece the rest of his slang together. "Would the traps be the authorities?"

"The magistrate's men," Lord
Greville
agreed, and Clarissa could hear the grin in his voice.

Lydia, however, wasn't grinning. There was definite horror as she gasped, "Are you saying that the magistrate is after you?"

"Nay! Sink me, I'm the Duke of
Moonstruck's
son!" Lord
Greville
sounded shocked that they would for a minute think such a thing, but Clarissa was busy contemplating the Duke of Moonstruck bit. Was that cant too? Or a nickname? For while Lord
Greville
was a duke, she was quite sure there was no such title as the Duke of Moonstruck.

"Yes, but you just said ..." Lady
Crambray
floundered.

"I said
if
I took to
scamping
they
might
come after me."

"
Scamping
?" Lydia echoed faintly, obviously feeling rather stupid.

"Took to the highway. Became a highwayman," he explained. "Which, of course, I would not do."

"No, of course not. Well. . . this cant is rather like a puzzle, is it not?" Her stepmother didn't sound altogether happy. Clarissa guessed she didn't like feeling slow, and began to worry that she'd not be allowed to go with
Greville
despite his efforts if her stepmother got too annoyed. But at that moment, he suddenly flipped out his pocket watch and sat up straight.

"Sink me, my tick says it's time to go," he an-

ounced
, and Clarissa suspected he'd begun to fear he'd
overplayed it himself.

"Go? But you only just arrived." Despite her words, Lydia sounded relieved.

"Aye. Well, I never intended to stay long. I merely meant to stop in and ask if Lady Clarissa might accompany me on a ride through the park. I wanted to show off my upper
ben
and
calp
in a more public place, but I would not do to ride the park alone.
'Tis
not fashionable, you know."

"Oh, well. . ." There was a hesitation as Lydia glanced toward Lady
Havard
.

Clarissa could almost hear her stepmother's thoughts. No doubt she was considering the rumors that Lord
Greville
was a rake and weighing them against the man presently sitting in her salon.

"Oh, let them go," Lady
Havard
said chidingly. "Lord
Greville
will take care of her."

It appeared that Reginald's acting had convinced Lydia that there was nothing to fear, for even Lady
Havard's
chiding encouragement wouldn't have worked otherwise. But Clarissa could see her nodding slowly in permission.

"Very well," she said aloud. "But do not forget your mask, and do be careful and do not..."

Excited at the prospect of seeing Lord
Mowbray
again, Clarissa accepted and donned the mask Lydia shoved at her. Her stepmother's warnings and cautions flew over her head. They were all along the lines of not to touch anything, or to walk without Lord
Greville's
hand to guide her and so on; and Clarissa had heard these orders often enough that she knew them by heart. She simply nodded dutifully over and over as

her stepmother and Lady
Havard
saw them to the door; then she was hurrying to the open phaeton parked on the street before the house and being lifted onto the bench seat by
Greville
.

"Well, thank God that is over!"

Clarissa heard the disgusted mutter as Lord
Greville
took up the reins of his carriage and set out. The sudden deeper and much more masculine tone of his voice acted as a catalyst, releasing the amusement she'd been holding in. Clarissa burst out laughing, an open, gentle mirth that rolled naturally from her lips and made her cheeks flush with color. When she heard his muttered "damn," however, her laughter faded.

"I am sorry, my lord," Clarissa murmured at once, stifling her laughter. "You must think me terribly ungrateful, and I do not mean to be.
Tis
simply that I can imagine my stepmother's consternation as she tried to follow your conversation and could not. She does hate to appear ignorant."

"That is usually the way of stupid people," Reginald informed her.

Clarissa wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly and frowned in confusion. "My lord?"

Sighing,
Greville
seemed to relax, though it appeared to take some effort. "I notice you do not mind asking the meaning behind my words."

Clarissa shrugged slightly. "There seems little reason to pretend to any knowledge I lack."

"Aye. Well, my lady, that is a sign of intelligence," he assured her.

Clarissa blinked in surprise. "I do not understand your meaning."

"Intelligent people have no need to pretend to

ledge they do not have. Only the stupid feel they must feign knowledge about everything and anything. fear appearing as stupid as they are."

"And intelligent people do not fear appearing stupid?" Clarissa said curiously, wishing to know his feel-

p on the subject.

"Intelligent people
know
they are intelligent. They also know that one person cannot know all, hence a person is not stupid simply because he is ignorant of I me thing or another. They know that, to another intelligent person, they will not appear stupid in asking for an explanation of what they do not know, and so their ignorance on any particular issue does not become an embarrassment."

"Dizzying logic," Clarissa murmured with amusement.

"But you followed it,"
Greville
countered. "Which tells me something."

"And what is that, my lord?"

"That I am an idiot," he answered promptly. "And my cousin is not."

Clarissa blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said I am an idiot,"
Greville
repeated cheerfully.

"My lord!" Clarissa protested at once, and felt his hand pat hers reassuringly.

"I am. At least when it comes to judging people. I misjudged you terribly."

"You did?" Clarissa marveled.

"Oh, yes. I fear I placed you in the same category as the other silly, vain, and simpleminded girls coming out this season. In fact, I warned my cousin against you."

"Did you?" Clarissa thought he nodded, and she heaved a small sigh. "Well, perhaps you were right to, my lord. After all, I come with a scandal."

She suspected
Greville
was smiling. He said, "Scandal or no scandal, you are perfect for my cousin. You shall be very happy together."

Clarissa felt herself blushing, and shook her head slightly with amusement at his claim. "You are presuming much, my lord. I have met your cousin only twice. We are but acquaintances."

"Perhaps, but you will not be for long,"
Greville
announced with a certainty that made Clarissa shiver slightly. "My cousin is no fool, and you are perfect for him."

"Now you
do
sound like an idiot," Clarissa murmured, as frightened by his words as she was enchanted by them. 'You hardly know me. How can you make such a claim?"

"Because since meeting you he has begun to laugh again,"
Greville
replied seriously. "That is something I have not heard him do for some time. Aye. You are good for him."

Clarissa was wondering over his words when he added, "Treat him gently. He has many scars, and not all of them are readily visible."

Clarissa was about to question those cryptic words when she became aware that the carriage had stopped moving. Glancing around distractedly, she opened her mouth to speak, then paused as a second carriage came to a halt beside them, this one closed. She watched curiously as the door opened and a dark figure leaped out.

"All went well, I see."

Clarissa recognized Lord
Mowbray's
voice at once, and resigned herself to waiting until later to question
Greville
 
further.
 
She
 
smiled at Adrian as he
ap
-

proached
, then gasped with surprise as she was suddenly swung from the phaeton to stand on the ground.

"You owe me, cousin,"
Greville
said solemnly.

"That I do,"
Mowbray
agreed, and Clarissa could hear the man's smile. "We shall stay in this area so you find us easily when it comes time for you to return her."

"As you wish,"
Greville
said; then she heard the snap of the reins and the phaeton moved off.