My Lady Mischief (11 page)

She had asked her father to take especial care of him and he had sworn he would. Egbert was definitely here without his knowledge. She would soon resolve matters to her own liking.

Checking to see that no one noticed, she took the few steps necessary to reach Uncle Egbert's pen. Then she boldly reached down and grabbed him. Clutching the darling to her chest, she began to run. Jones hadn't noticed her actions, too engrossed in the attentions of her Robert. However, someone did, and that someone warned the pigkeeper.

Shouts of "Pignapper!" and "Thief!" were raised, and Thea increased her pace. She faced an almost solid mass of bodies. She shifted Egbert's weight, which was much heavier than she'd expected.

Slowing her pace slightly, she chanced a look to her rear, but couldn't tell if anyone was in pursuit.

Thea dodged around a large woman wearing a sickly pale green dress, then picked up her pace once more to circle a family group in her path. Intent on searching ahead to catch sight of her groom, she stumbled over a parcel abandoned in the pathway. Thea successfully fought to regain her balance but a stitch in her side made it painful to breathe. She increased her pace before looking ahead, but her forward motion was immediately checked. Her head shot up to discover what blocked her progress. There before her stood an astounded Lord Hartingfield holding her upright.

He glanced at Thea and her burden, and his lips turned into a frown as he looked more closely at Egbert. Surmising that she'd taken the pig without paying
for him, he swung the wayward girl into his arms and strode to his phaeton. Effortlessly tossing both pig and girl up into the seat, he tossed a coin to the boy who held his horses and took the reins. Snapping his grays into quick motion, Hart hightailed it out of the area. After putting several miles between themselves and the fair, he halted his high-steppers at the side of the road.

"Thea, I hope I am not abetting a thief. Your explanation, please?"

"It wasn't my fault, Hart. Truly it wasn't." She smoothed back her hair, which had been greatly disordered by her flight. "It's Egbert, you see."

Now he was back to the course on which she usually led him—total confusion. Just who was Egbert and what had he to do with her? "Egbert being?"

Thea lifted up the pig. "I'm sorry. I had forgotten that you hadn't met. Lord Hartingfield, may I present Uncle Egbert? Egbert, this is our savior, Lord Hartingfield." The pig snorted in greeting.

Hart's lips quivered in suppressed laughter. He had been jealous of a pig, of all things ludicrous.

"Well, you don't have to laugh at him, my lord," commented Thea, apparently up in the boughs, for fear he might hurt a pig's feelings.

"Ah, Thea sweet, I wasn't laughing at the...at Egbert, but at the situation. Now tell me, how long have you two been acquainted?"

"He's been my favorite since his birth. Papa wouldn't let me take him for a pet, although he did promise to take particular care of him while I was gone. I'm certain Egbert's here without my father's knowledge."

Thea clutched Egbert to her bosom, squeezing the piglet too tightly. The pig grunted his displeasure. "What I do know is that Squire Fossbinder was at the fair, in close conversation with Papa's pigkeeper. For sometime, Papa has been accusing the squire of pignappery and now it looks as though it is true! I had no choice but to take Uncle Egbert. Otherwise, he might have been sold."

"But what will you do with him?"

"Do you think Aunt Prunella..." Thea stopped speaking when she saw the negative shake of Hart's head. "No, I suppose not. A London townhouse isn't the healthiest place for livestock. Perhaps I might hire a carriage to convey him back to Papa?" Again, Hart shook his head. "Well, my lord, what do you suggest?"

It was his own fault. Having saved her, it now fell on his shoulders to play hero to a pig. He addressed the animal, "How would you like to come live in my mews until such time that we may arrange proper transit back to Steyne, Egbert?"

Egbert appeared to acquiesce, as did Thea. "I knew I could depend on you, Hart!" Thea grinned at him. "But you didn't say what brought you here, so luckily close to hand."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Hart growled. "Mack and I met up with Miss Rawlings at Hatchard's this morning. To my great surprise, she mentioned your scheme to attend the fair today." He rubbed at his forehead as if trying to erase its worry lines.
"You do know how dangerous it was, don't you? I deserted Mack, jumped into my phaeton, and rode hide to leather. And it was a good thing, too. Why didn't you accost your pigkeeper and demand he hand the pig over?"

"I didn't think of that, my lord," she uttered in a low voice.

"Oh no, you don't. It's Hart. And if you ever forget it again or do anything so featherheaded, I'll...I'll be tempted to throttle you!"

She trained wide eyes on him. Far too innocent eyes. Falsely innocent. "Why, your face has turned red and the veins are sticking out in your neck, Hart. You must calm down. If I promise to be more careful in future, will you forgive me?" She curled an arm around his, and began to flutter her long lashes at him.

She was handling him again! Blast the chit, he just couldn't stay angry with her. "For a price."

"Price?" Thea's voice squeaked on the word.

He turned and embraced both girl and pig. He then delivered her a most justified set-down in the form of a lingering kiss.

When at last he broke away, Thea couldn't help but sigh. Hart said, "You're forgiven."

*

The next week seemed like a hurried blur to Thea. Her court presentation had been a tremendous success. At the crowded Drawing Room, the Queen had gone so far as to reach out a hand and acknowledge her by saying, "Lovely. So like your mother. Her presence is dearly missed."
 

Savoring the success, the household was busy making preparations for the comeout ball for the two young women. While morning mists clung to the air, Thea and Emma were in the midst of their final ballgown fittings at Madame Brandt's popular establishment.

Emma, a model of decorum, remained perfectly still for the dressmaker to place the last pin. Thea, however, squirmed and fidgeted.

Madame Brandt scurried to her side.
"Chérie,
you must remain in place.
Oui.
Let me perform this one little
adjustement"
Her black mop of curls disappeared among the folds of Thea's gown.

Standing motionless, in fear of puncture or worse, Thea asked her friend, "Do we have Sir Oswald on our list, Emma?"

"I believe so. Isn't he the one who has an addiction to high-stakes gaming?"

"Oh, dear. That's right. Well, there's always Lord Phillingim to fall back on. If only his corset didn't creak."

"You still have many other potential suitors, Thea."

Thea turned her head to address Lady Prunella and received a pinprick for her efforts. A muffled voice called out,
"Sacre bleu!
Hold still,
petite,
I am almost complete!"

Again taking the pose of a statue, she asked, "Aunt? Don't you have a nephew?" She recalled her aunt's late husband had an heir in the form of his brother's son.

"Yes..."

"Do you think he might do for me?"

"If you favor silly young puppies, certainly. Just now, he has taken up Byron and does his best to stand around appearing melancholy. I have no doubt that with one look at you in the seafoam you are wearing, he'll decide to throw caution to the winds and immediately declare his undying devotion." Her tone deepened. "Most likely, he will write sonnets to your earlobes."

"That bad, eh? At least I'll have one admirer." But perhaps a very young husband might suit her.

Emma asked, "Aren't you forgetting Lord Hartingfield?"

"No, he'll just prop up a wall and glower at me as usual." She bit her lip. "I'll have to see if I cannot stir up some interest from Mr. Covingtree."

"Isn't he the wealthy banker?" asked Emma.

"The one and same."

"Isn't he a bit...mature for you, Thea?"

"You think I cannot interest him?"

"Oh, no," reassured Emma. "Not at all. Just would he interest you?"

Thea shrugged, setting off a squeal of exasperation from the harried modiste. Madame Brandt hurriedly tucked one more dart and proclaimed the fitting
finis.

Chapter Nine

 
"I cannot believe my good fortune, Hart." Mack spoke only half jokingly. "First I've been accepted for membership at both White's and Brook's, and now I've received a voucher for Almack's." He gazed at the sacred interior of White's and added, "My father will be quite impressed."

"You'll have to spend more of your time in my pocket, Mack." Hart, unaware of the titillating gossip in which he had recently played such an important role, dealt a new round of cards. "You have now gained entré into the veritable hubbub of tonnish society, especially among those with marriageable daughters," he intoned languidly. "They have discovered that you are well set up, the grandson of a viscount, and the close personal friend of yours truly. You will be feted until you collapse from exhaustion or boredom."

Mack picked up his hand of cards. "Seriously, Hart, I am anxious to attend Almack's tonight. I can hear my mother berating me across the wide expanse of the Atlantic. She would never forgive me if I failed to provide her with a firsthand account. She lives and breathes for news of London society." He looked at his cards and laid down two.

"Very well. We will attend, if you insist. But I suspect your wish to appear at Almack's has more to do with a desire to see Miss Rawlings." Hart watched to gauge how his thrust had hit, but it received no reaction other than a studied nonchalance.

Hart dealt him two more cards, and then looked with distaste at his friend's coat. "Are you aware there is a dress code? Do you own any knee breeches?"

"I'll have you know my wardrobe is quite up to snuff, thank you very much. But you cannot truly be serious."

"I am indeed. And we must not arrive later than the very jot of eleven o'clock, for the doors are firmly shut at that time." He scratched his coat sleeve with the cards. "I doubt even the Prince Regent himself could gain access to those hallowed portals if he arrived one minute past the appointed hour."

Mack looked at his hand of cards with undisguised delight. "I can see this will be a most entertaining evening."

"Not if you care for your victuals or gaming. The food is meager and often stale. There is no strong drink and the gaming stakes are a mere pittance. But you are allowed to ogle all the lovelies rigged up in their finery, as they set out to conquer the bidders on the marriage mart."

"Good." He ignored the sarcasm in Hart's voice. "Where shall we dine before attending?"

"I'll have my chef prepare us a sustaining repast."

"I was hopeful you would say that. His culinary skill is sublime."

"As are his wages, my friend. So don't even think of taking him home with you to that heathen country of yours. Now, will you bid?"

*

As the days progressed, Thea and Emma began the normal whirlwind of the
beau monde:
routs, balls, ridottos, salons, and, of course, shopping.

And then there was that special institution: Almack's. Even the word thrilled Thea. And tonight would be her first appearance. Perched on the edge of her carriage seat, she wondered if she would be ignored by the dandies. Or would she be a hit, proclaimed a diamond of the first water? The possibilities were boundless. Perhaps she would meet him, the man of her dreams. Well, possibly not the man of her dreams, but, at least, the man of her future.

Within minutes, the carriage halted at the revered entrance of their destination. Thea clasped Emma's hand, "I am so excited, I'm sure I will make a fool of myself."

"Don't worry, Thea." Emma gave her a kind smile. "Just be yourself. The young men will not be able to resist you."

Lady Prunella pushed them forward, and at last, they entered the ballroom. Beautiful women clad in magnificent finery and jewels danced with handsome, elegantly clothed men. Others reclined upon chairs, gossiping, watching and being watched. Men and women walked about, greeting friends and acquaintances.

The girls' arrival was swiftly noted. Thea wore a white silk gown with a golden-webbed overdress. Emma was garbed in her favorite rosebud pink. They were delightful additions to the gathering and instant successes. Accordingly, several young bucks claimed their dances. Thea's aunt took a seat with two of the patronesses and looked on with beaming happiness.

Thea granted her first dance to Henry Montgomery, the Viscount Winnwood, Lady Prunella's nephew. And indeed he was a Byron devotee. His face was pale and melancholy, his dark hair tousled and he affected a limp. From the moonstruck look upon his face, it appeared Lady Prunella had been correct: he had taken one look at Thea and felt the tremulous flutterings of new-found love.

In a charming attempt to impress her while leading her onto the dance floor, he softly quoted Byron,
"As midst her handmaids in the hall, she stood superior to them all."

Thea wanted to laugh in response. Although the viscount was two years her senior, she felt much older and more worldly than he.

"Thank you for your kind words, Lord Winnwood," she said with a smile.

Forgetting for the moment his morose pose, Lord Winnwood grinned in return.
"And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes."

"Is that from
She Walks in Beauty?"

"How clever of you to recognize it, Lady Althea."

Their line dance passed pleasantly. Once Lord Winnwood forgot his feigned limp, he danced quite creditably. Thea dismissed her dread over the evening and began to enjoy herself.

At the end of the set, he again clothed himself in melancholy as he escorted her from the dance floor.
"My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear."

"Do not say so, Lord Winnwood, for you must know that I find your acquaintance quite dangerous." Thea gave him a deep curtsey and he bowed politely in return.

"You have conquered my heart, Lady Althea," he claimed with a hand held over his chest.