Jeannie laughed and
looked away, and the smile froze on her face.
A small group of men
stood at the assembly-room entrance, laughing and talking with one
another and scanning the ballroom. One raised a quizzing glass to
his eye; another languidly consulted a pocket watch tethered to an
enormous gold chain. A third man tugged at his flamboyant
waistcoat, a coat of many colors that should have cast Joseph
himself into the shadow.
She gulped. It was Sir
Peter Winthrop, minus his blue paint.
The fourth man wore no
lace or waistcoat of biblical splendor. He was dressed soberly in
black, broken only by the almost startling white of his shirtfront
and the single gold watch chain that stretched across his chest. He
was a crow among peacocks, and she could not tear her eyes from
him. He was understated, underdressed, and elegant, from his
brilliantly polished shoes to his carefully arranged hair. He was
the man she had raked down so thoroughly in the menagerie only that
afternoon.
The man was the picture
of perfection. Jeannie looked about her in amazement. Everyone was
watching him, even the couples who had already begun the waltz. If
the musicians scraped and twiddled at their instruments, she did
not hear it. Jeannie McVinnie watched the elegant man in silence
and she began to be afraid.
Without even seeming to
turn his head, the man looked about the room and raised his hand to
one of the group surrounding Larinda. He started in that direction
and then stopped and looked at Jeannie, bowing and smiling.
Without taking her eyes
from him, Jeannie tugged at Captain Summers’ sleeve. “Captain, who
is that man over there, the one, oh, you know, that one?”
Amused, Summers looked
where she nodded. “I cannot say for sure, considering that I have
been at sea for too long, but bless me, Jeannie McVinnie, you must
mean the Beau. No one else is as beautiful. Not even me.”
Jeannie managed a
slight smile at his joke. The blood drained from her face as she
noticed that the man in the doorway was watching her. “Who …
who?”
“
Beau
Brummell, you owl,” said the captain. “Yes, I am sure that is who
you mean.” He gently lifted Jeannie’s hand from his arm, where she
was digging into the gold swirls on his sleeve. “People say he is
the most elegant thing in London, and a great friend of the Prince
Regent.” The captain motioned to his sister, who stood with her
friends nearby, also mesmerized by the man in the doorway. “Agatha,
come sit you down with us and tell us—is that Beau
Brummell?”
Lady Smeath accepted
the proffered seat. “Dear me, yes, William,” she said, her voice so
full of reverence that Jeannie could only stare. She tapped Jeannie
playfully with the fan. “And let me warn you, Mrs. McVinnie. That
man has the power to ruin a woman’s chances at a come-out with only
a word or a glance.”
Lady Smeath directed
her gaze back to the Beau and peered closer. “I wonder why he is
looking at us. What could it possibly signify?” She shrugged. “I
must do what I can to attract his attention to Larinda. Only think
what his notice could mean to her.”
“
Yes,
Agatha, think of it. Call Larinda’s attention to him immediately,”
the captain ordered. “The sooner Larinda is shot off, the sooner I
am back at sea.”
Jeannie felt a cold
wave rush across her body. She clasped her hands together to stop
their trembling. “Do you mean …. Oh, Lady Smeath, surely he
cannot determine someone’s fate during a London Season?”
Lady Smeath nodded. “I
mean exactly that. I have seen it happen. He stared at a young lady
once—I believe she was only laughing overloud—and looked her up and
down through his quizzing glass.” Lady Smeath shook her head. “And
do you know, no one who was anyone sent her cards or invitations
after that night? All the poor thing could do was leave town.”
“
Leave
town?” Jeannie repeated. Good heavens, she thought, what have I
done to Larinda’s chances? She clutched the captain’s arm again. He
looked down at her in surprise. “Surely no one has that kind of
power,” Jeannie said.
“
The
Beau does,” Lady Taneystone replied. “Oh, and look, is he coming
this way?” She cast a quick glance behind her. “I wonder, is there
someone standing behind us that he knows?”
Jeannie leapt to her
feet and dragged the captain up with her. “Captain Summers,” she
said, entreating him with her eyes, “I would like of all things to
dance this waltz with you. Right now!”
C
aptain Summers did not betray his surprise by even one
flicker of an eye. “I would be charmed, Mrs. McVinnie,” he said as
he led her onto the floor. He clasped her firmly in his arms and
whirled her into the dance pattern.
White and stricken to
silence, Jeannie could only be grateful that her partner was such
an excellent leader and that he was taking her farther and farther
away from Beau Brummell. The Beau stood watching the dancers,
compact and alone and utterly distinguished. Jeannie dragged her
eyes away from him and resolved to dance and dance until the
musicians put away their instruments, the servants put the chairs
on the tables, and the porter locked the door.
They danced in silence
until Captain Summers pulled her closer and whispered in her ear.
“Mrs. McVinnie, I know that my charms are well-nigh overpowering
and that few women alive are able to resist a uniform, especially a
naval uniform, but please tell me what the hell is going on.”
Jeannie shuddered and
he gathered her closer.
“
Mrs.
McVinnie,” he began, his lips practically on her ear, “have you
seen a ghost?”
“
It is
worse,” she managed, after a few more turns in the ballroom, which
was growing hotter by the moment. “That man, that Beau
Brummell …. Oh, Captain Summers, he was there in the Tower
this afternoon. That other man with him—oh, all of them—it was a
wager. They were painting an elephant blue.”
The captain tightened
his grip on her waist. “Come, come, Mrs. McVinnie. Take a deep
breath and begin again.”
She glared at him.
“You’re holding me rather too tight for that!”
He obligingly loosened
his grip. “There now.”
His light tone
heartened her. She gripped his hand tighter. “Captain, I gave Beau
Brummell such a dressing-down!” Her eyes closed at the memory of
it. “The things I said! Something about foolish fops with nothing
better to do and what a blot they were on the English
character.”
“
My
God, Mrs. McVinnie,” said the captain, and for once, she did not
correct him. He gathered her close again, and the gesture was oddly
protective.
“
Oh,
it’s dreadful, I know,” she said, “but I was so upset. There was
Edward grabbed and thrown on top of that great beast, and all I
could think about was Tom.”
“
Tom?”
he asked, his face devoid of all expression, except for the rogue
twinkle in his green eyes. “Come now. I know Spain is a strange
place, but I saw no elephants at La Coruña.”
Jeannie laughed in
spite of herself. “I told you it was silly. But there were these
perfectly able-bodied, indolent men doing something so
totty-headed, and when I think that Tom died for people like that,
well, it made me angry.”
“
And
well it might,” the captain agreed. “I haven’t yet told you about
the earl that I belted on my last shore leave, have I? And do
forgive that pun.”
“
Forgiven,” she said. “Whatever did he do?”
“
He
made a rude remark about gunners who could not hit the broad side
of France, and I happen to know we are much better than that. I was
also a little to let at the time, luffing like a
topgallant.”
“
Well,
I was not!”
“
Of
course you were not.” He whirled her around, his attention caught
by the man whispering to Larinda and then to the Beau.
“
And
that sprig of fashion?” the captain asked, whirling Jeannie about
for a better view. “Was he there, too? I declare Larinda looks on
the verge of apoplexy. I wonder what he is telling her?”
It was Sir Peter
Winthrop, and he was darting angry glances at her and gesturing in
an animated way to Larinda, who stood open-mouthed.
Jeannie swallowed again
and the captain looked down at her in alarm.
“
My
G—goodness, Mrs. McVinnie. Your face is quite green!”
“
At
least it is not blue,” she said mournfully. “That is the man who
teased Edward. I—oh, you won’t like this—I dumped blue paint all
over him, and the elephant—oh, gracious, what the elephant
did.”
The captain appeared
hard put to restrain himself. “I think I can guess. Jeannie, you
are a scamp and a rascal! Had I been given any inkling—”
“
You
would not have impressed me?”
He threw back his head
and laughed as he pulled her closer. “By G—gracious, you are a
prime item, Mrs. McVinnie.”
She only sighed. “I
don’t understand. I am fine in Scotland.”
The captain only
laughed again.
Jeannie stopped, but he
pulled her along. “You do not appreciate the seriousness of
this!”
He was looking over her
shoulder. “Oh, I should not have called attention to us. Have a
care now. The Beau approaches on our starboard bow.”
She closed her eyes as
they whirled past Brummell, down the hall, and into the card room.
The cardplayers within looked up in surprise and some indignation,
except for a lady so old that her face appeared to have sunk inside
itself like a dried apple.
With a chortle of
triumph and an arch look at her partner, an equally elderly
gentleman dressed in the mode of the last century, she thumped the
seat next to her. “Sit down, dearie, do,” she commanded in the
overloud voice of the hard-of-hearing. “I was only just saying to
Lord Hammersmith over there—wake up, you old fool!—what do you have
to do around here to get good whist players, and here you are. I
call that good fortune.” She thumped the chair again.
With a fleeting glance
at Captain Summers, Jeannie sat down.
The old lady peered
close at her. “You don’t look like one of those schoolroom chits,
and thank God for that. I don’t think a modern miss could play a
rubber or two without falling on the floor in a dead faint from the
mental exertion. No, I don’t want a schoolroom lass.”
“
I
assure you that I am a long time from the schoolroom,” Jeannie
replied.
“
Oh,
centuries and aeons,” Captain Summers added. “Jeannie, will you
insist on speaking drivel forever?”
Jeannie politely
overlooked the informality of his address, and was rewarded with a
wink.
“
And
from the sound of you, dearie, you’re a long way from your hearth,
too.”
“
That
I am, madam,” she replied. “A very long way.”
“
And
this husband of yours—”
“
He’s
not—I’m not—we’re not—” Jeannie stammered, not daring to look at
the captain.
The old lady fumbled in
her reticule and dragged out a pair of spectacles, which she
perched on the end of her nose. “I only wear them when I want to
see something,” she confided to Jeannie. “I fear they make me look
old.” She turned her attention to the captain and looked him up and
down. She nodded and grunted. “My mother used to warn me about
sailors, too,” she said, and patted Jeannie’s hand.
Only by the exercise of
the most rigid discipline could Jeannie maintain her countenance.
“Very wise of your mother,” she murmured serenely.
Captain Summers
glowered at her. He opened his mouth to rebut when the door was
thrown open and Lady Jersey stormed into the room. The captain
started visibly and opened his mouth to speak, but Lady Jersey was
in no mood to listen. She marched directly up to the captain.
“
It is
too bad, Sir William,” she declared. “Too bad!”
Jeannie felt her face
go red and then white. Had Beau Brummell already announced to the
assembly that Jeannie McVinnie was not fit
ton
company?
“
Lady
Jersey, I can explain,” she began.
Lady Jersey did not
take her eyes from Captain Summer’s face. “Sir, have you been on
the blockade so long that you cannot recall the smallest rules here
at Almack’s?”
Jeannie held her breath
and closed her eyes.
“
How
dare you ask a lady for her first waltz without consulting me? Or
Countess Lieven? She is here tonight, too. I would not have thought
you so rag-mannered.”
“
Lady
Jersey, if you please, that was my—” Jeannie tried
again.
Captain Summers grasped
the back of his chair and shook his head. “How careless of me,” he
exclaimed, his eyes full of contrition.
“
It
was more than careless,” Lady Jersey replied, just warming to her
subject. “The ballroom is buzzing!”
Again Captain Summers
gave her that frank look and sighed, a sound so full of meaning
that it seemed to come from below his feet.
Jeannie stared at him
and fought down the sudden urge to smile.
He sighed again and
made a helpless gesture with his hand. “Lady Jersey, you cannot
imagine how many nights and days I have stood watch and watch about
from the foretop roost, my eyes glued to the French coast,
wondering how much longer before I would summon the drummer to beat
‘To quarters’ and we went into action.” Again that gesture. “I
would think about dancing, sometimes, and some nights it was the
only thing that kept me warm.” Again that sigh.