Authors: Rakes Ransom
“We haven’t even seen half,” Rhodine told her. “The last time I came we walked the other way, near the boats, where there are all kinds of little tents and booths. You can see a puppet show or have your fortune read or have your eye painted—”
“Ugh! Why would anyone want their eyeball painted?” Arthur exclaimed.
“To give to their lover. I think it’s very romantic. Don’t you, Jacelyn?”
“I’d rather have my fortune told.”
Claibourne laughed. He lowered his voice and solemnly intoned: “Cross my palm, O beauteous maiden, and I will read the leaves. Ah, I see a man…tall, dark—oops, fair—and very handsome. He will give you your heart’s desire, unless you wish your eyeball painted.”
They went merrily on, through the crowds.
“I don’t see how these Dark Walks can be very private, with so many people around.”
“You should see it on Masquerade Night if you think this is crowded.” A cough and a frown from Claibourne hurried Arthur on: “Of course, Masquerade Night’s no place for ladies. Very rough trade here then, you know. Anyone with a shilling can get in, and disguises seem to bring out the worst sorts. You never know if that fellow in the domino is a member of White’s or a pickpocket. The, ah, lower orders get rowdy at their revels. No place for a lady. Not at all. Not the thing, you know.”
Jacelyn’s eyes were shining. “It sounds wonderful! When may we go?”
“Arthur,” Leigh informed his friend in disgust, “you are the greatest fool in nature. How could you even think to mention something dangerous, foolhardy, and improper to Miss Trevaine? Haven’t you known her long enough?”
“Dashed sorry, Leigh. I forgot.”
Jacelyn was pulling on Claibourne’s arm. “Oh, don’t be so fusty! Say we can go, do! You know the gypsy said you’d give me my heart’s desire.”
“You cannot believe anything a gypsy tells you! You, madam, with your deuced curiosity, are the perfect illustration of why we got evicted from Eden! Of course I never agreed with that concept. If the Creator was so almighty, He had to be omniscient, so must have known what would happen if He gave Eve the chance. According to Milton, however—”
“I am not going to discuss free will at Vauxhall Gardens! You’re just trying to avoid talking about the masquerade. Will you take me, or shall I find someone else to do so?”
“You see that pretty little bench under the tree over there? Why don’t we sit and talk about forbidden fruit, hm? Arthur, why don’t you and Lady Rhodine find a bench of your own to discuss original sin?”
It didn’t take ten minutes. Claibourne promised to get Jacey to the masquerade, if she could slip out of the house, since there was no way either of the aunts would countenance the expedition.
In that same ten minutes Arthur stunned himself by proposing marriage. He was accepted eagerly.
“How wonderful! Let me be the first to congratulate you, old man!”
Jacelyn and Rhodine were already embracing and laughing and weeping. Then Leigh kissed Rhodine’s hand, but Jacelyn threw her arms around Arthur in delight. She had to hug Claibourne too, to make things even. “I’m so happy for you both! Can we tell the others? Shall we order champagne to celebrate?”
There were rivers of champagne. Everyone in their box, the surrounding boxes, passing below on the walkway even, was invited to share in the couple’s joy. Even Lady Ponsonby unbent enough to permit Rhodine to kiss her cheek.
“You can wipe that cat-in-the-cream look off your face, minx.” Leigh smiled softly to Jacelyn. “You didn’t do it
all
by yourself, you know.”
“Of course not, silly. It’s just that they really love each other, and they’ll be so happy. I mean, it’s not the marriage of convenience everyone talks about. It’s not for money or status or honour, or anything but that they’re perfect for each other.
That’s
the way it should be.” In her excitement, she didn’t notice his querying look.
There were at least two people in the box who were not happy to be there, and who didn’t care tuppence about the newly affianced pair’s happiness. One of these was Malcolm Anton-Fredricks. He didn’t like what he read in Claibourne’s face, for one thing, and he finally remembered where he’d seen the old man in the back of the box with Claibourne’s aunt, for another. There hadn’t been a formal introduction, with so many people talking at once, but there was no doubt. Worst luck! He had to get away from here.
The other person who was almost as desperate was Priscilla Ponsonby. She looked around her and saw, not joyous, loving couples, but plainer girls, with less distinguished families and smaller dowries, getting engaged before her, to better catches than she had. That hoyden Jacey, mousy Rhodine, even her friend Marcella Chadwick, who was a simpering ninnyhammer if Priscilla’d ever seen one. They were all nearly settled, whilst she, the Diamond, was still on the shelf. Next Season they’d call her an ape leader…if she didn’t do something about it tonight. Too bad Farthingale wasn’t hanging around Jacelyn as usual; it would have to be Anton-Fredricks. At least he seemed to have a large fortune at his disposal, despite having a mere minor title. Carter Sprague was dismissed instantly. He was a nobody, and too much of a high stickler to fall in with her plans anyway. But what providence! Here was Malcolm asking if Priscilla would like to take a walk, almost as if he could read her mind. Perfect.
“I would be delighted. We can be sure to get good spaces for viewing the fireworks. I do enjoy the spectacle so.” She addressed the rest of the box: “You’ll all be coming along shortly, won’t you? It wouldn’t do for us to be alone for too long, now would it? Lord Claibourne, do be sure to bring Jacelyn. She won’t have seen such a display in Ryefield, or even in her fertile imagination.”
“What was that about, my love?” Claibourne asked when Priscilla was gone.
“Nothing much. I tried to warn Priscilla about Anton-Fredricks, that he was,”—she caught Rhodine’s unspoken plea—“not worthy of her, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“You know what they say, love is blind.”
“In this instance it would have to be deaf and dumb as well. I don’t think this one is a love match though; I don’t think Priscilla is capable of loving anyone but herself. Still, she hadn’t ought to be alone in the mawworm’s company. Shall we go too? I’m looking forward to the fireworks, no matter what Priscilla said, just like a provincial tourist.”
Three or four couples eventually followed Priscilla and Anton-Fredricks down the path toward the cascading fountain, beyond which the fireworks were held. Jacelyn made certain Mr. Sprague came too, simply by tucking her arm in his and pulling. They were going to an entertainment, she teased, not a tryst. They were all laughing and talking loudly enough to be heard over the fountain’s noise, when a shrill scream pierced the night.
“By Jove, that sounds like Priss!” shouted Arthur, running down a less well lighted side path. They all hurried after, especially when they could, indeed, recognise Miss Ponsonby’s strident: “Unhand me, you brute!”
At the small clearing, Arthur was already Squire-like: redfaced, short of breath, and bellowing. “What in bloody hell is going on here?”
Priscilla was sobbing on the bench, her hands fluttering between the torn lace of her bodice and her disordered curls. Anton-Fredricks, however, was simply dumbfounded. His slicked-back hair was as well oiled as ever, his neckcloth barely crushed.
“What the deuce are you shrieking about, Priscilla? You were enjoying it as much as I was.”
Priscilla’s sobs grew louder; her shoulders shook. Rhodine ran to put her arms around the other girl, but no one else seemed to know what to do, where to look, though Jacelyn noted that Claibourne appeared more amused than upset as he said, “Your play after all, Arthur.”
Arthur was outraged. “The scurvy swine! It’s obvious what happened, isn’t it? What kind of man would force an innocent girl—”
“I didn’t force anything on her, Ponsonby! She led me here and she—”
“That’s enough! You cannot get away with this kind of behaviour, not while I’ve got breath in me to defend my womenfolk! You’ll meet me, Anton-hyphen-Fredricks, if you’re not too lily-livered to face someone your own size. Leigh, will you second me?”
Rhodine was now sobbing as loudly as Priscilla, on the stone bench. Captain Highet led Miss Chadwick away, commenting, “Disagreeable scene, what? We shouldn’t be privy to it at all. Not suitable.”
Claibourne put his arm on Arthur’s and calmly explained, “It needn’t come to pistols for two and breakfast for one, old friend. I think there is a less strenuous method of retrieving Miss Ponsonby’s honour than that. You wouldn’t want to have to flee the country for killing him, would you? No, I believe his lordship will be quite content to do the honourable thing. Miss Ponsonby, would a proposal counterbalance the offense?” She sniffed her assent. “You see, Arthur, all right and tight. No need to exert yourself at five in the morning. Anton-Fredricks? You do see your way clear?”
His way was clear as mud, but Anton-Fredricks grunted. He’d be out of London before daybreak one way or another.
Claibourne took the grunt for agreement. “See? No problem. What a night for betrothals. Shall we—yes, my love?”
Jacelyn stopped pulling at his sleeve. “There is a problem, Leigh. In Lancashire, with another coming in spring.” She glared at the now-furious Malcolm. “Or weren’t you going to mention your wife?”
“Wife?” Arthur roared. Priscilla pretended to swoon, right into Carter Sprague’s arms.
“Is it true?” Leigh demanded of the greasy baronet and received the smallest of nods. “That does change things a bit. Hold, Arthur. Not with the ladies present. Sprague, would you be so kind as to escort the women back to our box while Lord Ponsonby and I tidy up the grounds here? I’m sure Miss Priscilla would like to go home….” He didn’t look back to see that Rhodine and Mr. Sprague supported Priscilla between them, but Jacelyn stayed put. “A moment more, Arthur. You wouldn’t want to muss your coat, would you?”
“But, but,” Anton-Fredricks spluttered as Claibourne helped Arthur remove his tight jacket and loosen the fitted cuffs of his shirtsleeves. “But what about the duel, pistols, seconds?”
“My, my,” Claibourne drawled. “You do have a misunderstanding of the social niceties. Duels, old chap, are only for gentlemen.”
While the sound of fireworks filled the air, another type of pyrotechnics took place behind the bushes. When Jacelyn couldn’t watch any longer, she called out: “Arthur, don’t kill him! Think of that poor girl and her baby!” Arthur did, and hit the other man once more for each of them.
Claibourne turned around. “What, you still here, pet? I should have guessed.” He faced her in the other direction while Arthur wiped his knuckles. “It’s a strange choice, actually, for someone who denounces blood sports.”
“I never said vermin shouldn’t be eliminated, Leigh. Besides, now you have to bring me back for the masquerade. I’ve missed the fireworks!”
*
“How is your sister, Arthur?” They were riding in the park late the next morning, and Jacelyn wanted to know how Priscilla was weathering the storm.
“Not as bad as m’mother. She’s prostrate, refuses to talk to Priss. She says she’ll have to rusticate till next year, at least, before she’ll dare show her face in Town. I don’t know. Lady Tina’s talking of throwing a ball for Rhodine. M’mother would have to come. Maybe not Priss.”
“Stuff and nonsense! Another scandal will occur next week, and everyone will forget,” Jacey reassured him, which had Claibourne only half jokingly asking what she was planning. “Not funny, my lord. You know, Arthur, if her friends would stand by her… Well, I can see that Miss Chadwick won’t be a help, but perhaps one of her other admirers will come forward. For a moment I thought Mr. Sprague might…”
He mightn’t, it seemed. Priscilla had thrown herself at him till the carriage arrived, according to Aunt Amabel, and he had simply bowed and shut the door on her and her mama, saying he was committed to seeing Lady Parkhurst home. Quite correct, and quite like a man who has finally recognised his idol for what she was: selfish, spoiled, and manipulative.
Vraiment
, Mme. Aubonier had added, Priscilla’d gotten no more than she deserved. Sprague was too nice a young man for her.
“…But I can see that Priscilla and Carter wouldn’t suit anyway. Carter needs a quiet girl who will help him with his career. Priscilla needs a rich, social, shallow—’faith, there’s Lord Farthingale! Let’s ride over, shall we?”
*
“Now what was that faradiddle all about, my lady? Since when am I too busy to help you exercise your dog in the park?” Claibourne demanded.
“Since I don’t need Farthingale, and Priscilla does!”
“Jacey, men aren’t like spigots you can turn on and off, you know. I’m happy to see you hint Farthingale off, and I do think he and Priscilla are well suited. They would spend their days being beautiful together, and save two other unfortunates from being bored to death. I’ll even grant you that your motives are admirable, but, my sweet pea-goose, Farthingale is thoroughly smitten with you, and La Ponsonby is currently Priscilla
non grata
in polite circles.”
“Minor impediments only. You’ll see. No, you won’t. You’re too busy to ride this afternoon, remember?”
“Of course. Perhaps you ought to remind your fellow conspirator of her role also. For a beast needing so much exercise, Penelope seems quite content to lie by Lem’s horse, awaiting our return. That last squirrel almost mistook her for a log and nearly hid a nut under her tail.”
“I think she grew bored with the squirrels when she realised she’d never catch one. Leigh, isn’t that your friend Miss La Fleur in that barouche over by the fountain?”
He turned in the saddle. “Yes, and her Mr. Unger, the jewel merchant. Very handy occupation, that. Flo thought that he would give me a bargain, but I’d like you to see the Claibourne diamonds first. We could have them reset or—”
“Leigh, will you introduce me?”
“To Mr. Unger? I’m sure Rundell and Briggs is handier for your shopping, pet.”
“No, to Miss La Fleur, Miss Cobb. She sounds like such a generous, kind-hearted person, I’d like to know her.”