Authors: Mary Beeken
Dizzy Dilemmas
Dizzy Dilemmas
Mary Beeken
Copyright © 2012 Mary Beeken
All rights reserved.
DEDICATION
For Margaret Beeken
For Matthew, Janice, Dylan and Lewis
Many thanks to:-
The ‘ladies that lunch’; Margaret, Sally, Michelle, Gill, Chris, Glenice,
Liz and Sue.
My family as always.
Chapter One
Taking a deep breath, Dizzy surveyed the overcrowded ballroom with some trepidation. Offering to fetch a glass of water for her grandmother and her crony had given her the perfect excuse to stretch her legs and to escape the matrons’ incessant chattering for a few precious moments. But now with a glass clutched in each hand, and a myriad of people between her and her goal, namely her grandmother and Lady Gosport who sat on the far side of the room, it no longer seemed at all sensible.
“I will just take my time. I am perfectly capable of carrying
two glasses; small ones at that,” she muttered to herself before taking her first step; a large confident step to set the tone for the rest of her journey.
“O
omph!” Dizzy still watching the water gently swaying in the glasses as she had started to move, was completely startled and confounded by the hard wall that had unexpectedly appeared and halted her progress before she had truly gotten under way.
“What in blazes…?”
growled a deep voice somewhere above her bowed head. She surmised by the irritated tone, that the wall was not best pleased at having her plough into it.
“I’m awfully sorry…” Dizzy began the automatic response that always sprang to her lips upon the all too frequent mishaps that occurred around her but today she was not to complete her utterance before she was interrupted, quite rudely too she
concluded. Not interrupted with the usual disclaimer most people uttered, kindly acknowledging the fault as theirs even though everyone knew it was not their fault at all but hers. No, this time the wall was most decidedly not admitting to any fault at all or portraying the social niceties that demanded he brush off the collision with a small smile and gentle good humour.
“I cannot believe the lengths you girls wi
ll go to in order to attract our attention! Dropped handkerchiefs, fainting fits, and turned ankles when we are nearby but pouring drinks over us at a ball is just going too far!” expostulated the wall.
Dizzy’s head snapped up and glared at the obstacle in her path; a six feet, three inch obstacle with a handsome if somewhat autocratic visage at present sporting a scowl directed solely at her
. For a split second she could fully empathize with the ladies who had swooned at his feet but good looks or no, he was insufferably rude and arrogant and that would not be borne.
“
To accuse me of pouring drinks on you on purpose just to attract your attention is outside of enough! It was obviously an accident. And why are you using the royal ‘we’ in that insufferable way? You must be so puffed up with your own self-importance to refer to yourself in the plural!” she retorted in an outraged manner, although keeping her voice quiet for she had no desire to attract the attention of anyone nearby.
“I mean ‘we’ as in eligible men
,” the wall responded in exasperation before sighing deeply and continuing “Obviously you are not going to admit to anything other than an accident but be warned, your scheming and wiles will not work on me.”
“You came and stood in front of me just as I started to walk!” Dizzy exclaimed “So yes, you are right; it wasn’t an acc
ident at all. It was your fault. I don’t know! What lengths you gentlemen will go to in order to harass us young ladies with your attentions!”
“
I assure you, I have absolutely no need to create ridiculous scenes to meet young women,” the wall responded with a smugness that made Dizzy grind her teeth in a most unladylike way. “Thanks to your antics, I shall have to go home and change,” he continued whilst she was still spluttering over which pithy reply to make. “It has left a rather awkward mark on my clothing.”
Dizzy followed his gaze down
to the patch of wet.
“It is
only water and will soon dry,” she exclaimed, whilst perusing the offending stain which marred the finely cut, buff coloured trousers. Her gaze lingered, noting how the quality material moulded itself so wonderfully to long, well-muscled thighs no doubt the result of many hours spent in equestrian pursuits. A quiet cough made her flush crimson and hastily she raised her eyes to those of her tormentor which were no longer annoyed but very much alight with amusement.
“
Precisely,” he said knowingly, making her blush even more. “A modest young maiden would definitely not be staring at that particular part of my anatomy!”
“You obviously do not know many young maidens then!” Dizzy
mumbled disdainfully.
“I’m sorry. I
am not sure I quite caught that,” he responded, although they both knew that he had caught it and heard quite correctly too.
“Oh just go
and stand behind a potted plant! I no longer wish to converse with you,” she snapped and began to turn away but was halted by his next words.
“There
, you see!” it was almost a crow. “‘I no longer wish to converse with you’ is an admittance of guilt. Go on confession, as they say, is good for the soul. Admit that you deliberately poured water on me to get yourself noticed. Tut, tut, tut. Such deviousness!”
Dizzy
studiously held his stare for a full ten seconds and then without averting her gaze she deliberately tipped a glass so the water cascaded down his cream waistcoat and dark blue jacket before enlarging the damp patch on his thighs.
“That was on purpose! Can you discern
the difference? Now you need not concern yourself that someone will think you have had a toileting accident!”
Expecting an angry outburst as she stomped off, she was surprised to hear h
im laugh and somewhat chagrined when several people turned their heads to see what had caused such vocal amusement.
“Oh, bitterballens!” she muttered.
Marcus William St John Connaught, Seventh Duke of Glenmore watched as his adversary weaved her way through the crowds and noted how many people seemed to step well back when they saw her approaching. Many seemed to know her, going by the smiles and brief comments but at no point did she pause or detour on her route across the room, only stopping when she reached the seats opposite where two matrons promptly paused in their conversation as she joined them. Marcus continued to watch as one of the ladies took the proffered glass and peering into it with a puzzled frown, tipped it first one way and then the other before raising her shoulders in a miniscule shrug and drinking from it.
“A trifle wet
I see, Glenmore,” came an unfamiliar voice and turning, Marcus noted that an acquaintance from his university days had witnessed the whole drenching incident.
“
Lord Gideon Brockton is it not?” Marcus asked holding out his hand which was grasped in a firm handshake. “You saw that did you? How she expected me to believe that she had accidentally spilled the water, I will never know!”
“Actually, old chap” drawled
Lord Brockton “it was an accident. Oh not the second time. That was definitely deliberate but the first time was very much an accident.”
“Oh come on,
Brockton. No-one is that clumsy!”
“
She is,” he retorted.
“
And you know this because…?”
“She’s my sister. Dizzy has been incredibly clumsy since the day she was born!”
“Her name is Dizzy? What sort of name is that pray? A good name for a cat I grant you, but a girl? Do not, I beg, tell me that your parents had some strange foresight of her awkwardness and named her accordingly for I shall not believe you.”
“No. Of course not! I named her myself,” and receiving an enquiring look from the Duke of Glenmore continued, “I see I shall have to explain. Are you engaged for the next set or have you got half an hour spare, for it could take some time?”
“You have my undivided attention
,” Glenmore assured him, faintly interested.
“Mothers as you know, like to boast about their progeny’s achievements, early to walk and talk and so forth and my mother, bless her, was no different. That is until it came to my youngest sister. Although she began talking much earlier that the rest of us, she never crawled and was nearly two before she walked. Mother was getting quite concerned but that was nothing at all compared to how she felt when my sister did eventually find her feet. She was so unbelievably clumsy. I do not exaggerate when I tell you that if she was walking through a wide open
doorway, she would bump into the frame.”
“Perhaps her eyesight is poor,
” Glenmore interposed.
“That conclusion was reached by my parents also” replied
Brockton, “but after consulting the eye doctors they were told that her vision is perfect. By the time she was four, no-one considered it in any way odd when my mother had several duplicates made of all the family breakable heirlooms before having the originals packed away and placed in the loft where they have remained ever since. Dizzy, I should point out, is banned access to the loft.”
“So
you have established she was a walking accident. What about her name?” Glenmore prompted, his faint interest now turning into a mild curiosity.
“I am getting to that. By the time she was seven everyone was used to
her ways.” Brockton smiled at the memory. “She was a funny little thing; covered in bruises, hopeless at sporting activities but in winter could ice-skate better than anyone. Can you believe that?”