Anita Mills (19 page)

T
HE FIRST FOUR WEEKS
were spent in an endless round of shopping, fittings, and sightseeing, the latter at Roland’s aggrieved insistence. It was, he reminded Jessica, the real reason he’d come. And if he was going to have to spend his days driving Lady Millhaven’s equippage in Hyde Park and his evenings somewhere besides White’s, then afore God, they were going to see what he wished to see also.

And all the while, Kitty fretted about the state of her money that had been invested in the Funds. One day, on the pretext of having a headache, she had stayed behind and, with the conspiracy of one of the housemaids, hired a hackney to take her to discover the price of coachfare to Plymouth and the cost of passage to Charleston. It was, she had discovered, rather an exorbitant amount, given her resources. And she resented the expense of her new clothes, for they would have more than covered the journey. That was different, Isabella told her, for the money for them was a loan from Margaret.

Roland came upon her as she descended the stairs in a smart new blue twill driving dress. “Jess ain’t down yet?” he demanded querulously. “Told her if I was expected to parade around the Park, I’d not wait, and if she thinks I mean to cool my heels awaiting her, she can think again.”

His sister leaned over the balustrade above him. “I am coming, but I cannot get my bonnet just right.”

He looked up. “Egad—don’t you look as fine as fivepence! Both of you, in fact. Credit to me.”

“Oh, Rollo, do you think so?” Jess asked, skipping down the stairs excitedly. “I cannot wait to get to the Park.”

“Don’t know why—a dashed bore, if you was to ask me,” he muttered, offering her his arm.

“But I have been waiting until I had just the right hat.” She adjusted the ribbon to one side of her chin. “Well?”

“Hat’s a hat,” he declared, then relented. “But that is a regular confection, ain’t it, Kit?”

“Definitely.”

He cocked his head to study her also. “Look fashionable yourself, Kit—favor the military look, don’t you? Like that, I do,” he said. “Like the Hussar shako, especially atop that yaller hair.”

“Thank you. I was afraid it was overmuch.”

“Gives you height.”

It was an exceedingly pleasant day for a drive, and Lady Millhaven’s phaeton, pulled by a pair of well-matched, glossy bays, was smart indeed. Roland pulled into the line of conveyances already making the drive, and flicked the fine carriage whip over his cattle expertly.

“So this is what the fashionable world does for amusement?” Kitty asked, settling back against the leather seat.

“See and be seen,” Jess agreed. “Cousin Margaret says ’tis everything.”

“I feel like I am in a dashed parade.”

A gentleman on horseback pulled alongside. “Servant, Merriman. Your sisters?”

“Hallo, Revenham. Jess—Baron Revenham. M’sister Jessica. Kit—Baron Revenham. M’cousin Catherine, but we call her Kitty.”

“Charming.” The baron tipped his hat rakishly, then rode on.

And so it went for a good half hour until Jessica clutched Kitty’s arm. “Kit, I vow ’tis Charles!”

“Don’t be absurd. He—” For an awful moment, she thought her heart had stopped, but her cousin did not note it.

“And Lord Haverhill!”

The two men rode side by side, their former animosity apparently gone. Kitty blinked, unable to tear her eyes from the resplendent uniform, its brass buttons gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Swallowing the lump that rose, she watched him approach. Her hands clenched her handkerchief in her lap.

“Miss Merriman! Miss Gordon! Rollo,” Sturbridge called out, grinning. “Pleasant surprise, ain’t it, Jack?”

“Lord Sturbridge,” Jessica murmured demurely. “So nice to see you here. And Lord Haverhill also.”

“Nothing to keep us at Blackstone Hall, after all. Sorry you missed the party Mama had for the colonel, but I daresay you prefer being here, don’t you? Bang-up affair, actually.”

He looked over to Roland. “Miss Amelia and Miss Cynthia Peavley were asking after you, old chap.”

“Charles—Lord Sturbridge, that is,” Jessica amended hastily. “Er—did you get Kitty’s letter?”

“Actually, ’tis why I am come to London,” he admitted, his grin broadening further. “Mean to call on you tomorrow, in fact.”

“You do?”

“With Mama’s blessing.”

She colored rosily and looked down. “We should be happy to receive you, sir.”

Jack watched Kitty, saying nothing until she thought she could not stand it. “Well, I see you are recovered,” she said rather lamely.

“Yes.” His mouth twitched slightly at the corners. “I am beginning to regain the weight I lost.”

“How—how very good for you, sir. And your shoulder?”

“A twinge now and then, nothing more.”

“I am glad of it. And your leg?”

“As it does not rain, ’tis better also.” His hazel eyes seemed to warm to gold. “As it keeps me from dancing, not all is lost.”

Jessica, still blushing happily at the import of Sturbridge’s words, turned to Red Jack. “Er—did you receive my note also, my lord?”

“Yes, and I shall cherish it always,” he promised.

For a moment, her brow creased, for she’d said naught but that they would not suit. “Yes, well,” she said, sighing, “ ’twas for the best, I think.”

“Damme if it ain’t Red Jack!” someone shouted, hailing him.

Heads within hearing distance turned, and soon a number of vehicles were jockeying for position as their occupants waved frantically to attract his attention. To Kitty’s chagrin, an exceedingly elegant female actually leaned out and beckoned him. He flashed her a smile, then turned again to Kitty.

“You look well, you know.”

“Thank you.”

“The hat becomes you.”

“Thank you.”

“Jack, dear, are you coming to my musicale?” another woman called out as she drove past.

“Damn!” Roland muttered under his breath. “Place is all clogged up. Got to move. Servant, Sturbridge. Haverhill.”

“Wait—do you bring Miss Merriman to Lady Childredge’s little affair this evening?” Charles asked. “I hear there is to be dancing.”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Yes. Yes, he does,” Jessica answered for her brother.

“Then I have hopes of seeing you there.” Lord Sturbridge tipped his hat and backed away to let them pass.

Red Jack Rayne saluted Kitty as though she were an officer, then smiled as the carriage pulled away. She lifted her hand to wave, then dropped it. She’d be hanged if she let him think she was like the rest of the females who fawned over him.

“Oh, Kitty, did you hear? I vow I am transported!”

“No, I did not hear,” Kitty muttered.

“He said he had his mother’s blessing, Kit!”

“For what?”

“Oh, what a clunch you are today, Kitty!” Jessica complained. “He’s going to offer for me!” “How wonderful,” her cousin observed without enthusiasm.

“And did you see Red Jack? Lud, what a figure of a man!”

“Thought they was going to wreck us trying to get to him,” Roland commented. “He’s a lion here. Did you note that, Kit?”

“He seems to be every female’s ‘dear,’ ” she retorted. “A lion indeed.”

“Oh, but he is! When Mama told Cousin Margaret that we were acquainted with him, Margaret would not believe her at first. She told Mama that with the Season open now, every hostess is vying for him,” Jessica confided artlessly.

“I hope they bag him.”

“Bag him? Dash it, Kit, but he ain’t an animal!”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kitty maintained woodenly.

Somehow, she managed to endure another half hour of endless circling of the Park, and from time to time, try as she would to ignore the colonel, she could not help seeing the press of those who stopped to hail him.

“La, Margaret, but you are in such looks,” Lady Childredge murmured in greeting. “And these are the Misses Merriman?”

“One of them. The short one is Miss Gordon.”

“Gordon?” For a moment, the woman’s interest was piqued.

“A different family,” Lady Millhaven said.

“Oh. So kind of you to come, dear—both of you. And you also, young man.”

Roland leaned closer to his sister and whispered, “If he ain’t here within the hour, I ain’t staying.”

“Merriman.” A tall, slender young man bore down upon them, with a thin, freckled girl in tow. “Wanted you to meet m’sister Gussie—Augusta, actually.”

“Miss Dunham,” Roland murmured politely.

Her brother half covered his mouth and said in a low aside, “For God’s sake, get on her card, will you?”

Mortified, the girl turned a deep red. Kitty reached out to her quickly. “I am Catherine Gordon, but my friends call me Kitty. And may I present my cousin Jessica?”

“Miss Gordon,” the girl mumbled.

“Rollo, why do you not fetch us some punch? And one for Miss Dunham also.”

Behind her, she could hear a stir, but she paid no attention. Impulsively taking the thin girl’s hand, she led her to a chair along the wall. “Do sit with us, will you? I vow I know almost no one here,” she told her.

“Not quite true, Miss Gordon.”

She spun around at the sound of Red Jack Rayne’s voice, and for a moment she was speechless. Recovering, she managed to hold out her hand. “Good evening, sir.”

In full view of everyone, he bent over it and kissed her fingers. “Pleasure to see you—as always.”

“There you are, Lord Haverhill!” Lady Childredge rushed up to him, gushing, “There are so many come to see you, sir! I have promised Lady Epperson that I would present you.”

“Hold a chair for me, will you?” he said to Kitty as his hostess bore him away. “Be back.”

Miss Dunham stared, goggling. “ ’Twas Red Jack,” she choked out finally.

“Yes,” Kitty agreed simply, sinking into the chair beside her.

Roland returned, awkwardly carrying three glasses of fruit punch. “Did you see Red Jack?” he asked, handing one to Kitty.

“He was right here. Kissed Miss Gordon’s hand even,” the girl told him excitedly. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

He looked to where Haverhill stood, surrounded by those who waited for the chance to speak to him. “Told you he was a lion!” he crowed triumphantly. “Told you!”

“One would have thought he was Wellington,” Kitty muttered sourly.

“Eh? No, Wellington don’t like to come out—cannot stand the fawning.”

“Well, your Red Jack seems to delight in it.”

“Don’t like it above half. Had it from Charles that he don’t go about much either.”

“Really? One would never know it.”

“You know something? You are out of reason cross tonight, Kit. It ain’t like you at all.”

“I have the headache,” she lied.

“Again? Get too many of ’em. Daresay ought to have Mama take you to a physicker while we are here. Get you a powder or something.” He looked down guiltily. “Guess I ought not to have said that, huh?”

“No.”

“Charles says he don’t hold no grudge, you know.”

“How very charitable of him.”

“Oh, look—he’s coming back!” Miss Dunham whispered excitedly. “He is. Wait until I tell Mama I have seen Red Jack Rayne in person.”

“Lud.”

“Buck up,” Rollo urged, then he disappeared, leaving only her and Miss Dunham to face Red Jack. She looked around quickly for Jessica, then realized that Sturbridge was in attendance also. They sat alone near a potted fern, and the look on Jess’s face gave Kitty a stab of envy.

“Devilish crush,” the colonel commented, taking the seat beside her. A twinge of pain crossed his face as he adjusted his leg. “Cannot dance, so might as well sit it out with you.”

“May I present Miss Dunham?” she asked politely.

He leaned past her, giving her a whiff of the Hungary water he wore, to take the girl’s hand. “Miss Dunham,” he acknowledged gravely. “A pleasure.”

“B-Baron Haverhill,” the girl stammered. “Oh.”

He looked down to where her empty card dangled from her wrist, and he nodded sympathetically. “I should sign on, but I would embarrass you, I am sure.”

As the girl’s blush deepened, some imp prompted Kitty to say, “I don’t know—perhaps one of the more staid ones …”

“Nothing you could do could embarrass me, sir,” the girl blurted out.

Kitty did not fail to note the faint lift in his brow or the quirk at the corner of his mouth. Nonetheless, he nodded. “The first quadrille then, but I take leave to warn you that we may be laughed at,” he promised gallantly.

Later, it seemed as all eyes watched him lead Miss Dunham out, and as the sets formed, none seemed to note that he moved stiffly. The light from the glittering chandeliers reflected off the buttons and braid of his dress uniform, and his dark red hair gleamed. Even Kitty was moved by the sight of him as he attempted to negotiate the steps.

“Heard he nearly lost that leg,” a man said beside her.

“Held the surgeon and his saw off at gunpoint,” his companion replied. “Wouldn’t take the laudanum nor sleep for fear they would take it.”

“Half a regiment’s alive today because of him.”

“Aye—I heard that after he was shot, he crawled to put a cannon out.”

“Ask Wilmington—he was there. Said he saw him do it.”

“Wonder he’s alive.”

“Wasn’t the first time neither. Carried a man two miles when he was wounded himself. Poor soul died, but ’twasn’t because Red Jack did not try.”

“Wouldn’t be an England, if there was not men like him.”

Kitty sat and listened to them, feeling very much the fool. This was the man she’d abducted, the man she’d caused to be shot, and the man she’d purged so unmercifully. And he was not above speaking to her still. As she watched him, it came home to her that Roland’s youthful adulation was shared by too many to count.

As the music died, he and Miss Dunham were surrounded, then a young buck took the girl back onto the floor again. Roland, who’d been watching also, walked over to where Kitty sat. “Made the chit fashionable as surely as he was Brummell,” he said. “Deuced good of him to do it, as she is a plain girl.”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

It seemed an age before he came back, and then he bore the harried look of one hounded. “I’d hoped to speak with you, Miss Gordon, but I see not how,” he muttered in exasperation. He sat down and drew out his handkerchief to wipe his brow. “I despise crushes.”