Escapade (30 page)

Before too many moments, the Dowager was deposited on the doorstep at Grosvenor Square, and though the two other ladles were surprised to be urged so strenuously to go for a drive on a day that was really not at all pleasant, for the sky was overcast, they agreed. Sara went up and told Ella where they were going.

“Did she invite me to go?” Ella asked.

“Well no, but you were not there. Why don't you come down and say ‘good morning’ to her? It would do you a world of good to be seen in her carriage."

Ella agreed, in some little trepidation. “Ah, Miss Prattle!” the Dowager said, laughing merrily. “Busy writing up your column, are you?"

“No. No indeed, I am not doing anything."

“Well, I am glad to see you, for I want to inquire of you where to get those books by Miss Austen. Hatchards, is it?"

“Yes."

“Well, shall we be off, ladies?” the Duchess said to the others, quite markedly omitting Ella from the invitation.

“Perhaps Ella...” Lady Sara said.

“No, she will not want to come. She is much better off where she is. Nosey Parkers will be saying things to her, you know."

There was nothing for it but to go, and Ella sat alone, worrying that her column had given the Duchess a disgust of her. She was about to return to her room, when the butler came to the door, after first telling Clare with a twinkle that she was here this time, right enough.

He stepped in, nervous and unsmiling at the ordeal before him, for making an offer of marriage is no easy thing for anyone.

“Good morning,” Ella said, quite giddy with nerves herself.

“Good morning,” he replied.

“I have been wanting a chance to thank you for last night. It was so very kind of you."

“Mama tells me it was the height of impudence, and it would have served me well if we'd both been shown the door."

“She—she was here a short while ago. I'm afraid she is not very well pleased with me."

“She'll come around.
I
am pleased. You carried it off very well. I was afraid there at one point you were about to knuckle under."

“And so I should have if you hadn't ... It was very kind of you, and I want to thank you."

“You already have. But that is not why I am come.” She stared, flushed, sat down, then arose again immediately. “No,” she said, at length. “You mentioned to Lord Byron that we were to go out—or something of the sort."

“Byron! You were quite taken with him, I think."

“Oh, yes. So very..."

“Charming?” he supplied.

“Handsome, I was going to say. But charming, too."

“He is become quite a favorite with Prattle, I have observed."

“But I could not go on writing about you! You know I could not."

“Not even when I bet Alvanley a thousand pounds and won? Nor when it was said I was to set up a pig race?"

“You had much better use the money for your orphans!"

“Mama spilled the soup, did she? And here I was counting on the surprise of that unknown benevolence on my part to—"

“What?” she asked, breathing a little faster.

“Why, to win favor in Miss Prattle's eyes,” he replied, coming a step closer.

“I cannot think why you should care what she thinks! She is horrid."

“Do you know, I am beginning to like her excessively. I was quite cut up when she abandoned me for Byron."

“Oh, you are fooling! You know she is horrid!"

“Ella!” he laughed shakily and reached out his arms for her. She ran a step forward and went into them.

“Oh, Patrick, I never meant to make such mischief,” she said, in a strangled voice, her head against his shoulder.

“Now, now. There is no harm done. With our combined gall, we will stare them all out of countenance."

This arrogant phrase was delivered in a caressing tone, while his hand stroked her hair.

“We?” she asked, lifting up her head to look at him.

“We. You and I, the Duke and Duchess of Clare,” he said firmly.

“Patrick, you have not even asked me this time!"

“Yes, this time I am taking the question as well as the answer for granted—it is this monstrous arrogance of mine that gets a little out of hand at times."

“Have I not taught you anything?” she asked, laughing.

“A great deal, you horrid girl, and now I will teach you to play fast and loose with my affections. Byron indeed!” he said, just before he bent his head and kissed her quite ruthlessly.

“Say you'll have me, Ella,” he urged in a coaxing tone. “Now that you've given up tongue-lashing and deriding me in public, you must become my own private Miss Prattle, to keep me in line."

“I should begin your reformation by insisting on a proper offer, Your Grace,” she warned teasingly.

“Oh, damn!"

This harsh interjection quite naturally surprised Miss Fairmont, till she too heard the sound of wheels in the street and followed Clare's gaze out the window, to see his Mama's carriage pulling up outside the door.

“They're back already,” he continued. “She must think me a speed demon to have had time to be accepted— make an offer already."

“Patrick! Is that why she came, to get rid of Sara and grandmama?"

“Yes, much good it did me.” Already the three women were alighting and looking towards the house. Then, very quickly, Clare said, “Miss Fairmont, Ella—darling, will you do me the honor to be my wife?"

“I must consider the matter,” she replied with an outward calmness she was far from feeling.

Glancing to the window, he reminded her urgently, “You have about two seconds in which to consider it."

“That will be enough. I suppose I must accept."

He flashed one very brief, happy, and triumphant look at her before going to the saloon door and turning the lock on it. Ella looked on at this irregular behavior with interest.

“Do you mean to barricade the windows, too?” she asked. “Must they come down the chimney like Père Noël?"

“No, shrew, they will come in by the door as soon as I am through with you.” Already the sounds of the outer door opening and female voices raised in discussion were heard. With no further waste of time, Clare strode to Ella and pulled her brusquely into his arms. He kissed her with passion and, she feared, considerable expertise, for he seemed to do it very well. Their thoughts were overridden by feelings for some seconds, and when he released her a disquieting silence reigned in the hall beyond. Observing this, they looked a question at each other, but soon decided to put the interval to good use, and resumed their embrace with no demur whatsoever on the part of Miss Prattle, who obdurately derided fast conduct in young ladies.

With a breathless “Oh,” she pulled back at last and looked to the door. Silence still prevailed in that direction. He reached for her again, but she pulled back. “I cannot imagine what they will think,” she whispered.

“Unless I am mistaken, they will have a pretty good idea what to think,” he replied, putting an arm about her waist and pulling her towards him.

“Patrick—stop it at once! We must unlock the door.” She tried to pry his arm loose but found it to be unmovable.

There was a rattle at the door at this point. He kissed her ear briefly, and removed his arm but held to one hand as he went to the door and unclasped it.

“Were you locked out?” Ella asked, pink with shame. “I cannot think how the door came to be locked."

“It happens all the time when it is slammed shut,” Sara said glibly, with a knowing look at her niece.

“Well, slowpoke, did you get it done this time?” the Dowager demanded of her son.

“Slowpoke? I cannot think you have even been around block,” he countered.

“Patrick, you cloth head, you cannot mean you have still not asked her? Must I do it for you?"

Clare glanced at Ella. “You will observe this assumption of a positive answer is a family failing. I have not only asked, Mama, but been accepted. Two quite different matters, you know."

“I detect the firm hand of Miss Prattle in that answer,” the Dowager said approvingly. Her words were overborne by the delighted exclamations of Lady Sara and Lady Watley, and a general volley of congratulations and kisses exchanged.

“Well, I think this occasion calls for a glass of champagne or something,” Sara decided. Then she laughed gaily. “I little thought when I wangled us that invitation to Dorset, Ella, that I should find you a husband.”

The wine was delivered to the saloon, and the Dowager called for a toast. “It's the man who gets stuck with the job of coming up with some suitable words, I believe,” she said to her son.

Clare lifted his glass. “It's the height of bad taste to drink to oneself, I suppose, but for this one occasion I mean to take the rules and bend them a little..."

“That's nothing new,” the Dowager said aside.

“Thank you, Mama. May I continue now, or must I box your ears first?"

“You have your work cut out for you, Ella,” she warned, with a pleased grin. “I doubt if even you can make a silk purse of this sow's ear."

“The heel of your own foot, Mama. As I keep
trying
to say, I would like to propose a toast—to the Duke and Miss Prattle.”