Rescuing Rosalind (Three Original Ladies and Their Gentlemen) (2 page)

“I will endeavor to demonstrate that I can be all that is desired in a young lady. I’ll wager that you will be very surprised.”

“How much?” he asked.

Bringing a finger to her lips, she looked skyward, deciding. Her eyes brightened. “If you are as surprised as I am certain you will be, we shall read
As You Like It
together. You shall do all the male bits. I shall, of course, do the females and Ganymede.”

Her forwardness was actually quite delightful. “If I win . . .”

“You will not.”

He smiled. Though the Duke of Ruisdell had been his friend since they had both been in leading strings, the duke’s marriage and fatherhood had transformed him from the rogue Buck knew. Encountering this sprite had provided the most enjoyable moments in an otherwise uneventful visit. Tipping his hat, he said, “We shall see. Now, I am going to find a warm fire and some brandy. You may give the cloak to the butler when you decide to come inside.”

“Thank you,” Rosalind said, posing with one booted foot cocked up in front of her, hands on the lapels of his cloak. She devastated him with her first smile.

It struck him like a blow. Buck stood rooted to the ground as though the sun had suddenly come out in its glory such that it was no longer a gloomy winter’s day, but high summer, complete with birds, butterflies, and flowers.

She is only a girl, Buck. You’ve been at sea too long.
Tipping his hat again, he turned away and, dazed, left to find his way back into the house.

{ 2 }

F
ANNY “ROSALIND” EDWARDS
set about preparing for the evening with an uncommon degree of enthusiasm. She desired nothing so much as to knock that cocky,
gorgeous
captain off his feet. Her sister, Elise, had told her that he was quite wealthy, having a large purse of prize money, and recently a wholly unexpected Marquisate inherited from a third cousin twice removed. Surely, these details combined with his extraordinary good looks to make him a great prize on the marriage mart.

But her desire to make an impression was not for any of these reasons. It rose, rather, from the fact that he had encountered her as a scrubby youth. And though she had no desire to permanently be a proper young lady, when she had to play the role, she was very good at it.

Fanny chose a gown of ivory silk shot with silver that flattered the well-developed figure she had concealed beneath her Ganymede tunic. It was modestly cut, as becoming a young lady not yet out, but clung to her curves in a most satisfactory manner. She definitely did
not
look to be seventeen. Her creamy skin was the envy of her younger sister, Sophie, who was at the moment suffering from spots.

Parker, her sister Elise’s dresser, was lent to her that evening at Fanny’s request. The woman was a positive magician with hair, and she particularly enjoyed dressing Fanny’s bountiful auburn mane. After a somewhat lengthy consultation, they decided to cut some of the hair about her face, fashioning it into soft curls, emphasizing her large turquoise eyes and high cheekbones. The rest was dressed in the French fashion, high on her head to lengthen her neck and make her appear taller. Parker wove a string of the Duchess’s
faux
pearls through the arrangement. Fanny admired the effect in the mirror.

“Very nice, Parker. I look to be quite twenty years old, at least.”

“All you need now, miss, are your pearls.”

Fanny handed her the string which had been a gift from her father for Christmas—meant for her come-out. She had borrowed Elise’s pearl drop earrings. When these were in place, she pulled on her long gloves, and Parker handed her the Chinese fan that offered a contrast to her ivory ensemble, being painted in the Imari fashion with vivid red, blue, and gold. As she stood and looked at herself in the full-length cheval glass, she decided the effect was complete. The captain would never recognize Ganymede.

Her sister, to whom she had confided her plan, and who thought it a very good idea indeed, had agreed that it called for a dramatic entrance. To this end, Elise conspired to send a footman to tap on Fanny’s door when all the other guests were present in the drawing room.

When the tap came, she assumed a wispy Shetland wool shawl in the same ivory as her dress, and descended to the drawing room of Ruisdell Palace. Standing on the threshold of that vast room with its ceiling of frolicking cupids, terra cotta red walls, and Murano glass chandeliers, she took a moment to locate Captain Kernow-Charles. Perfect. He was standing by her sister, holding a glass of sherry, looking positively breathtaking in his dress naval uniform. His dark hair was swept back and tied with a black ribbon, exposing the sharp planes of his sun-bronzed face. From this distance, she could not make out the moss green of his eyes, but she remembered well how they could censure or soften.

Concentrating her own eyes on him, she willed the captain to turn his head. He did. His face went blank with surprise. Turning to her sister, he seemed to confirm her identity. The two of them strode toward her, and Fanny left the doorway and allowed the light from the fireplace to highlight the silver in her dress.

“Lord Deal, may I present my sister, Miss Fanny Edwards,” Elise said.

“To me, she will always be Rosalind.”

He kissed the gloved hand she extended, and she instantly broke out in goose flesh. Such a thing had never happened to her before. But then she had never had her hand kissed by a marquis or a captain.

“You were right, Miss Edwards. I am indeed astonished at the transformation.”

Elise’s laughter sounded. “Come, dearest,” she said to Fanny. “You shall be allowed a spot of Madeira.”

* * *

Fanny was surprised to find that Elise had placed the marquis next to her at dinner. Was her sister plotting something? Fanny was thankful, whatever her sister’s motive was.

“I have surprised you, my lord, have I not?”

“I would think that was obvious. You are a chameleon, I see, and have delighted in showing me that you are skilled at any role you choose.”

“You are far more comfortable with me in this guise, admit it!”

“Perhaps. But I think Ganymede will stay with me when things chance to be dull upon the high seas. I carry my Shakespeare with me, you see.”

“It is rather a pity you are so old,” Fanny said, dimpling as she suppressed a grin.

“I should not do for Orlando, I suppose.”

“His love for Rosalind made him a bit silly. Putting those love letters in trees and so forth. You seem far too sensible to do such a thing.”

“You, my good girl, know nothing of my nature. Do not make the mistake I myself made this afternoon and judge a book by its cover.” He sipped his consommé. “Among my men, I am considered brash rather than sensible, I’m afraid.”

“That is promising. On your next leave, you must come to visit us at Shearings during the season. I will be properly out.”

“I should like to see that, I must confess. But you will probably be married by then, Miss Edwards. I am quite certain you will have forgotten who I am.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“If it snows, as it promises to, I will put off my journey and remain here until the roads are clear.”

“Excellent! You will have to make good on our wager. I will pray tonight for snow.” Forgetting her pose, she clapped her hands and then clasped them under her chin, her eyes flashing with excitement. “You must indulge me.”

He smiled broadly. “I may be wrong, but I think you are already overindulged.”

His words stung. Withdrawing, she cast her eyes away from his laughing ones. “How very ungallant of you.” Her jaw hardened.

“Excuse my bluntness. I am used to saying what I think. A captain’s prerogative.”

“Well, I do not intend to speak to you of my private affairs, but I can tell you this much: you are very wrong, indeed.” Thinking of the home she had escaped only weeks before, her bosom swelled at the injustice of this remark.

“Forgive me, then.”

The idea of reading Shakespeare with a man who thought her spoiled no longer appealed. “I acquit you of your debt. You may spend your day as you please.” With those words, Fanny turned her head and began speaking to her brother-in-law, the duke, who was seated at the end of the table on her other side. She recounted to Peter an amusing conversation she had had with his two year old son, Alistair, in the nursery that afternoon.

When they gathered in the drawing room after the meal, Fanny chattered with simulated animation to her sister, all the time aware of the marquis’s every move. At length, she could not keep him from approaching her.

Bowing, the captain said, “I beg your pardon if I upset you. I was unduly personal. It was not well done of me.”

Fanny inclined her head cooly. “Yes. If we were better acquainted, you would have known how wrong you were.”

“It is a shame I must leave so soon to rejoin my frigate. I think I must enjoy becoming better acquainted with you.”

“Good night, Lord Deal,” Fanny said, nodding a regal dismissal. “I would retire now. I find I am quite fatigued.”

* * *

As soon as she awakened the next morning, Fanny got out of bed and ran to the window to check the weather. The snow had held off. She did not know whether to be glad or sorry.

The thought of the captain’s deep green eyes registering warm approval as they rested upon her when she entered the drawing room still lingered. And oh, how she wished she could have had a chance to regain his good opinion and prove him wrong. She was not spoiled! Just impetuous. Anyone who had been raised by “Lady Hatchet” deserved a little fun when she finally escaped and, the need to be a lady aside, Fanny had only just started having fun.

{ 3 }

T
HREE YEARS LATER

Buck walked into Lady Wyndham’s ballroom, the first time he had done such a thing in many years. He tried to remember what age he had been at the time of his last appearance before the ton, but he had been at war since he was twelve years old, and the intervening years had blended together. Only when his leaves had coincided with the spring Season had he ever had the leisure to see how society comported itself.

In general, he found the frivolity not to his taste. During the past twenty years, his life had taken place against a large canvas, including voyages to the far side of the world. Cards and dancing were such tiny, meaningless occupations in comparison. With the war at an end and Napoleon imprisoned on St. Helena, there was black doubt in his mind as to whether he could ever adjust. He loved the sea. He relished battle. What in life could compare to the exultant feeling one experienced when one boarded an enemy ship with its defeated crew to raise the Union Jack?

That afternoon, he had discussed the matter at White’s with his friend, Ruisdell.

“Buck, you will want some time to adjust. I thought much as you when I was invalided out of the army. I found society a shallow thing, and was jaded and bored beyond belief.”

“You seem contented enough now.”

“I met Elise, and my world changed.”

“One woman did that?”

“I know it isn’t fashionable to speak of it, but love did that. Elise is remarkable. In addition to her obvious charms, she is forever involved in schemes to make life less of a burden for the poor.” Pausing, he lit a cigar and drew on it. “Not every enemy wears a French uniform. Elise has helped me to look closer to home. There are hunger, homelessness, dismemberment, and other evils caused by the war. My wife and her volunteers run a soup kitchen in the East End for the families of wounded soldiers. My friends Northbrooke and Beverley help me to place the unemployed in work that they can take pride in, that fits their skills.” He paused, seeming to reflect. “Then there is the orphanage Beverley has set up for boys whose fathers were soldiers. They are trained for the woolen trade. His wife even writes gothic melodramas for the boys to perform.” He grinned. “Vastly entertaining.” Then leaning towards Buck, he said, “In a very small way, I feel we are fighting a battle here on the home front. We would certainly be glad of your help expanding these efforts to veteran sailors.”

Buck had shaken his head. “But what of adventure? What of conquest?”

Ruisdell had removed his cigar and given a deep, rich laugh. “I can tell, my dear fellow, that you have not spent any amount of time around well-bred females who require wooing!”

“I have made sure not to. My mother was supposedly well bred, as you will recall.”

Ruisdell observed him as he drew on his cigar. “Bad luck, old man. I had forgotten all about that scandal. I can see why you would be somewhat cynical.” He tapped ash into the dish in front of him. “My mother was hardly a paragon. I can sympathize. Recall the rogue I was! The worst in England, they said. You were at sea at the time, but the only reason I gave Elise any attention at all was that Somerset bet me a hefty sum that seducing her would cure my ennui.”

He laughed. “Needless to say, I lost the bet. She has never ceased to enchant me.”

And so, little more than half grudgingly, Buck had accepted Lady Wyndham’s invitation. Standing on the staircase that ran up one wall of the ballroom while waiting to greet his host and hostess, he ran his eyes over the crowd below. A vast range of colored silks reflected in Lady Wyndham’s mirrored wall. There were even men dressed in such odd colors as lavender and turquoise. At the moment, the guests were performing a lively country dance.

Dancing! What a futile waste of time. He nearly turned around and descended the staircase to return to his carriage. Just as he had made up his mind to leave, he caught sight of a familiar form standing by the Duchess of Ruisdell at the side of the dance floor. It was Rosalind, and she was glorious.

Curiosity as to what kind of young lady she had become arrested his intention to depart. Slapping his gloves against his thigh, he waited impatiently for his turn to greet his host and hostess. He missed his uniform with its double rows of brass buttons, wide, braid-trimmed lapels, and epaulettes. Although his evening coat had also been cut by Weston, the master tailor, he did not feel that it gave him the stature and presence of his dress uniform. He might be just another fribble. Buck felt he had lost his identity. Being a marquis did not suit him nearly so well as being a captain.