Jeannie bowed her
acknowledgment, but her expression was puzzled. “I do not
understand, my lady.”
“
It
means, my dear, that you have a highly effective champion now. I
predict that invitations to every event in London will come your
way now.”
“
Oh,
surely not,” Jeannie declared.
Lady Jersey nodded.
“The postman’s back will break with them. He will come with a
wheelbarrow.”
The bell rang for the
third and final time. Lady Jersey kissed her hand to Lord Charles.
“I would not miss this final act, although I fear that since
Shylock has already had his final scene, it will fall sadly flat.”
She inclined her head toward Jeannie. “Mr. Kean is another one who
will find his postbox crowded with invitations.”
She was gone with a
wave of her hand.
Jeannie turned to the
captain. “What were you doing at Lady Jersey’s today?” she
asked.
“
Oh,
Clare and I sat in her saloon and ate any number of cream cakes—at
least, Clare did—and chatted about this and that,” the captain said
innocently.
“
And
would I be surprised to discover that Lady Jersey is a particular
friend of Mr. Brummell’s?” Jeannie asked.
“
Possibly. But look here, I think we must come to the rescue of
my esteemed sister. Agatha appears to have gone aground.” Jeannie
regarded the captain as he hurried forward to assist Lady Smeath,
who was draped in a chair, moaning softly as Larinda waved smelling
salts under her nose.
Sir, you have been
paving my way and choose not to discuss it, Jeannie thought.
She touched the
necklace again. How deep must I go in your debt? I wonder.
And why?
L
arinda’s bracing administration of spirits of ammonia
had pulled Lady Smeath’s eyes back into their proper orbit. The
woman looked about her wildly and saw only the backs of the
theatergoers scurrying to their seats. Her eyes filled with tears
and she began to sob out loud.
“
Larinda, you are ruined,” she cried. “See how everyone deserts
us!”
“
Mama,
it is the beginning of Act Five,” Larinda declared prosaically, and
then looked around at Captain Summers. “Uncle, I fear we must take
Aunt Agatha home.”
“
Yes,”
Lady Smeath said, and sobbed even harder. “Home to Suffolk, ruined
forever.”
“
Belay
it, Agatha,” said the captain. “With the possible exception of Sir
Peter Winthrop, no one’s ruined.”
The mention of Sir
Peter’s name caused Lady Smeath’s eyes to roll back in her head
again. Grimly Larinda applied the vinaigrette again, with the same
results.
“
He is
ruined?” she sobbed. “And I had such high hopes for him, Larinda.
Ten thousand a year. I feel certain he would have made an offer for
you.”
“
And I
would just as quickly have sent him to the rightabout,” said the
captain. “Well, Jeannie, I fear we must abandon this
place.”
“
No,”
interrupted Larinda with a hand on his arm, “if you will summon the
carriage and help me with Aunt Agatha, I will go home with her.”
She raised her eyes to Jeannie’s for the smallest moment. “I think
Mrs. McVinnie would like to stay for the play.”
“
I
would, Larinda, above all things, but can you manage?” Jeannie
asked quietly.
A slight smile crossed
her face briefly. “I have managed her before, back in Suffolk.” Her
eyes clouded with embarrassment. “And I have a dreadful headache.
Uncle?”
“
Handsome of you, Larinda. And thank you.”
The captain lifted Lady
Smeath to her feet and put his arm about her waist. “Come, come,
Agatha, let us go below. My dear Mrs. McVinnie, I will return. If
you hurry back to the box, there is time to hear Portia and
Bassanio carry on.”
Jeannie nodded to them
and returned to the box, closing the door behind her and leaning
against it for a moment. If she could have, she would have propped
a chair against the door handle to keep the world out. She was
grateful for the chance to be alone and consider the startling
events of the evening.
There was no question
in her careful Scot’s mind that Beau Brummell considered her a
pleasant diversion for this year’s London Season. “I think, Mr.
Brummell, that you have seen one too many Seasons and are becoming
a trifle jaded,” she said out loud. ‘‘Very well, then, sir, I will
divert you, but only for Larinda’s sake.”
With a sigh of relief,
she stretched out her legs in a manner decidedly unladylike and
leaned back in the settee. To her surprise, tears streamed down her
cheeks again. She enjoyed the luxury of a hearty bout of tears that
drained all pent-up emotions from her and left her feeling
infinitely better.
She blew her nose and
wiped her eyes. Alas, Jeannie McV, she thought, as she straightened
up, you will have to postpone the matter of looking for another
husband, at least until this Season is over and you have returned
home.
As she watched Portia
and Bassanio declaring their continuing affection for each other,
she had another thought, one that made her smile in the dark. She
would help Captain Summers find a wife. It was certainly high time
that he married, and there must be somebody in London who would
take kindly to a military man. Heaven knows I would never marry
into any service again, especially the navy, that most suicidal of
professions, but there must be somebody who would. Of course, Will
is a bit forbidding upon first acquaintance, but that soon passes.
Perhaps Lady Jersey can recommend someone to me, and I can forward
the captain’s cause.
She was still smiling
when Captain Summers returned to the box. He regarded her with no
small amusement. ‘‘My dear, you look as smug as a foretopman with
prize money.”
She nodded. “I am
plotting to do you a bit of no good, Captain Summers.”
He sat down next to her
and gave her a nudge when she said nothing more. ‘‘Well, do I get a
hint so I may run for cover, or must I be surprised?”
“
I
have decided to find you a wife.”
The captain gave out a
crack of laughter, and the weary man in the next box growled
something about an upstart generation with no appreciation for the
Bard of Avon.
“
Do
hush, Captain, or they will throw us out of the theater, and not
even Brummell could salvage my reputation,” she scolded. “I propose
to find you a suitable wife. Larinda will not claim all my time,
Clare is in excellent hands, Edward has his guidebook—”
“
Do
not remind me,” the captain groaned.
“
So
there is time, don’t you see? I foresee few difficulties. You look
remarkably well in that uniform, you have a noble bearing, a
sizable fortune, or so I would assume.”
“
Sizable, my dear,” he agreed. “If the war should end tomorrow,
deo volente
, and I were cast at half-pay upon the shore, I
would not need a begging bowl.”
Jeannie stifled a
chuckle at the thought of the impeccable Captain Summers in tatters
and begging for his bread. “You’re a trifle stern upon first
acquaintance, but—”
“
But
not now, eh, Mrs. McVinnie?” he asked, and rested his arm along the
back of the settee, not exactly touching her shoulders, but close
enough.
She leaned forward.
“No, not now,” she said after considering the matter. “I find you
excellent company. Of course, the blasphemy and swearing must
stop.”
“
God’s
b—bones, Mrs. McVinnie, now you go too far,” he teased.
“
Oh,
do be serious! You must only apply yourself a very little to find a
wife. I cannot be convinced that it would be a difficult matter.
You merely have not been ashore long enough to pursue the matter
before.”
He grew serious then.
“Suppose I were to tell you that I have specifically avoided the
shore because I did not wish to become entangled in some woman’s
net?”
Jeannie teased in turn.
“Are you afraid, Will?”
“
I
am.”
He yawned and relaxed
then, as she had done before his return to the box. He turned his
attention to the stage and said no more until the play was over and
the chandelier lowered for the last time. They rose, along with the
rest of the audience, and remained standing until the Prince Regent
took his ponderous way from the royal box. Beau Brummell paused
only long enough to search out the Summers’ box and blow a kiss in
her general direction.
She watched him in some
amusement. “I can only be grateful to him for saving me from my own
folly,” she said, “and must credit it entirely to the fact that Mr.
Brummell must be dreadfully bored.”
The captain turned to
her in surprise. “You think yourself boring? God’s bal—ballast,
madam, we have not had a dull day since you dropped yourself upon
our doorstep. I wonder that the Beau will have the stamina for one
hour in your company, let alone an entire Season!”
“
Then
you have led a dull life indeed,” she replied tartly. “And I know
that not to be the case.”
He shook his head in
agreement. “No, ma’am, no, indeed. Aboard the
Venture
, we
waver between total tedium and stark terror.” He shook his head.
“It does wonders for the digestion.”
They left the dress
circle and took their leisurely way down the grand staircase,
letting the crowds swirl around them. Jeannie listened to the
captain with half an ear as she watched the crowds, noting this
time that though people stared at her, the look was different. I
hope you like what you see, she thought as she held her head
higher. I will strut about only for Larinda’s sake.
They had sent the
carriage on ahead with Lady Smeath. Jeannie sighed as the captain
shouldered his way through the crowd of theatergoers outside,
remembering her experience only days ago in hailing a hackney to
take her to Wendover Square. Goodness, she thought, was that only a
few days ago? I feel I have been here forever, or at least that I
have known Captain Summers forever. How odd.
As she watched, he
stepped off the curb and exerted himself no more than to raise a
finger when two hackneys stopped. She opened her eyes wider. How
did he do that?
Jeannie allowed him to
hand her into the coach. She leaned forward as he shut the door and
they started off. “How, sir, do you command such obedience from
hackneys? I stood an age in the pouring rain only the other night,
trying to get one to stop for me!”
He removed his hat and
placed it upon the seat beside him. “Oh, it helps to wear a tall
hat and look like someone who eats cabbies for tea.” He flicked a
curl of hers that had come loose from its moorings and dangled by
her ear. “Besides, my dear, they probably didn’t even see you. I
say, do you stand on a box to hail cabs in Scotland?”
She made a face at him.
“Not as a rule. I daresay I never had to hail a hackney
before.”
He tucked the loose
curl behind her ear. “When you get tired of going it alone, my very
dear Mrs. McVinnie, will you remarry?”
She considered his
question and thought about scolding him for impertinence, but could
not. “I suppose so, Will,” she replied thoughtfully, her finger
straying to the curl. “But I do not think I will let that be my
only consideration for marrying again.”
When he merely angled
his head to one side and continued looking at her, she wrinkled her
forehead and then held her hands out in front of her. “Am I a fool,
Captain Summers? I suspect I am, for I have this foolish wish.” She
let out her breath in an impatient rush. “Oh, bother it all,
Captain, but I would like to fall in love again. Isn’t that absurd?
I mean, everyone knows that you love only once. But still, the
thought is appealing.”
When the captain said
nothing, Jeannie was grateful that the darkness hid her red face.
She bundled herself deeper in her cloak and rested her chin in its
folds. “I suppose it is foolish.”
“
It’s
not foolish, Jeannie, not at all,” the captain replied softly, his
voice so gentle that she looked up in surprise and then stared down
again at her cloak.
“
You
must have really loved Thomas McVinnie,” the captain said after
another moment’s pause, his voice strangely intense. There was none
of the hard edge to it that she had come to accept as a matter of
course.
“
I
did,” Jeannie said in a small voice, and then rushed on before her
courage failed her. “And I would wish to love someone like that
again.” When the silence from the other side of the carriage
continued, she managed a small laugh. “I suppose it is because I am
such a Scot, sir, that I hate to waste all that love.” Jeannie
curled up into the shadows on her side of the hackney, embarrassed
and uncomfortable with herself. “Sir, I have never discussed such a
topic with anyone, and surely not a man.”
“
Oh,
and you think a man would not be properly sympathetic?” the captain
asked, the slight edge back in his voice again.
Jeannie burrowed deeper
in her cloak, thoroughly out of sorts with herself. “Nothing of the
kind, sir,” she protested. “It is just not a subject that ….
Well, it is a matter of some trifling delicacy.”
“
And
you think that I have never known what it is to want someone? Want
someone so much that it becomes physical pain? You err, child, you
err.”
“
I
didn’t mean to be impertinent, sir, truly I did not.”
“
And
you are not impertinent. Merely more honest than most of us.
Jeannie, you have my complete confidentiality,” he said, and tugged
on her cloak until she sat upright again. “Don’t pull into your
shell like a turtle. Twenty-four is a little too young to leap into
an open grave and pull the earth over you.” He tugged on her cloak
again and reached for her hand. “Perhaps you’re the one who ought
to look for a mate during this London Season. You seem to have more
ambition than I.”