Corey McFadden (6 page)

The peacocks managed to look appalled and amused all at once, but Caroline’s face was suffused with purple rage. As the one closest to Harry, she grabbed his ear and gave it a vicious twist. The boy stifled a cry that turned into a whimper. It was the look of smug satisfaction on Roderick’s face that moved Elspeth to action. “You’re hurting him, Caroline,” she began, raising her voice slightly to compensate for the renewed babble that filled the cavernous room. She rather feared that the conversation now revolved around their own small tableau.

Caroline turned a furious glare on Elspeth, but she did not relinquish her sharp, pinching hold on Harry’s poor ear. Harry, bless his stalwart little heart, was biting his lips hard, but Elspeth could see tears of pain and anger standing in his brown eyes. It was enough. “Caroline, please unhand my brother. He cried out when Roderick kicked him in the shin. While we may deplore the conduct of both boys, the one is at least as much to blame as the other.”

“I never did! No such thing!” Roderick cried, all outraged innocence.

Caroline’s look of haughty incredulity was replaced by one of triumph. “Elspeth,” she cooed, voice dripping malice, “Your brother has clearly been ill-raised. He is not fit to be seen in polite company. I saw no such kick from my brother.”

“Well, I must say I did see the kick, my dear Miss Quinn,” said a new voice. All turned to see a gentleman bearing down on the little group. Elspeth narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to resolve the blur into a face. There was something quite familiar about the voice.

“I beg your pardon?” replied Caroline, her look of anger replaced quickly by one of embarrassment.

“Delighted to see you again, Miss Quinn,” said the gentleman, reaching for a hand not extended to meet his; Caroline’s fingers were still twisted around Harry’s ear. Belatedly she let go of Harry and offered her hand. The gentleman brought it to his lips, a mechanical gesture, thought Elspeth, noting how his eyes strayed to Harry’s ear, even as he bent over Caroline’s slender fingers. Forgotten for the moment, Elspeth moved over to Harry, noticing his ear was reddened and already swelling. She placed a protective arm about his shoulder, hoping he’d take some comfort from her presence, or, at least, hold his demeanor.

“Now, Roderick, isn’t it?” said the gentleman, turning an appraising stare on the young man. “A gentleman never allows another gentleman to suffer for his own misdeeds. I’m sure you have something to say to this young man?”

Roderick was purple, his hands fisted at his sides. “I’m sorry,” came a dark mutter, so low as to be almost indistinguishable.

“Sorry for what, Roderick?” the gentleman went on relentlessly.

“Sorry I kicked him,” the boy said through clenched teeth.

Caroline turned a glare on her brother that promised dire punishment in the immediate future. Roderick, obviously pushed past all endurance, stuck his tongue out at Harry and took to his heels, dodging by the narrowest of margins an elderly lady swaying over her cane. “Oh, dear, please do excuse me!” said Aunt Bettina as she moved quickly after Roderick.

“Well, I was going to mention that a decent handshake is
de rigueur
after a disagreement between gentlemen, but I suppose that lesson can wait until our next meeting,” said the gentleman, turning a smiling face upon the ladies.

Caroline nodded coolly, having regained her composure, but Elspeth, her arm still around the hapless Harry, smiled back. The gentleman still seemed familiar to her, but since she knew no one in Bath save her aunt and cousins, it must be a trick of resemblance.

There was a moment of awkward silence. The peacocks cast their glances rather desperately about the room, no doubt looking for someone with whom to share the amusing little scene just completed.

“My dear Miss Quinn, since your mother has been forced from us, perhaps you could make the introductions?” said the gentleman.

“My elder cousin, Elspeth Quinn, from Shropshire, and her brother, Harry,” Caroline offered, a tad too offhand to be considered gracious. “May I present Mr. Julian Thorpe?”

“Delighted, Miss Quinn,” responded Mr. Thorpe, extending his hand with a smile that reached deep into his very blue eyes.

For a split second Elspeth’s thoughts deserted her utterly; then in confusion she put out her hand to meet his, a gauche, awkward movement. He took her hand with a practiced ease, bringing it smoothly to his lips. But where the kiss he’d bestowed on Caroline’s delicate hand had been perfunctory, now he met Elspeth’s gaze directly, with a slightly quizzical expression, as if he were trying to puzzle something out.

“And her brother, Harry,” Caroline interjected quickly.

“Oh, Caroline, do look!” shrieked one of the peacocks. “It’s Miss Jessie Hicks, I declare. How she can show her face after being jilted last year is a wonder to me. We simply must go over and gloat, darling!” With the peacocks on either side of her, arm in arm, Caroline was hustled away, casting one look of veiled annoyance over her shoulder at Elspeth.

“Well, I believe we’ve been deserted, Miss Quinn. Would you care to take the famed waters of Bath? I have it on good authority that you’ll never taste anything quite so ghastly in your life. I recommend the punch myself,” Mr. Thorpe finished, offering Elspeth his arm.

Elspeth could feel a flush creeping up her cheeks. At this distance she could make out enough of his face to know that Mr. Thorpe was quite decidedly the handsomest man in the room, far too handsome for the likes of the nearly impoverished Elspeth Quinn from Shropshire. She was acutely aware that she was the ‘leavings’ at this point, with a little brother to boot. What could the gentleman do but politely escort her for punch? And what could she do but politely accept? To decline would leave them standing, staring awkwardly at each other. Well, she would allow him a gracious escape as soon as it was feasible. Her heart pounding in her ears so loudly she feared it might echo throughout the cavernous chamber, she placed her hand as lightly as she could manage on his arm, annoyed with herself when she felt her fingers trembling. He will think me a fool as well as a country bumpkin, she thought to herself, but he smiled at her, a nice sort of smile that reached his eyes, no glittering malice in it. She’d almost forgotten what a real smile looked like, in these last few days, with none but cousin and aunt to keep her company.

“Come along, Harry,” said Mr. Thorpe, guiding Elspeth away, “and mind, no more gagging gestures at the local fauna. What a gentleman thinks and what he allows the world to know he is thinking are two entirely separate things.”

Harry had the grace to look abashed, but Elspeth noticed something else in his eyes when he looked at Mr. Thorpe, something suspiciously like hero worship. Well, the boy could do worse when picking a mentor, thought Elspeth with a glance around the room. Mr. Thorpe, aside from being the handsomest man here, was also the only one, seemingly, who had a sense of dignified restraint when it came to attire. His breeches were a tasteful dun in color, and if they were tight, they were no more so, and possibly a bit less, than those of any other gentleman in the room, including a large number whose silhouettes resembled nothing so much as large, misshapen melons. His waistcoat, of a deep green silk, embroidered with fine and intricate stitching in the same dark color, was worn with a pristine white shirt, and a neckcloth tied with a confounding intricacy. His frock coat was of black superfine, and to Elspeth’s admittedly untrained eye, it looked exceedingly well cut, fitting his broad shoulders without so much as a pucker of protest. In short, although his costume was certainly all the crack, an expression she had heard earlier today, he bore none of the signs of a hysterical preoccupation with just how many clashing colors he could drape over his form.

The punch bowl was at quite some distance across the room, in a windowed alcove that gave out over the city and the roof of the Baths terraced below. Elspeth could not quite shake the impression that their trio was collecting quite a few stares along the way, and some downright gawking. It was an effort to keep her expression cool and serene, feeling as she did the heat from her bright pink face. She was keenly aware that she and Mr. Thorpe made an incongruous pair, the spinster from the country and a dashing toff of the
ton
.

She was under no illusions about her own appearance. Her dress was, to her own eyes, quite lovely, a dove gray silk that shifted color when it caught the light. Beautifully cut and stitched, it was quite truly the finest dress she had ever owned. But it was, nonetheless, no match for the riotous colors, flounces, and fussiness that marked the gowns of the other young ladies in the room. Indeed, even many of the older ladies might find themselves all but invisible in a garden of spring flowers. Elspeth cast a surreptitious glance about the room and noted, as she had suspected, that only the most elderly of dowagers, presiding in imperious splendor over their gold-tipped canes, wore subdued dark colors. Now she was quite determined to relieve the kind Mr. Thorpe of his embarrassing burden.

“Your punch, Miss Quinn,” he said, proffering a cut-glass cup, brimming with something hideously pink. “And, Harry, I believe you’ll find this sweet enough.” Julian Thorpe handed a cup to Harry, who took it eagerly. The boy downed it in one gulp, a minor transgression Elspeth noted for later discussion. The pink mustache, however, could not wait. As surreptitiously as possible she fetched a handkerchief from where it perched up a sleeve and gave him a quick wipe. He made quite a face but stood still during the process, thank heaven.

Mr. Thorpe watched her with a faint smile on his face. He hadn’t taken a punch cup for himself, Elspeth noted. All the easier to take his leave, she supposed, with no necessity to stand around and make polite conversation while sipping the stuff. Now, how to let him know that his obligation to the Lesser Quinns was mercifully at an end? “My brother and I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Thorpe,” Elspeth said, a little tentatively, tucking the much-mended handkerchief back in her sleeve. No doubt he could take that for his cue to bow gallantly and beat a hasty retreat.

“No kindness, surely, Miss Quinn,” he returned. He still stared at her with a slightly puzzled expression, as if he were not quite sure who she was.

“You, uh, you needn’t...” Elspeth began and then tapered off, too embarrassed to continue. In all her upbringing, she had never found it necessary to chase off a handsome man. There was simply no expression in her meager social repertoire that would do for such an occasion.

“I needn’t what, Miss Quinn?” he asked, and now she could swear she saw a hint of amusement in his wonderful blue eyes.

“I mean, uh, that is...” oh why had she got into this?

“Yes?” he went on. This Mr. Julian Thorpe had a relentless quality to him, she was noticing. Most unbecoming in a true gentleman.

“You needn’t stay with us, Mr. Thorpe!” she finally blurted out, then stopped, face red.

“Oh dear. Is my company offensive to you, Miss Quinn?” he asked, and now she would swear he was trying not to laugh.

“No, certainly not, sir,” she stammered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. It was clear she would simply not be able to hold her own among the
ton.
In one conversation with one gentleman, she had already managed to make a perfect fool of herself, and offend him as well. He continued to gaze at her, waiting, no doubt, for her to finish answering the question. She took a deep breath. “Your company is most pleasant, sir. I simply thought you might rather talk with more interesting people, than be stuck here with us.” There! He insisted on hearing it!

“I see,” he said. “So am I to take it that you know yourself to be exceedingly dull company, Miss Quinn, or have you perhaps concluded that I am a shallow sort who must be riotously entertained at all times?”

“Not at all! That is...oh, dear….” She forced herself to meet his eye and found he was no longer even pretending not to be amused. “Now you’re making sport of me, Mr. Thorpe,” she said, her indignation rising. How was she to know how to behave in this confounded society? No one ever said anything directly. Everything was veiled, or dropped by innuendo. Did no one speak his or her mind here?

“I am, am I not,” he responded. “And that, Harry,” he said, turning to the boy who had been looking, anxious and befuddled, from one to the other, “is something a gentleman should never do to a lady.”

“What?” asked Harry, rather desperately, clearly out of his depth here.

“I have entertained myself at your lovely sister’s expense. She was obviously trying to spare me the onerous chore of looking after her for a few moments and I have behaved like a churl.”

“You have?” squeaked Harry, clearly at a loss.

“You’ll figure it out someday, my boy,” replied Mr. Thorpe. “And now, Miss Quinn, how may I make amends?”

“Oh, do go away, sir!” she sputtered. “Harry and I have no need of a keeper.” Now that really was churlish, she chided herself. Bath no longer seemed like such an exciting adventure. Maybe country girls should just keep to the country and not make spectacles of themselves. Speaking of which, she longed to know where her eyeglasses were. Julian Thorpe’s face was clear enough for conversation but she would so love a truly focused image. Now she could almost swear they had met before. There was something about his smile....

“Left alone to the tender mercies of your cousins, I suspect you do need a keeper. May I?” he asked, reaching for her cup before she had a chance to answer. “You’re about to spill it on your lovely dress.”

“Oh, drat!” she said, then bit her lip in horror, looking around quickly to see who might have overheard her intemperate speech. An elderly lady making her way inexorably toward the refreshments, teetering precariously over her cane, gave Elspeth a thin-lipped scowl. Gauche, awkward, stammering—what a prize fool she was turning out to be. If she ever got safely back to Weston-under-Lizard she vowed never to go so far as the next village. And was he making fun of her plain attire? Elspeth peered carefully into his face, squinting just the least bit. She didn’t think so, but so far she wasn’t having much luck with figuring out how these toffs entertained themselves.