Sometimes the fates did smile on him!
With her first ball under her belt, her mother's worries had eased, and Kate found she had more freedom again. It was not like at home in Ireland, but when she
mentioned that she wanted to go shopping with only Dolly for company, her mother had not quibbled over the proposed expedition, only mentioning that she had promised to drive in the park with her and her aunt at five o'clock.
Their first stop took them to Layton and Shears, the drapers on Henrietta Street, for some new ribbons to refurbish the gown she had worn the previous evening. Her mother insisted that Kate must do something to make it appear different, or she would be considered sadly out of fashion. She debated on blue or ivory, and finally chose the blue.
From there, they went to Nicholay's Fur and Feather Manufactory to purchase two ostrich plumes for one of her mother's headdresses. Finally, they arrived at Hatchards, number 187 Piccadilly, for the latest novels.
Dolly sat on a bench by the front door while Kate perused the shelves. She selected two novels and took them to the clerk at the front desk. The young man sat on his tall stool, his nose in a book, oblivious to everything around him. Kate cleared her throat. Finally, she tapped the counter, and the young man jumped.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, miss!" he exclaimed, his voice squeaking and his face turning red.
"That's all right," she replied, smiling at him. "You were so engrossed, I hated to disturb you."
"Oh, please, miss, you will not tell Mr. Goforth, will you?"
"Certainly not. I am no tattler," she replied. Then, picking up the book he had put down, she asked, "What are you reading that made you forget where you were?"
"It... it is a new novel, by someone named Mr. Poorman."
"I don't think I have heard of it before. Might I like it?"
"Oh, I don't know, miss. It's not like these two that you have selected. It is all about knights and adventures. There is only one girl in it."
"But the tale is well written?" asked Kate.
"Yes, miss. One of the best I have read yet."
"Do you have another copy of it? For I would not wish to purchase this one and deprive you of the pleasure of finishing it."
"Yes, miss, I have another right here. And these two?"
"Yes, please," said Kate, opening her reticule. Books were one of the luxuries she allowed herself. She often spent the evening reading to her mother, with Dolly nearby drinking in every word. This Mr. Poorman's novel might not appeal to her delicate mother, but it certainly did to her.
When Kate and Dolly arrived home, she went straight to her room. Not bothering to change, she opened the novel. The very first line grabbed her interest as she read, " 'We will take the castle and save the damsel, even if she does not wish to be saved!' said Sir Milton."
Her excitement mounting, Kate began to read, her breath catching in her throat when the damsel turned out to be named Iseult. Almost panting, she frowned and set the book aside. Coincidence? How likely was it that her neighbor, the average Mr. Tristram Darby, would have chosen to call himself Sir Milton and to call her Iseult? It was impossible! thought Kate, picking up the book again. As incredible as it seemed, Tristram Darby had to be the author of this novel. She read another page and then smiled. Her Mr. Darby of the garden wall had a great deal more depth to him than she had previously guessed.
The smile still playing on her lips, Kate quickly lost
herself in the story. She looked up in surprise when the clock chimed half past four. Reluctantly, she set the book aside and hurried to dress for her drive in the park with her mother and aunt.
"How do I look? Is my cravat..."
"Your cravat is fine," said Tristram, grinning at his older brother and shaking his head. "Really, Max, the way you are behaving, one would never guess that you were as experienced with the ladies as you are."
"Experienced with other ladies is one thing, Tris. This is the one who counts," said Max, running a distracted hand through his hair.
"She must be quite taken with you. I mean, to invite us to join them in their carriage. That is rather telling, don't you think?"
"I don't know. It was Mrs. Beauchamp who extended the invitation," said Max. "I must say, it is rather difficult to tell if I am making any headway or not. I have no experience with courting someone like Miss Beau-champ, where the mother is the key to success."
"Do you really think that winning Mrs. Beauchamp's approval is so important to your success? I had always thought winning the admiration of the lady in question was the most important factor," said Tristram.
"And how many ladies have you courted, halfling?"
Tristram glared at him, but Max only chuckled. "No, trust me. I know what I am doing with Mrs. Beauchamp. If I want to wed Miss Philippa Beauchamp, it is through the mother—as unsavory as she may be—that I must go. Marriage is not like in your knightly tales of Sir Milton."
"Perhaps not, but I still think it should be the two parties concerned who are . . . well, involved."
"Never you mind," said Max, giving his cravat a final tug. "There! That is perfect. No, Tristram. All you have to do is tell Miss Beauchamp how much I admire her and how admirable I am. I'll take care of the mother."
"With pleasure," said Tristram.
Half an hour later, Max and Tristram went up the steps to the front door of the Beauchamp town home. The interior was freshly painted and filled with ornate furniture, black lacquered with red and gold dragons painted on the surface. The butler led them straight to the drawing room, where the furnishings were much the same.
Mrs. Beauchamp was seated on a gold silk settee. Her gown was a burnished copper, and planted in her elegant coiffure was a bright orange feather, which waved wildly as she talked.
"Gentlemen, how delightful to see you both. Let me introduce my little Snookems. Snookems, this handsome man is Mr. Maxwell Darby, and that is his brother Mr. Tristram Darby. Make your bow."
Max and Tristram shared a quick glance before saying politely, "Good afternoon." It was unclear if they were addressing the little black and silver monkey that was bowing repeatedly to them, but the matron chose to think so, and she chortled happily.
"Now, Philippa, you must make your curtsy, and then we will be on our way." She did not pause to see if her daughter obeyed, but the childishly garbed girl bobbed a curtsy which the gentlemen responded to. She said not a word, keeping her head down all the while.
"The carriage was outside when you arrived, was it not, gentlemen?"
"I believe that it was, madam. Allow me to escort you," said Max, hurrying forward to help Mrs. Beauchamp rise
and offer his arm. Glancing at his brother, he cocked his head toward Miss Beauchamp, and Tristram offered his arm to the shy miss.
On the doorstep, Max was taken aback when the monkey leaped into his arms.
"Oh, little Snookems wants to go with us. You will not mind, will you? He is so well behaved."
At this, the well-behaved monkey hopped onto Max's shoulder, and he said tightly, "Of course not, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp." If this was what it took to win the mother's approval, then he would bite his tongue and do it.
"Now, Philippa, you must sit in the rear-facing seat. You know how Snookems gets when he rides backward. And Mr. Tristram, you sit beside her—that's a good boy."
Tristram grumbled under his breath, but he took the rear-facing seat, leaving Max to sit beside the pushy matron.
"Isn't this delightful," declared Mrs. Beauchamp as they got under way. "Tell me, Mr. Darby, how do you feel about the theater?"
"I enjoy it very much," Max replied while sending a silent signal to his brother that he should pay attention to the younger Beauchamp lady.
"It is splendid weather we are having, is it not?" asked Tristram.
"Yes, sir," she replied, never lifting her face.
"I understand that it is quite unusual for this time of year to have had as many sunny days as we have."
"I... I believe so."
"Your dear brother has offered to escort me to the theater tomorrow night, Mr. Darby," said Mrs. Beauchamp.
"And your charming daughter, too, of course," said Max hurriedly.
"What? Oh, certainly. You will agree to come, too, will you not, Mr. Darby? It would be rather awkward without you. I mean, rather like having uneven numbers at a dinner party."
"Yes, certainly I will come," he replied, glancing at the girl.
"Then it is all settled. Now, do tell me, Mr. Darby," she said, taking Max's arm and leaning against him, "is that not the most atrocious bonnet you have ever seen? Whatever could Lady Murray have been thinking?"
"Lady Murray?" asked Max.
"Yes, there in the landaulet. You remember her. We attended her ball the other night. It is too late. Perhaps when we pass them on the way out of the park."
"My brother is quite a good rider, Miss Beauchamp," said Tristram.
"Is he?"
"Yes, he's rather a Corinthian, you know. Riding, shooting, all sorts of sports, but especially the horses."
"Horses frighten me," said the girl, daring a glance up at him.
"Snookems, sit still, do! Please help me hold onto him, Mr. Darby. Dare I call you Max? It is so confusing having two Mr. Darbys in the carriage."
"Certainly, madam," said Max, grinning at Tristram as he corralled the little beast, holding it rather forcefully in his lap.
"What do you like to do, Mr. Darby? I know you are an artist, but what else do you enjoy?" asked the girl, again glancing up at him with those huge blue eyes.
"Oh, I am a bit of a dull stick. Nothing so exciting as Max. I hate riding, and shooting gives me the headache, not to mention having to pick up dead rabbits and such."
"Oh, dear," she said, her hand to her throat.
"I. . . actually, I write. I also paint, but I have not been trained, so I am afraid my efforts are quite amateurish."
"You write, too? Oh, how lovely. What do you write?"
"Poetry and... and novels. I have written a novel that is ... that is, I should not be saying this to you since it is considered gauche for a gentleman to sell his skills, but I am rather proud of it," said Tristram, looking down at the little puzzled frown creasing her brow. "I have a novel that has been printed and is even now in the booksellers."
"Oh, how extraordinary."
"What is the play tomorrow night, Philippa? I know that I mentioned it to you, but I cannot think now ..."
The girl spared a glance for her mother and said, "Othello, Mama. What is the name of your novel, Mr. Darby? I must purchase it."
"Nonsense, you needn't do that."
"Oh, but I want to!" she breathed.
"Really? Well, then, you shan't buy it. I have a copy at home. I will send it around to you, or bring it myself."
"Bring it yourself," she whispered. "We are not going out this evening."
"Yes, but..."
"I usually stroll in the garden before dinner, around seven o'clock."
Tristram glanced down into those blue orbs and nodded. Glancing up, he found his brother's blue eyes fixed on him, and he smiled nervously. Looking away, he turned his attention to the passing scenery.
Lady Murray was Mrs. O'Connor's older sister. She had centered her life on London Society. Though she had opposed her little sister's marriage to the penniless
Kieran O'Connor, she had not cut the ties. She had visited Ireland several times through the years and had encouraged her sister to visit her in London. Lady Murray's invitations had fallen on deaf ears until Mrs. O'Connor had decided her daughter needed to be settled.
Neither lady guessed that the object of their designs had decided against wedding, at least in England. Kate was not against the concept, and perhaps she would discover some heretofore unknown gentleman to win her heart when she returned to Ireland. Whatever happened, though, she was determined to go back home to Ireland.
On the surface, Kate was quite amenable, wearing one of her new carriage dresses and donning a fetching bonnet. She granted each gentleman a mechanical smile, but there was none of the animation in her expression that drew people to her. Her aunt and mother, however, were well satisfied that she was behaving exactly as she ought.
The carriage ride might have ended without incident, but for a nearby commotion. The snaking line of carriages came to a halt in both directions.
"What in heaven's name could be the matter?" declared Lady Murray, rising from her seat. Her lips were pursed in disapproval, and her bonnet, which boasted a banana and cluster of dangling grapes, loomed in the air for everyone to see.
"Appears t' be some sort of animal, m'lady," said her coachman, craning his head to see around a high-perch phaeton.
"Well, go around them," she commanded.
The coachman pulled out from behind the phaeton, giving the ladies a better view, and Lady Murray screeched, "Halt!"
The animal in question appeared at the door of the open landaulet and let out a piercing screech.
"Here now!" yelled the coachman, turning in his seat and diving for the black and silver monkey. He landed squarely on the laps of Kate's mother and aunt, his legs thrashing in the air.
With a flash of petticoats and ankles, Kate jumped off the carriage seat and into the driver's seat, steadying the horses.
"Get him!" screamed another feminine voice.
Kate whirled around. Mrs. Beauchamp was climbing into their carriage, wielding her parasol to pummel the beleaguered coachman, while tearing at Lady Murray's bonnet, where the offending monkey had taken up residence and was holding on for dear life.
"Get off!" yelled Kate's mother, using her own parasol to parry the wild woman's thrusts.
"Give ... me ... my ... Snookems!" screamed Mrs. Beauchamp.
Gaping at the scene, but unable to leave the team, Kate watched the monkey leap into the air and dive onto the seat beside her, all the while clutching the mangled silk grapes from her aunt's bonnet.
"Come here," she said firmly, stifling a laugh when the little beast jumped onto her shoulder.