Miss Quinn's Quandary (3 page)

Randall’s hired hackney rolled up the long, winding cobblestone
drive leading to Rushton Manor. Randall sat quietly, still weary from the trip
from The Blue Boar to the White Horse in Oxford. It had been two days and
thoughts of Larissa Quinn were only beginning to ebb. During the day he busied
himself, but at night she would come to him in his dreams.

Larissa’s angelic face peering through the long, loose blond hair
tumbling about her shoulders, falling almost to her waist. The image lacked
color as it had that memorable night in the darkened room. In his vivid
recollections he thought of her voice as soft and low as she called to him. Why
could he not forget her?

Sleep was a luxury these days. By the end of the week, even
tonight perhaps, he would return to a night of normal sleep. He could count on
an interesting, if not somewhat unusual evening spent in his Uncle Cyrus’
company. That would be all that was needed to remove thoughts of Larissa from
his mind.

The coach stopped in front of the looming Tudor and Randall
disembarked. He approached the great double oak doors and knocked. He could easily
study the intricate carvings of the fifteenth-century doors for an extended
period of time. One had no choice but to examine the detail because it took an
extraordinarily long time for the butler, Watkins, to admit awaiting guests—if
Watkins still held the post of butler.

Watkins was old during Randall’s last visit three years ago and
barely mobile then. As Randall stood pondering the possibilities, he hardly
noticed the lengthy stretch of time creep by before the massive front door
began to inch open.

Randall leaned toward the small opening, finding it wasn’t large
enough to squeeze through yet. He felt torn as to whether he need help Watkins
with the front door or not. If the butler was ancient before, the man must be
near the age of Methuselah now. He was slow as treacle in the dead of winter
and as fragile as fine bone porcelain, but to Randall’s amazement the elderly
butler still thrived.

Randall stepped inside as soon as the space between the doors
allowed his entry.

“Good day, Watkins.”

“Yes, sir,” is all the butler said.

“Is my uncle about?”

“If I were you, sir, I would not be
speakin
’
‘bout his lordship in those terms.”

The butler’s response bewildered Randall long enough for the
ringing of heels on the marble floor to announce the Earl of Rushton.

“Welcome, my boy! Welcome!” He took Randall’s hand and pumped it
with vigor. Rushton clapped his nephew on the back. “Let me take a good look at
you.” Rushton circled him like a vulture. “You’re looking well, very well
indeed.” He examined the cut of his coat, the fit of his breeches, and the
intricate folds of his cravat.

“Will there be anything else you require, your lordship?” Watkins
gave the appearance of always being on the verge of tottering over and Randall
kept on guard to catch him.

“We’ll have port in the library,” Rushton ordered.

“Very well, my lord,” Watkins answered and shuffled off down the
hallway.

“Would have thought Watkins dead by now, Uncle, or at least
retired.” Randall watched the butler disappear into the library.

Rushton shook his finger at his nephew. “Don’t be disrespectful,
boy.” He gave Randall a push, starting him toward the library. “He was butler
for my father, and his father before him.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me at all, to find he worked for the first
Earl of Rushton,” Randall snorted, just before stepping into the library.

“Not so loud, lad. Watkins will hear you.”

Randall spun to face his uncle. “Hear me? He can still hear?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for asking,” the butler responded. “And the
wife still resides here also.”

Between his uncle’s ramblings and the butler’s questionable
interpretation, conversation must be interesting around the manor, Randall
thought.

Rushton motioned to the wingback chairs in front of the blazing
hearth and they sat. “Now tell me, how was your trip?” He closed one eye and
gave a measuring glare. “You seem a bit frayed around the edges.”

“Well, it was long and troublesome. Nothing I’d want to relate.
Would rather put it all behind me, really.”

“Good! Good!” Uncle Cyrus praised in a fevered pitch. Watkins had
insinuated himself between them and proffered a tray with two glasses. Rushton
took one glass. “I shall have my valet speak to you at once. You look bang up
to the mark, dressed in the first stare of fashion and all that.”

“What’s the urgency?” Randall asked, taking the remaining glass.
Although his uncle was somewhat unpredictable, he always had a reason for his
actions. Not necessarily good ones, but Randall was becoming increasingly
curious.

“I’ve called you here so you could accompany me.” Rushton took a
swallow of port and his eyes grew large with excitement. “We’re off to London.”

“London? Whatever for?” The news did not please Randall.

“I’ve come to the conclusion it’s high time I remarry,” Rushton
announced. “Don’t you think?”

Randall tried his best to hide his amused smile and gazed into
his glass. “Well, I really can’t speak for you, Uncle.”

“Of course not!” Rushton bellowed. “Wouldn’t permit it. Would be
demmed
pretentious of you. But I’m not getting any younger,
you know.” He patted his rounded belly and grazed his hand over the scant hair
covering his head. “Haven’t got the looks you have, what?” It had occurred to
Randall if they had been related by blood and not by marriage, they might have
looked more similar. “But a man needs companionship in his advancing years. And
the comfort of a woman every now and again, even at my age.”

“If you say so, sir.” It was becoming an increasingly difficult
task for Randall to keep his laughter reined.

“Of course I say so,” Uncle Cyrus blustered. “My wealth and my
title are my best features, I’ll wager. But make no mistake, I’ll still have my
pick.” He set aside his glass and stood. “Stand up, let’s have another look at
you, boy.

Randall did as requested. His uncle rotated him slowly to have a
good look at the back of his coat. Completing the turn, Randall could not help
but notice his uncle staring at the dark curls that graced Randall’s head.

“I do admire those curls of yours.”

Randall got the distinct impression it was not the curls that
drew his uncle’s admiration, it was the amount of hair, plain and simple. Uncle
Cyrus hadn’t any to spare, another reason to keep Watkins around as butler. He
was the only one who had less hair than Randall’s uncle.

Uncle Cyrus had tried to create the illusion of a pompadour by
pulling his long strands of hair from the sides of his head and curling them
around on the top like a braided rug, plastering the mass down with a mixture
of sugar, glycerin, and water. It wasn’t in Randall’s nature to stare at the
phenomenon, but one couldn’t help but have one’s eyes drawn to the elaborate,
manmade configuration.

“Uncle Cyrus, you make yourself sound positively ancient.”

“We won’t be a pair of young bucks waltzing into
Almacks
. I’m counting on your dashing good looks to draw the
beauties, while I do the pretty.” He sketched a practice bow for his nephew’s
consideration. “Still, I think I can always use a few pointers, don’t you?” He
leaned over and caught the hem of Randall’s brocade waistcoat between his
fingers and felt the fabric. “Nice, yes, very nice. I’ll need a new wardrobe
and maybe a …” He sucked in his gut and gave his slightly protruding
midsection a pat.

“Corset? Good heavens, no, Uncle,” Randall gasped. “Those things
look so
demmed
silly. You’ll be all red in the face
and go about creaking. People will talk behind your back about what a
trussed-up ass you are.”

“The Regent wears one, if I’m not mistaken,” Rushton stated with
a haughty air.

“No one said
Prinny
was fashionable. No
one dares say it to his face, anyway.” Randall sat in his chair and took up his
glass. “If he were not a prince, how many ladies would be after him, corset or
no?”

“You’re quite right. I’m an earl. I don’t need a corset.” Rushton
returned to his seat, retrieving his drink. “You don’t suppose someone would
marry me just for me, do you?”

Randall gave a smile. “I don’t see why not. You’re a fine man,
any woman should consider herself lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, my boy.” Rushton sat back in his chair. He raised his
glass toward his nephew in appreciation. “I knew there was a good reason I took
a liking to you. I hope you’re up to traveling. I’ve told my valet we are to
leave in two days’ time.” Randall did not have a chance to give an answer.
“When I was your age, I’d be ready at a moment’s notice, and could travel all
night if need be.”

“I shall be ready, Uncle,” Randall offered. “Who else will
accompany us?”

“I’ll need Georges, of course. A good valet will prove
indispensable once my new wardrobe is assembled.”

Randall hid his smile. He wondered exactly when it was his uncle
had become a slave to fashion. “Will Watkins be with us as well?”

“I’m afraid not.” Rushton glanced about for the butler. “He’s
better off left in the country.” He leaned closer to his nephew. “I’m afraid
his Portman Square days are over. He’s not able to manage the stairs, you know.”

Randall nodded, understanding. As he recalled there were three
flights of stairs in the townhouse. In the butler’s present tottering condition
he would have a time of it legging it up and down a single set.

“Once we arrive our first stop will be the tailor.”

“Weston is said to be the best.”

Rushton held his hand up. “Weston’s it is, then. We will need
boots, hats, gloves—” The earl stopped and gazed beyond Randall.

Unsure if his uncle was actually looking at something, or
someone, Randall took a quick glance over his shoulder. There was nothing
there.

“A new walking stick or two might be in order, also. And of
course a betrothal ring.”

“Betrothal ring?” Randall sat forward. “Isn’t that a bit premature?”

“Might meet her that first night. Must be ready.”

“But, Uncle, really!” All this elaborate planning for a lady—a
lady whose identity he did not even know. But Randall knew, with his uncle’s
uncompromising nature, it was only a matter of time before they discovered who
the lucky lady would be.

The motion and bumps of the transport did not distract Larissa
from disquieting thoughts of her aunt. Her father had never spoken of his elder
sister at any length. His was not a bitter silence but a sad one, as if he did
not want to bring up any unpleasant memories. Then, nearly a year after his
death, Larissa had received a letter from her remaining long-lost relative,
offering her a home.

Larissa did not have much say in the matter; Miss Simmons was
only too glad to respond favorably and wished her ex-pupil good luck. Larissa
felt a bit apprehensive of the opportunity at first—she knew nothing of the
outside world, not to mention the entire situation regarding her aunt. Was she
in a bad state? Confined to her room? An invalid perhaps? Larissa imagined her
aunt’s home as a small, dimly-lit, dingy country hovel, making the seminary
years feel luxurious in comparison.

Even now her Aunt Ivy must have help of some type considering her
frail condition. Larissa hoped the kind woman who helped her aunt would
continue to help, admitting that two pairs of hands would ease the burden for
her.

The rented hack drew to a halt in front of her aunt’s house.
Holding the strings of her reticule with both hands, Larissa drew a deep
breath, fortifying herself before facing what daunting tasks lay ahead.

She disembarked then froze, staring at the house before her. This
wasn’t what she expected at all. The residence appeared not large in size but
grand. Brick walls and venetian windows faced her on this side of the modest
stately country home.

She approached the front door and used the brass dolphin-shaped
knocker. An impeccably dressed, statuesque butler answered the door. Larissa
would have never guessed her aunt would be able to employ several servants.

“I am Miss Quinn. I believe my aunt is expecting me.”

The butler stepped back, without uttering a word, and opened the
door wide. Larissa stepped through the portal. Wood paneling surrounded her in
the foyer, and a wide staircase spiraled up to the right. Larissa was amazed at
the richly appointed interior. This was far beyond what she had expected.

Two recessed alcoves flanked the set of double doors at the far
end of the entry hall. In each alcove, a columned pedestal held a statue. On
the right was Artemis bathing and on the left Actaeon in mid-transformation,
half man, half stag.

Her visual tour stopped at the sight of three large trunks
stacked in the foyer.

Did she have the wrong house? It appeared the occupants were
readying themselves to leave, and she had only just arrived.

The rustle of taffeta skirts and staccato steps announced the
lady of the house. “Oh, it’s you, Larissa, my dear girl!” the woman squealed.
“My dear, dear, dear girl.” She took Larissa into her arms and gave a squeeze,
making it difficult for Larissa’s lungs to hold air.

Was this her aged aunt?

“I’m your Aunt Ivy. Now, let me have a look at you, my dear.” She
held Larissa out at arm’s length, a great, welcoming smile on her kind face.
“You look so much like him. Your father, that is. He was such a wonderful man.”
Tears came to Ivy’s eyes. “I am sorry to keep you standing about like this
after your long trip. Do come in.” She drew Larissa into the foyer. “Hayes,
take care of my niece’s luggage.”

“At once, my lady.”

“Let us go into the drawing room and have some tea,” she murmured
to Larissa. “Hayes, tea and biscuits, please. Or would you care to have
something more to eat?” Larissa opened her mouth to speak but hadn’t a chance
to answer. “How thoughtless of me, of course you would. Hayes, have cook send a
plate to keep Larissa until dinner.”

“At once, my lady.”

This was not what Larissa had expected. Not only was her aunt not
aged, she seemed teeming with more enthusiasm than Larissa had ever seen contained
in a single human being. Her aunt, it was now quite obvious to Larissa, was a
lady of leisure.

“I am so very pleased you’ve arrived.” She led Larissa by the
hand through the double doors. “Come along, now. Come now, don’t dawdle.”

The drawing room was decorated in blue and white. The blue
flower-patterned drapes were tied back on the sides of a bow window. Tall
windows on the adjacent wall gave an unobstructed view of the lush garden that
lay beyond.

Ivy pulled Larissa onto the blue sofa next to her. “We have so
much to talk about. So much to learn about one another.”

“My lady—” Larissa began, addressing her new found relative as
the butler had.

“No, no, not my lady to you. Aunt. No, Aunt Ivy.” The aunt
pressed one of Larissa’s gloved hands to her cheek. “I think that sounds
wonderful don’t you, dear?”

Aunt Ivy was perhaps a bit odd, but Larissa found her more and
more to her liking.

“All right, Aunt Ivy it is.” She smiled, feeling a bit shy. “Aunt
Ivy, I wish to thank you for your generosity.”

“Generosity? My dear girl, I would not—could not have it any
other way. The only daughter of my brother. Alfred.” Her voice cracked with
emotion. She blotted the corner of her eyes with a fine handkerchief which
appeared from nowhere. “Poor dear, such a brave soldier. I cannot abandon you.
You are my only flesh and blood relative.” The handkerchief disappeared, and
her mood lightened. “And now, I have simply the best news for you, dear. We are
about to embark on a most exciting adventure. I’m nearly all packed and ready
to go.”

“Go? Go where?” Could any new adventure prove more exciting than
her trip here? Larissa found the notion hard to imagine.

“Now that you’re out of the schoolroom and all grown up, I have
planned to give you a Season.”

“A Season? You don’t mean we’re going to London?”

“Exactly!”

“How? I mean, I thought … what about the money?”

“Dear, don’t worry about finances. Although I am not rich, I’ve
managed to tuck away a bit, and with some of what your father has left you
we’ve a most comfortable sum. Do remove your bonnet and gloves, my dear. Our
tea will arrive momentarily.”

Larissa untied the ribbons under her chin and took her time
removing her bonnet. She hadn’t thought her family had any money to speak of,
let alone money for her. Then again, she knew so little about her father. He
was a military man. After her mother died, he had her placed in the Miss
Simmons’ Seminary for Young Ladies. It had been years since she had seen him
last. Moreover, she could count all the times she had seen him in her whole
life on her fingers.

Moments later, a maid entered and set a tea tray on the low table
in front of them. “You see, here is our tea now.” Ivy took up the pot and
filled their cups. “Now where were we? Oh yes, London.

“I’ve convinced that dreadful nephew of mine to open his
townhouse on Curzon Street for us.” She leaned closer to whisper in confidence.
“I’m glad none of my blood runs in his veins. A simple ghastly sort, he is.
Enough about him.” With the wave of her hand she dismissed the subject. “Having
no daughters of my own deprived me of sharing such activities as come-outs, and
such. But I can spoil you to my heart’s content, my dear. Now, about our trip.”
She gazed wide-eyed at Larissa. “I can’t tell you how terribly excited I am. I
simply cannot wait to leave.”

“But I have only just arrived,” Larissa interrupted while Aunt
Ivy drained her cup.

“Of course, we’ll wait for a few days. Give you time to rest up.
Katherine, she’s my maid, is still busy packing.”

“You’ve three trunks standing already.”

“I know, dear. Katherine will see to it I do not forget anything.
She has been with me forever. I’m sure I couldn’t manage without her. She is
very talented with a needle, and can make the plainest frock a modiste’s
delight.” Ivy took up the pot and refilled her cup. She regarded Larissa’s drab
brown serge with an alarmingly critical eye. “We will need new gowns and
dresses made for you, my dear. An entirely new wardrobe might suit you, along
with the new ball gowns we shall require for your come-out. We shall take care
of everything as soon as we are settled in London. Do tell me, do you know how
to dance?”

“Well,” Larissa set her cup on the saucer and held them firm upon
her lap, “we did learn the Scottish Reel and Country dances at the seminary.”

“The Quadrille?”

‘No.

“The Waltz?”

“No!” Larissa gasped and placed her hand at her throat. “I have
heard it is the most scandalous of dances. Miss Simmons would never allow such
depravity to corrupt her students.”

“I’m sure you will have your chance to dance it.” Aunt Ivy’s eyes
sparkled with excitement and she gave a girlish giggle. “Do you speak any
foreign languages?”

“French and Latin.”

“Latin? That’s useless. Only dead Romans speak Latin.”

Larissa momentarily considered the idea of dead Romans speaking
Latin until her aunt interrupted.

“Do you sew or embroider?” her aunt continued.

“Yes, I am accomplished in both. Miss Simmons required every
student to be capable of repairing and sewing her own clothes.”

“Well, we need not go that far. Just that you know how is quite
enough. Your musical abilities?”

“I am accounted to be fair on the pianoforte.”

“All right, then. We shall engage a dancing master as soon as we
arrive in Town.”

Larissa did not feel elated after her dance lesson with Monsieur
Dubois. She felt tired. How long had she been in London now? Two weeks? Or was
it three?

“I don’t think I will ever get used to these city hours,” Larissa
sighed. If not for her growling stomach to keep her awake, she’d want her bed
instead of the dining room. “Sleeping late, eating late, and attending parties
until the small hours of the morning? Aunt, are such things actually done?”

“Not only are they done, dear, in the beau monde it is the only
way to live.” Ivy placed her arm around Larissa’s shoulder. “One must be
fashionable to be in favor.” Ivy’s eyebrows rose high over her wide eyes. “And
one always wishes to be in favor.”

“I suppose you know best, Aunt,” Larissa confessed. She didn’t
have the slightest notion what it took to stay in favor with Society. Larissa
tried to ignore the continual rumbling of her stomach and lifted her book to
pass the time until supper.

“Homer?” Ivy cried, catching the name on the spine. “Oh, my dear,
you should not be reading that. You do not want to come across as a
bluestocking.”

“Aunt, one’s interest in books and art does not make one a
bluestocking. Does it?”

“No. But thinking and having opinions tends to foster such an
impression. One must give an unfettered, vacant impression.” Ivy displayed her
best imitation. “That’s what the gentleman of quality want, not a girl with
ideas bobbing about her head. No, no, no. That would not do at all.”

“No?” Larissa questioned, still not fully understanding the
details.

Ivy gave a sigh. “Not that you need concern yourself yet. You
should not feel you must marry this year.”

“Marry?” Larissa felt a jolt of panic rush through her. “Aunt, I
have only just turned eighteen. Marry? The thought never entered my mind.”

“Of course, if you find someone you wish to marry … then that
would be another matter entirely. But there are so many things one should know.”

Larissa remained silent, waiting for her aunt to divulge her
pearls of wisdom.

“Your words, your tone of voice, how to address your betters. The
use of the fan, shoulders, and eyes.” Ivy wrung her hands in her lap. “So much
to remember. There is so little time.” She looked at Larissa who regarded her
with undivided interest. “Do not worry. I will not disappoint you. You shall be
ready, when the time comes.”

“I’m not worried, Aunt.”

Ivy took one of Larissa’s hands and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“Oh, my dear, if you only knew.” Her eyes widened. “There are things you must
know when in the company of men. What to say, what to do. What not to do,” her
voice squeaked.

“Not to do?”

“Places to avoid.”

“Avoid?”

“Oh, yes. Being alone for one thing. You must never be alone with
a man.”

“Never? Is it really that bad?”

“Always have a proper chaperone.” Ivy’s hand flew to her cheek as
she contemplated the implications of such an action. “It would ruin your
reputation to be caught without one. Men can be such …

“Yes?”

“Such … base creatures. Animals.” A flush crept up Ivy’s neck,
spilling onto her cheeks. “The very worst place—the dark walk at Vauxhall
Gardens. You mustn’t ever let a man lure you there.”

“No, of course not,” she agreed, not wanting to cause her aunt
further distress. Still, Larissa was not exactly clear what horrible thing
would happen if she were to do what her aunt had expressly warned against.