Escapade (8 page)

There was a little smile of triumph on Belle's animated face. “Did any of you recognize her?” she asked the others.

“No,” and “Never saw her before in my life,” were the responses from the gentlemen. Sherry was momentarily beyond speech.

“Dashed pretty wench,” Harley said, to no one in particular.

“Regular Incomparable,” Peters agreed, still staring at the door through which the apparition of loveliness had vanished.

Sherry was returned to reality by the medium of jealousy. “What a very plain old gown she wore,” she said.

“My dear,” Belle told her in a knowing manner, “she was not a lady."

“Oh, what could he be doing with such a person?” Sherry wondered aloud.

“Let's go and find out,” Belle suggested, smiling a challenge at them all.

“Better not,” Peters cautioned, already making ready to turn his horse about to retire from the village.

“Cowards!” Belle taunted. Sherry looked about waiting for someone to decide what she was to do.

“Peters is right.” Harley backed him up. “He won't be half pleased at us for seeing him. Best to get back to the palace and say nothing."

“But I don't understand what he is doing here with her,” Sherry repeated herself.

“What do you think?” Harley asked angrily.

“Maybe she works for him,” Peters advanced, with some intention of concealing what was clearly to him an amorous rendezvous.

“Ha ha. Maybe she makes up his jackets, since they are gone into the draper's shop,” Belle laughed. “He will start a new style. Weston and Stultz will no longer be the first tailors of London."

“It could very well be that she is a seamstress, doing some work for the Duchess,” Peters suggested, having improved on his former excuse that she worked for Clare.

“And Clare, of course, goes with her to choose the muslin,” Belle laughed ironically. “Why don't we go in and talk to him then, if it is so innocent as that?"

“Don't be such a greenhead, Belle,” Peters said curtly. “Not the thing for us to be spying on him, and I for one intend to go back home and say nothing about it."

“Yes, my girl, and you'll do likewise if you're half as clever as you think you are,” Harley added.

These strict warnings were enough to convince Sherry. With three horses being turned about in the middle of the road, Belle had either to join them, or go alone into the shop and accost Clare and his ladybird. Brazen as she was, she was not quite up to this, so she went along with her companions. The gentlemen killed open speculation on the way home by refusing to discuss the subject but, all the same, it was uppermost in everyone's mind.

Sherry worried to herself that Clare was showing a partiality for blondes. The young person in the village was, of course, not a threat, being of the lower orders, but Lady Honor was a blonde and the daughter of a Marquis. This point rated nearly as highly with Miss Sheridan as it did with Lady Honor. The gentlemen had no thoughts of mentioning the episode to Clare or anyone else, but Belle was as yet undecided on her strategy. True enough, Clare would dislike to be quizzed about the girl publicly, but in private she thought she might show him that she was a woman of the world by a little good-natured bantering. No more than Sherry did she see the girl as a real danger. Her interpretation of the matter was that this was the reason for his sudden bolt to Dorset in the middle of the Season, and the party he had set up was camouflage, pure and simple. It would account for his tardy rising that morning too, if he had gone out with the girl last night after the concert. She worried a little that he would take her to London and set her up in a private dwelling, thus very likely delaying any plans he might be formulating for getting married. For herself, she would not tolerate a mistress in London if she was the one he meant to have. He could keep her here in the country and welcome, but not in London, where everyone would know of her. Not the first year anyway, she compromised.

In Martin's Drapery Shop, the Duke banged his fist on the counter and exclaimed, “Dammit to hell anyway! A man can't even walk down a village street without being spied on. I'm sorry, Prissy. No, I am not angry with you. Please don't cry. You are still coming home with me, but you must stay out of sight, till these people that are visiting me leave. It won't be for long. Dry your tears now, you don't want to redden your eyes."

Clare had invited a few country friends in to dinner, and with the additional young people, a small dancing party was got up in the music room to while away their second evening.

The next morning at 11:00 sharp, Miss Sheridan and Miss Prentiss entered the breakfast room, wearing striking riding habits of blue and green respectively, to set off their black and red hair. Clare had arisen early and been locked in his office for an hour with his bailiff before they came down. When the Duchess told them this bitter news, they settled for another ride with Mr. Peters and Lord Harley, but returned early to change for the picnic at the Pavilion, where lunch was to be served under the onion dome. The food and wine were excellent, and even a picnic at Clare was not conducted without the proper number of servants attending, so no one had to serve himself. Lady Honor appeared perfectly content to sit sipping wine and staring at the countryside with vacant eyes, but to the other members of the party there seemed to be something lacking once the food had been served. Perhaps the fact that Clare sat chatting with the Marchioness and his Mama accounted for the flatness of the outing.

When everyone but Lady Honor had emptied a third glass, and sat making desultory conversation for five minutes, Belle Prentiss arose and walked over to Clare. He went with her to join the younger group.

“What would you like to do this afternoon?” he asked.

Honor yawned, and it was pretty clear that she desired nothing but to go on comparing Clare's parks to her papa's, mentally, of course. The others seemed to want to do something, but nothing occurred to them.

“Sara, what do you think?” Clare asked.

“Is it too late to ride into the village?"

“We have been riding all morning and have just changed out of our habits,” Sherry said, with a whine creeping into her voice.

“And we went to the village yesterday,” Belle added, with a knowing smile at Clare, which he ignored entirely.

“Miss Fairmont, you will not want another bout in the library so soon. You decide what we are to do.” He was fed up with this bunch of turnipheads and not about to put himself out an inch for them.

“We might have a frog-jumping contest,” she said in Miss Prattle's tart tone. If he had no reasonable plans for them, she would show him what she thought of his hospitality.

“I beg your pardon?” He stared at her with a frozen face, but she was finished with being afraid of him.

“A frog-jumping race, Your Grace. We often do it at Fairmont. We happen to have a large pond."

“As it happens, I too have a large pond,” he replied, with some evidence of thawing on his frozen features.

“I was sure there would be one somewhere on your ten thousand acres,” she returned, quite sweetly, with just a bit of Prattle underlying the words. “We all go to the pond and catch our entry."

“It sounds horrid,” Miss Sheridan said, looking at her pale pink city gown.

Miss Sedgley opened her eyes a millimeter wider and nearly frowned in distaste, but at the last moment her muscles were not up to it, so she just looked.

“No, really, Ella,” Lady Sara admonished.

“But it sounds a capital idea,” Clare intervened, and immediately Miss Sheridan and all the others thought it a pretty good idea too. “We go to the pond, Miss Fairmont, and catch our entrants, then what?"

“Well, catching your racer is half the fun, and it is a rule that everyone must catch his own. We set up a course about—oh, ten or fifteen yards long. We shall require some markings for a start and finish line, and of course a prize for the winner."

“What prize do you suggest?” Clare asked, listening to her explanation and never taking his eyes from her while she talked.

“Some little bibelot will do, or a guinea. At Fairmont we have an inscribed cup, since it has become an annual event."

“What a pity I have no inscribed cup, but if you assure me a guinea will do...” His expression had not only melted, but was turning quite warm.

Ella looked, half suspecting he was roasting her, but was determined to brazen it out. “Oh, yes, a guinea will do nicely."

“Are there any other rules?"

“Yes, you are not allowed to touch your racer from beginning to end. No giving him a nudge with your toe or finger, though you may follow along behind and give all the vocal help you wish. It is the shouting and yelling that make it fun."

“By Jove, that sounds like great sport,” Mr. Peters said. “Let's go to the pond straight off. I bet a monkey my frog will take yours, Harley."

“We'll see about that. Is a bullfrog allowed, Miss Fairmont?” Harley asked.

“Yes, any frog at all. Bullfrogs are excellent. But don't make the mistake of getting a toad, for they can't keep up with a frog at all."

“I know a toad from a frog,” Harley replied, wounded.

“Must the girls catch their own frog, too, Miss Fairmont?” Sherry asked.

“Yes, that is part of the rules, but you may use an old pair of gloves if you don't like to touch it and take a basket to carry it in."

Clare quickly dispatched a footman for old gloves and baskets, and by the time everyone had put a question to Miss Fairmont to clarify the rules, and the gentlemen had indulged in an orgy of betting, he was back. The mothers stayed behind at the Pavilion, and in fact soon wended their way back to the house, but the young folks ran in high spirits to the pond, which was not so very far away.

Belle Prentiss entered into this game as any other with great eagerness and determination to win. She cheated a little by getting Peters to actually lift her specimen from the pond, but she put it in the basket herself and struck up a new idea by calling it Count Ugolino, from Dante's
Inferno
, because it was so grotesquely ugly.

Miss Sheridan cheated quite a lot. She smiled prettily at Bippy, and pointed out the frog she wanted, and he was kind enough to lift it from the lily pad for her and carry it in his basket. When Miss Fairmont was appealed to for a ruling on this, she allowed that as there was a shortage of baskets, it would be permitted. Lady Honor ignored all rules, as became a lady, and told Clare to get her a frog and take it to the starting line. She then went and stood under a beech tree while her will was done.

“That is definitely illegal,” Ella told Clare.

“Yes, but you see I have only picked up this tiny fellow for her, and he hasn't a chance of winning. There is no point in expecting Miss Sedgley to join in any sort of a game."

The gentlemen, joining very much into the spirit, were removing topboots and stockings and wading into the pond to fish for large frogs. Ella had observed the situation and chosen for herself a fat bullfrog sitting in the middle of the pond on a log which jutted out of the water. At home she would have pulled up her skirts, taken off her shoes and stockings, and gone in after it, but she deemed that impossible here. Clare had an eye on the same creature, but was too gentlemanly to beat Ella to it. He was curious as well to see what she meant to do. The cavalier manner in which she set up the rules for the contest made him believe there was more to the brown mouse than he had supposed.

When he observed her wander off from the group, he followed her. “You have not yet got yourself a frog, Miss Fairmont,” he said.

“I am looking about for a raft. I expect you must have sailed this pond when you were young, and there might be the remains of one here somewhere."

“I recall some cousins falling off one earlier this spring. I believe it may be in those rushes.” He walked ahead of her and hauled out a dilapidated old raft. “I doubt she's seaworthy,” he said, looking at her in a challenging manner.

She inspected it carefully before replying. “It will hold me. I don't weigh much. And even if it sinks, the water would not be over my head, would it?"

“No, but your gown..."

“You forget the prize,” she laughed. “I shall replace the gown with that. I am sure to win with Prince Charming."

“Is that what you will call him?"

“Certainly. All frogs are princes in disguise, waiting for the princess to kiss them and restore them to their proper form."

“And will you kiss Prince Charming if he wins for you?"

“Oh, no, it must be a princess. I could only turn him into a plain mister. I daresay he would rather remain king of the pond. I shall take him to London for one of the royal Princesses to transform him. Charlotte, I think, is the most likely candidate. If she is satisfied with Prince Leopold, she can take no exception to a frog."

“Prince Leopold is generally thought to be quite a handsome fellow."

“Not by me he isn't. Could you help me with the raft?"

“I'll get the frog for you,” he offered. He wanted to see only if she would do it, and had no actual desire to immerse any of his guests in a stagnant pond.

“You are too heavy,” she told him, “and besides, it's illegal.” When the raft was at the water's edge, she picked up a stout branch, stepped on to the raft, and launched herself forth after the frog.

Lady Sara, who had been observing her all the while with Clare, now let out a horrified shriek. Miss Sheridan squealed in terror, and Miss Prentiss wished she had thought of such a daring way to make herself the center of attention. Lady Honor took a step forward from under the spreading boughs of the tree, but the sun struck her eyes, so she returned. Hearing such uproar all around her, Ella turned towards the shore and said, “Shh. You'll frighten Prince Charming."

“What is she talking about?” Sara asked the air.

Clare heard and replied, “It is the name she calls her frog."

“How very stupid,” Miss Sheridan opined, tossing her black curls.

“Original,” Clare replied. It was said in the tone of a set-down and Sherry's black eyes snapped.

“Well, I call my sweet little frog Jumper,” she returned, showing that she too was capable of originality.