Cupid's Choice: She's a shy beauty in distress. He's a chivalric gentleman. (24 page)

“I don’t know! My uncle and I have both talked to Mama. She is adamant and refuses to listen to reason. She insists that you are to wed Howard Lloyd,” said Lord Holybrooke in a sharp, clipped manner.

He smashed his fist down on the mantel, making his sister jump. “I have never quarreled with Mama more bitterly. She is like to ruin your life with her stratagems and lofty ambitions. Lloyd! My God, I would laugh if it were not so pathetic.”

“I am not going to wed Mr. Lloyd. I turned down his most obliging offer not an hour past,” said Guin mechanically.

Lord Holybrooke turned around to stare at her. “You don’t say so! Lord, won’t Mama be thrown into a rage when she hears! I don’t envy you, Guin.”

Guin was scarcely aware of what her brother had said. Her head seemed to be whirling with what had been told to her, and she felt quite sick. She had wondered why she had not seen anything of Sir Frederick for the past two days, and now she knew. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “If—if Sir Frederick does indeed wish to wed me, I must do something. I cannot allow Mama to have her way this time, Percy. I cannot! I must tell Sir Frederick of my true feelings.”

Lord Holybrooke continued to stare at her, the deep frown gathering on his face again. There was surprise in his eyes. “Why, Guin! I have never heard you talk in such a fashion before.”

“Do be quiet, Percy! I must think,” said Guin, pressing her fingers against her temples.

Obediently Lord Holybrooke subsided. He watched her with mingled curiosity and continued surprise for several minutes, while her mind was obviously bent upon the problem.

When Guin looked up again, there was such a look of determination in her eyes and a never-before-seen mulish set about her mouth that Lord Holybrooke was startled. “Percy. I shall need your help.”

“Whatever I can do, Guin, I assure you! If you want me to speak to Mama again—

“That won’t do a bit of good. I’ve come to realize it,” said Guin, shaking her head. “Instead, Percy, I wish you to carry a note to Sir Frederick at once. I shall pen it directly. I shall not be here when you return. I am going to Lady Smythe. She will stand my friend, I am persuaded. And I am sending a note round to our uncle. I wish him to procure a special license for me and Sir Frederick.”

Lord Holybrooke’s mouth dropped open. “Have you gone quite mad, Guin?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “I think I have, indeed. I am going to wed Sir Frederick out of hand, if he will have me.”

“But, Guin—! You cannot have thought! You are not of age,” said Lord Holybrooke, pointing out the most obvious flaw in her declared plan of action.

Guin’s eyes danced as a mischievous smile hovered on her lips. “But you are head of the family, Percy! If I have
your
approval, and that of my uncle, I may scrape through without Mama’s consent.”

Lord Holybrooke’s eyes kindled. “Yes, by Jove! I had forgotten that! I do have something to say to the point, haven’t I?” He straightened his shoulders. “Very well, Guin! Pen your notes. I shall engage to carry the one to Sir Frederick and persuade him to meet you at Lady Smythe’s.”

Guin was already at the desk, dipping a pen into the inkwell. Hurriedly writing what she needed to, she dusted the sheet and folded it. “Yes, if you please! Now I must write to my uncle, too, and have it delivered at once by a footman. Pray pull the bell, Percy. I wish my maid sent to me.”

Lord Holybrooke did as she requested, completely mystified but trusting that she knew what she was doing. He dropped a kiss on the top of her bent head. When she looked up, he put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed it slightly. “I’m off then, my dear. I hope this all goes just as you have planned.”

“Yes, so do I, Percy, for I am fighting for my life,” said Guin with quiet intensity.

The door opened and a footman entered, having answered the summons of the bell. Guin put the second hurriedly scrawled note into his hand, requesting also that word be sent to her maid to meet her upstairs in her bedroom. Then Guin went quickly upstairs.

When Morgan entered, she discovered her mistress pulling clothing and personal items out of drawers and from the wardrobe and throwing them onto the bed. In some astonishment the maid asked, “Why, miss, what is this?”

“I need you to pack for me, Morgan. Also for yourself. We are going back to Lady Smythe’s,” said Guin. She paused in her feverish activities to say, with a smile trembling on her lips, “The worm has turned, Morgan. I am leaving my mother’s protection.”

“Indeed, miss!” The light of approval entered the maid’s eyes. “Very good, Miss Guin! I shall pack your trunks.”

“No, only a portmanteau or two for now, Morgan. I shall send for the rest,” said Guin quickly. “I wish to be gone before Mrs. Holland returns from her drive in the park.”

“Of course, miss,” said the maid, a wealth of understanding in her glance. She began expertly to fold and set apart certain garments. “How long shall we be staying with her ladyship, miss?”

“I hope not above a day or two,” said Guin. Clasping and unclasping her hands in a nervous fashion, she added, “I hope to wed Sir Frederick Hawkesworth from Lady Smythe’s residence, Morgan. I shall need you to go with me when I leave there.”

The maid blinked, her hands faltering in their task. Then her mouth upturned in a smile. “I am sure I wish you happy, miss. And I shall be glad to serve you in any capacity you should choose.”

Guin gave a laugh that sounded a little uncertain. The enormity of the course she had embarked upon was beginning to make itself felt to her. “I trust that you may, Morgan. Indeed, I hope that you may!”

Guin was beset by reservations and doubts and trepidation of mind when she and her maid set out in the carriage for Lady Smythe’s town house. She had given some consideration to, and finally discarded, the idea of leaving a note for her mother. Mrs. Holland would learn later of her marriage, if it indeed took place.

All sorts of objections jostled together in Guin’s mind, primary among them the fear that Sir Frederick did not really wish to marry her, that Percy would not be able to deliver her note, or that Sir Frederick would refuse to honor her plea and come to meet her at Lady Smythe’s, that Colonel Caldar would not be able to get the special license in time, that the clergyman would refuse to perform the ceremony, that—

Guin sat bolt upright on the carriage seat with a dismayed cry. “Morgan! I have forgot to engage the services of a clergyman. I don’t even know one! What am I to do? That is, if Sir Frederick does wish to wed me and in such a hole-in-the-wall fashion! Oh, what am I doing? I must be mad, indeed!”

“Never you fret, Miss Guin,” said Morgan stoutly, ignoring most of this impassioned speech. “Her ladyship is a knowing one. She’ll know what to do about the clergy.”

“Yes, but what about Sir Frederick?” asked Guin, the anguished question swiftly taking possession of her mind.

The maid could not offer any advice and could only shake her head in a somewhat helpless fashion.

When Guin reached her destination, she and her maid were ushered into a small sitting room to await her ladyship’s pleasure. The butler went away to apprise Lady Smythe of their arrival.

Lady Smythe had just come in from visiting with friends. She was mildly astonished to hear that Miss Holland, who appeared to be in some agitation, wished to see her. She was given considerable food for thought when the butler added, with a slight cough, that Miss Holland’s maid had accompanied her and brought two portmanteaus.

“Well, send her in,” said Lady Smythe, pulling off her gloves and setting them aside on an occasional table before seating herself.

In a few short minutes, Guin was ushered into the sitting room where Lady Smythe awaited her. She looked doubtfully across at her mentor, not at all certain now that the moment had come of her reception.

Lady Smythe smiled. “Well, child? What have you done that you must bring your maid and your belongings with you?”

Her ladyship’s kindness and affability were all that was needed to overset Guin’s overwrought nerves. She burst into tears and ran to Lady Smythe, falling to her knees beside her ladyship’s chair and burying her face in her hands.

Greatly taken aback, Lady Smythe could not at first decide what was to be done. Rather helplessly, she patted Guin’s shoulder and uttered sympathetic noises while the girl wept. However, as disjointed sentences tumbled from Guin’s quivering lips, containing references to Sir Frederick and a declared determination not to submit tamely to what was certain to lead to lifelong unhappiness, Lady Smythe’s interest was aroused to no small degree. She begged her guest to subdue her emotional outburst and to be more coherent. “For I am unable to make head or tail of it, my dear. Here is my handkerchief. Now stop wailing and give me a round tale, if you please!”

Lady Smythe’s astringency was just what was needed. Guin gave a gurgling laugh and sat up. She accepted Lady Smythe’s handkerchief, mopped her eyes, and blew her nose. “I beg pardon, my lady.”

“That’s much better. No, no, keep it, my dear. I have any number of handkerchiefs, I am sure. Now, tell me, what has pitched you into such a lachrymose state?” demanded Lady Smythe.

“You will think me a perfect zany, ma’am,” said Guin, getting up and sitting down opposite her ladyship in a well-padded chair. “I have run away from home.”

“My word!” exclaimed Lady Smythe. All sorts of thoughts flitted through her mind, as well as dismay, for it seemed obvious that the girl had come to her for sanctuary, and she did not know how she could offer it when she was in no way related to her.

Unaware of Lady Smythe’s dilemma, Guin was determined to make a clean breast of the shocking whole. “Moreover, I have sent word to Sir Frederick to wait on me here. I intend to wed him if he will still have me.”

Lady Smythe stared. Shaking herself, as though rousing from a dreaming state, she vigorously tugged the bell-pull hanging within convenient reach of her chair. “What we need is a glass of wine. Then you will tell me the whole from the beginning,” she said firmly.

The wine was brought, and once Lady Smythe had fortified herself, she commanded Guin to tell her everything. Her ladyship listened closely and almost unblinkingly, the wineglass held between her fingers forgotten as the tale unfolded.

At the end of Guin’s recital, Lady Smythe set her glass down with a decisive click. “You did very well to come to me, my dear. I shall certainly stand by you in this, for even though we are not blood kin, I have come to regard you in the light of a granddaughter, and I wish you to be happy.”

“Oh, my lady!” exclaimed Guin, fresh tears starting to her eyes.

“You mustn’t start crying again, my dear! If you do, only think how red your eyes will be when Sir Frederick arrives,” said Lady Smythe hastily.

Guin gave a watery chuckle, wiping her eyes. “Quite true, my lady. I shall not cry, I promise.”

“Very good,” said Lady Smythe, relieved. The case was not nearly as bad as she had originally thought. Though her ladyship had shrunk from the possibility of sheltering her young protégée from the girl’s rightful guardian, she had far fewer scruples regarding helping the girl to a respectable marriage. It was wonderful, indeed, that the girl had even shown such spirit. Lady Smythe regarded Guin with some interest. “I never thought you would exhibit such courage or, indeed, act with such fortitude and forethought. Have you really sent Colonel Caldar scurrying off for a special license, child?”

Guin laughed at the tinge of amazement in Lady Smythe’s voice. It had relieved some of her anxiety when Lady Smythe had accepted her story and had actually expressed willingness to help her. “Indeed I did, ma’am. But I gave no thought to a clergyman.”

“What would you know about clergymen? I daresay you are not even acquainted with one here in London. I, however, am!” said Lady Smythe. “One of my oldest friends is a bishop. I shall invite his excellency to dine here with me, and while I am about, I shall drop a hint that his ecclesiastical services may be required. That shall pique his curiosity.”

As Lady Smythe finished speaking, the butler entered with word that Lord Holybrooke and Colonel and Mrs. Caldar had sent in their cards in hopes that her ladyship would receive them.

“My aunt!” exclaimed Guin. “I never expected this!”

“Send them in, Porton. And let my cook know that I shall probably be entertaining these guests for dinner, as well as Bishop Turner,” said Lady Smythe.

“Very good, my lady,” said the butler, effacing himself.

Lord Holybrooke, followed by his uncle and Mrs. Caldar, were ushered directly in. Mrs. Caldar calmly greeted Lady Smythe and then turned to reach out both her hands to Guin, who caught them in her own. Squeezing Guin’s hands, Mrs. Caldar gave her niece an encouraging smile.

The gentlemen also proffered polite greetings, which Lady Smythe unceremoniously cut off short. She waved her hand in Guin’s direction. “Well, gentlemen? What have you to say to this extraordinary business?”

“Extraordinary, indeed!” exclaimed Colonel Caldar. “I was never more floored in my life. I still do not know what to think.”

“We agreed, did we not, that we must do just as Guin wished?” said Mrs. Caldar quietly, standing close beside her niece.

“Did you bring the special license, then?” demanded Lady Smythe.

“Aye, reluctantly and only at my wife’s and my nephew’s strenuous and oft-repeated insistence, my lady,” said Colonel Caldar. He turned to his niece, surveying her anxiously. “My dear, I am not quite sure you know what you are about.”

“But I do, dear sir,” said Guin quietly. “You made me realize how likely I would be to acquiesce to whatever match Mama proposed for me. I have learned quite a number of things over the past several weeks, including my own heart. Mama will not listen to anything I might say. But I am still determined to stick to my ground, as you would say, uncle.”

“Bravo, Guin!” exclaimed Lord Holybrooke, wrapping one arm about her shoulders in a quick supportive hug.