Sheri Cobb South (14 page)

Philip looked bewildered. “But you don’t have a curricle and pair!”

James smiled at Margaret. “Then I shan’t suffer overmuch if Miss Darrington deprives me of it.”

“Oh, I see!” cried Philip. “In that case, I shall stake my dueling pistols against Aunt Hattie’s diamond brooch.”

“Oh, but I could not!” exclaimed Aunt Hattie, aghast. “It belonged to my dear mother, you know.”

Margaret patted her hand. “It’s quite all right, my dear. It is only make-believe.”

Aunt Hattie’s brow cleared immediately. “Oh! In that case, Philip, I must tell you that while I have no use for dueling pistols, I have always admired that pretty little gray mare of yours.”

As the mare in question existed only in Aunt Hattie’s imagination, Philip did not hesitate to offer it as a stake. A very jolly hour followed, at the end of which Aunt Hattie and James were the proud possessors of both Margaret’s pearls and Philip’s mare, along with a castle in Spain, a hunting-box in Leicestershire, and a seaside cottage in Brighton.

“I only hope that Widow Thornton has a very large supply of coins,” Aunt Hattie said, rubbing her hands together in anticipatory glee, “for I intend to reclaim my ten shillings,”

“Don’t forget to fleece her for a few more while you are about it,” recommended James. “Interest, you know.”

Aunt Hattie beamed at her cohort. “I am sure I cannot help but do so, for no one else will have half so able a partner.”

“I hate to be the one to dash your hopes, Aunt, but I fear you will have to find another partner,” said Margaret, gathering up the playing cards. “Mr. Fanshawe will be occupied elsewhere.”

“I will?” This was clearly news to James.

“Yes, indeed! You heard Lady Palmer; there will be dancing. All the young ladies will think themselves very ill-used if you do not dance with them at least once.”

“I had no idea I was so desirable a partner,” confessed  James, regarding her with a quizzical smile. “In fact, I have recently been given to understand just the opposite.”

Margaret colored, but refused to take the bait. “Surely you must have noticed that Montford is sadly lacking in young men. Lady Palmer—and everyone else, for that matter—will expect you to do your duty.” She regarded him sharply as a new and not wholly unwelcome thought occurred. “You do dance, Mr. Fanshawe?”

His smile broadened into a grin, leaving Margaret with the uncomfortable feeling that he could read her mind. “Indeed I do, Miss Darrington. And let me say that I will do my utmost to see that Miss Amanda does not languish against the wall.”

Amanda, who had been following the conversation only half-heartedly, looked up at the mention of her name. “Oh, Mr. Fanshawe, do you waltz? Can you teach me?”

“You forget that Mr. Fanshawe has been obliged to earn his bread,” Margaret reminded her. “I doubt he has had the luxury of cavorting about the ballroom in three-quarter time.”

James gave an apologetic little cough. “Er, as a matter of fact, I do waltz a bit,” he confessed. Seeing the look on Margaret’s face, he was driven by some demon of vanity to add, “I am generally accounted to be quite good at it.”

Margaret’s smile was somewhat stiff. “I stand corrected. No doubt you were once the beau of Almack’s.”

He grinned back at her, clearly enjoying her chagrin. “Hardly. But in my previous situation, I was acquainted with a lady very much like Miss Amanda. She was young and very lovely, and she loved to dance above all things. It was common knowledge that any gentleman desirous of winning her favor—and there were many—must first master the waltz.”

“I scent a romance!” cried Aunt Hattie with one of those rare flashes of insight that occasionally disconcerted her young relatives. “Tell us, Mr. Fanshawe, were you successful?”

“In becoming the lady’s favorite partner for the waltz, perhaps, but nothing more.”

“Then you must be very proficient indeed,” exclaimed Amanda. “Pray, would you teach me to waltz? Then Meg will not be obliged to go to the expense of hiring a dancing master in London,” she added, effectively silencing her sister’s protests.

“I should be honored, Miss Amanda.”

Philip, taking his cue, returned the card table to its usual corner. Aunt Hattie eagerly offered her services as musician, and after a brief search for a suitable piece, selected a German folk dance and settled herself at the pianoforte. To Margaret’s surprise, however, it was not Amanda but herself to whom the tutor held out his hand.

“Shall we perform a demonstration first?”

Margaret, taken aback, shook her head. “I—I fear I cannot oblige you, Mr. Fanshawe. You see, I made my come-out seven years ago, before the waltz was widely performed. I have never learned it myself.”

“Worse and worse!” declared James in mock horror. “Miss Amanda, I hope you will pardon me if I give your sister her lesson first. Her advanced age, you know, makes it imperative that we waste no more time. She may not have many good years left.”

As Amanda giggled and Philip hooted, James took Margaret by the hand and led her to the middle of the room.

“Now you are mocking me,” she chided him.

“Not at all,” he assured her, settling his arm about her waist. “I am mocking all the men who have allowed you to go unclaimed for so long.”

Margaret was struck with the realization that it had been far too long since she had danced, for they had scarcely begun and already her heart was racing and her breath came in shallow gasps, as if her stays were too tight.

It soon transpired that James had not exaggerated his own proficiency. He possessed the musician’s innate sense of rhythm, and although he stood a head taller than his partner, he obligingly shortened his long strides to match her own shorter steps. Even after an extended absence from the dance floor, Margaret found it surprisingly easy to follow his lead—so easy, in fact, that she felt as if she might close her eyes and feel as if she were flying. Nor was she alone in her enjoyment of the exercise; she was vaguely aware of Amanda beaming at them from the sofa, and even Philip, turning pages for Aunt Hattie, appeared impressed. As for Aunt Hattie, her efforts on the pianoforte demanded most of her attention, but when she reached a familiar passage in the music, she glanced up at the dancers and sighed wistfully, “What a handsome couple they make!”

Margaret’s right foot was immediately transformed into a second—and altogether superfluous—left. She missed a step, caught her toe in the carpet, and pitched forward, falling heavily against James’s chest. His arms closed about her at once, but although this gesture was undoubtedly meant to steady her on her feet, it somehow had quite the opposite effect.

“Did I step on your foot?” She looked up to find James gazing down at her in some concern. “If so, I beg your pardon.”

“No, no, you dance very well,” she assured him breathlessly. She summoned up a shaky smile for reassurance. “But I am sadly out of practice, as you can see.”

His brow puckered thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see that. Perhaps we should try again?”

“No, no!” she said hastily, holding up her hands as if to ward him off. “I fear I have had my fill of dancing for one day.”

“My turn now!” cried Amanda, all but bouncing up and down in her seat.

So great was Margaret’s inner turmoil that she scarcely noticed James leading her sister into the dance. Gradually, however, she became aware of Amanda’s laughing face lifted up to his, all flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and feared she was fighting a losing battle. If the family’s fortunes were to be salvaged, she must dismiss Mr. Fanshawe before he succeeded in attaching Amanda’s affections. Unfortunately, his wages were now in arrears, thanks to the machinations of Ned Collier, and she had no way of paying them until next quarter day. Until then, she could only hope that Lady Palmer’s party would give Amanda such a thirst for frivolity that marriage to a humble tutor, no matter how pleasant his company, would pale beside the prospect of a Season in London.

Chapter 10

On Wednesday, his half-day, James set Philip the task of translating a passage from Cicero, then accompanied the two Misses Darrington to the village of Montford, where he was to dine with Mr. Peregrine Palmer while Margaret and Amanda shopped. He parted from them at the emporium and made his way to the Pig and Whistle, where he found Peregrine lying in wait for him.

“Thank God you’re here at last!” exclaimed that impatient young man, abandoning his chair near the window of the taproom. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d been coshed on the head again.”

“No, merely leaving instructions for my pupil. Some of us must work for our bread, you know,” James added meekly.

Peregrine, undeceived, merely snorted. “Try that one on someone else, your Grace.”

“Shh!” James cast a furtive glance about the public room, but the only other occupants were too deeply engrossed in a private debate concerning a rash of chicken thefts to pay any heed to the doings of the local gentry.

“I’ve bespoken nuncheon for us in the private parlor, where we may talk undisturbed,” Peregrine said, steering his friend into this chamber and closing the door behind them. “Now, tell me: are you aware that the whole of England is searching for the missing duke of Montford?”

“Are they indeed? Well, I am sorry for it, but they will have to go on searching for him a bit longer.”

“Good God, you must be mad!” exclaimed Peregrine.

James’s denial of this accusation was forestalled by the entrance of the landlord, bearing a tray loaded with a steaming pork pie, a wedge of cheese, and two foaming tankards of ale. After arranging these with care upon the table (an exercise which, to Peregrine’s mind, took an unconscionably long time), he bowed himself from the room.

“By the bye,” said James, seating himself at the table, “I hope you won’t mind standing squire, as I’m rather pressed for funds at the moment.”

“Not at all,” drawled Peregrine. “It is always my pleasure to help out a duke in need.”

“I can repay you next quarter day—or possibly earlier, if all goes well.”

“If all
what
goes well? What the devil are you about, anyway?”

James cut into the pie and placed a slice on each of two pewter plates. “If I promise to tell you, will you sit down and stop pacing? You’re giving me a crick in the neck.” Peregrine obeyed, flinging himself unceremoniously onto the chair opposite, and James embarked upon what appeared likely to be a lengthy explanation. “I never set out to deceive, at least not at first. I was serving as curate to Fairford parish when a solicitor arrived from London to inform me of my inheritance. When I came to Montford to claim it, I was set upon by footpads, and left with no memory of who I was or where I had come from.”

Whatever he had expected, this explanation was clearly not it. “No! It can’t be!”

“If you require proof, I am happy to oblige.” James pushed a lock of golden hair from his forehead, revealing the faint discoloration of a bruise that had not yet fully healed.

“Oh, I believe you; in fact, my uncle described the incident to me the very day it occurred. By God, James, if I’d had any notion it was you, I would have—”

“You would no doubt have come charging to my rescue, and ruined everything into the bargain. Oh, yes! It is very wrong of me, I know, but I have discovered I rather like being plain Mr. Fanshawe.”

“Poppycock!”

“Quite true, I assure you. Mr. Fanshawe, you see, enjoys certain advantages the poor old duke could only dream of.”

“Such as—?”

“Such as the satisfaction of knowing that if and when a certain lady agrees to marry him, it will be for himself and not his title.”

“I see.” Peregrine’s smile was somewhat forced. “She— she is very lovely, is she not?”

“I find her so. And not just in the common way, either.”

“I think you do her an injustice, though. Surely she is not the sort to marry where her heart is not engaged.”

James gave a short bark of laughter. “How can you say so, when I have it from her own lips that she intends to marry off her sister to a wealthy man? Is it likely that she would turn down such a match for herself?”

“Marry off her—?” Peregrine shook his head as if to clear it. “James, which Miss Darrington is it that you wish to marry?”

“Margaret, the elder.” Behind his spectacles, James’s blue eyes grew wide with dawning comprehension. “Oh, so your interests lie in Miss Amanda’s direction, do they? Well, here’s hoping I may soon have cause to call you brother.”

Tankards were raised to toast this happy prospect, and then Peregrine, after taking a long pull, spoke. “There you are, then! If you know Miss Darrington wants an advantageous marriage for her sister, she must surely snap up an offer from the duke of Montford.”

“Therein lies the problem.” James’s expression grew wistful, and he gazed unseeing out the window. “It will not be the first proposal of marriage I have ever made. There was another, back in Fairford. She was beautiful and flirtatious, and I flattered myself that she returned my regard. But she, too, had her sights set on a London Season and a brilliant match.”

“James, you sly dog! Who was she? Would I know her?”

“If you were in London during the spring, you may have met her, or at least heard of her. Her name was Prescott. Cynthia Prescott.”

Peregrine pursed his lips and gave a long, low whistle. “The Peerless Miss Prescott? You did fly high, didn’t you?”

James grimaced. “And as Icarus reminds us, those who fly too near the sun inevitably get burned.”

“And so now you roam about the countryside disguised as a beggar like a prince from a fairy tale, in search of a woman who may love you for yourself alone,” crowed Peregrine. “Lord, how rich! You, of all people, who were always the one to caution the rest of us against the worst of our excesses!”

“Did I?” asked James, appalled by this vision of himself. “Good God, what a prosy bore I must have been!”

“Oh, no! You never bored us, for we never paid you the slightest heed,” Peregrine assured him, grinning. “Except, of course, when we came running to you to rescue us from our various scrapes. I must say, though, your sober disposition does make your present predicament all the more extraordinary.”