Major Lord David (10 page)

“Do stay, Myles.” David put a hand on his brother’s sleeve.
“I’ll wager she’ll surprise us all. Or if not, ‘twill be worth it to
watch her brazen it out”

“You would let the girl be embarrassed? That is clearly
Athington’s aim.”

“I do not expect Miss Caswell to be embarrassed.”

“You act as though she is your pet.”

“No” David followed Billie’s progress as she made her way
to the piano. “But I am proud of her.”

Billie did not appear in the least flustered; instead she looked
thoughtful, as though she silently reviewed her repertoire of
possible pieces. David did not miss the expression on Charis
Athington’s face. Despite the spoiled beauty’s evident intention, despite her anticipation, David thought Charis destined
to be disappointed.

Even as he thought it, Charis sent him a sly, sidelong
glance. David quickly looked to the piano.

“What do you think of the Misses Sanders and Athington?”
he asked Hayden softly.

“Ah, Miss Sanders-the pocket Venus” Hayden quizzed
golden-haired May with his glass. “So petite and prettily
packaged-with no room left for a heart. And the elegant
Miss Athington-of the dark eyes and sharp tongue…. She
is known to be very hard on a fella.” He dropped his glass and
glanced at David. “I hear they dance well,” he conceded.

David stifled a laugh. “I should have guessed you would not
be entranced”

Myles acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “You understand, then,” he whispered as Billie began to play, “why
I remain fancy-free.”

Billie had chosen Bach, a short but difficult prelude. Though
David had guessed at her proficiency, he was still pleasantly
surprised. Her rendition was far from a simple exercise; there
was nothing tired or methodical about the crisp clarity of the
music, nothing merely competent about her playing. Though
he could not recall much of the piece, David knew she played
it both accurately and beautifully. And the choice was appropriate, fitting the evening’s effort at entertainment more comfortably than any lengthy, virtuosic display.

She had said she’d been compelled to learn piano, but clearly
she had also learned to love it, for her performance sparkled.
No one among the company even dared cough while she played,
and once she finished, the clapping was heartfelt rather than
perfunctory. As Billie smiled, Charis Athington looked stony.
Billie was prevailed upon to continue with an encore, a charming and much too brief sample of Gluck that David had never
before heard for solo piano. He wondered if Billie might even
have transcribed the number herself.

“How did you know?” Hayden asked, as Billie met with renewed applause.

David shrugged. “I simply trust in Miss Billie.”

Hayden’s gaze measured him. “You are in love with her,” he
said simply.

David let the accusation stand. He’d suspected as much
when he’d acted like a smitten schoolboy in the stairwell the
other night. Though his thoughts had dwelled most exclusively on Wilhelmina Caswell the past two months, he’d not
until that moment considered that he might indeed be in love
with his fiancee. After all, he had imagined himself in love
half a dozen times; he had never suffered before. The symptoms, though severe, were not yet so debilitating….

“I am aware though, Myles,” he said softly, “that she must choose me. Not in the idolizing manner of the sprout she once
was. But as the young woman she now is. And further, I find I
honor and admire the lady too much. Too much to believe that
I might truly be her best choice.”

Myles was silent for some time. “As you are already betrothed,” he said at last, “I would suggest you wed her, then
woo her. You might persuade her to the proper choice later.
‘Tis not the time to gamble or to think overmuch about it.”

David shook his head. “I haven’t your liking for such games”

“You never did,” Hayden conceded with a shrug. “But they
do serve their purpose”

“Miss Caswell and I have been conducting all in reverse,
Myles-putting a betrothal before a courtship, for one. So ludicrously, in fact, that I think the business must end. I mustn’t
take advantage. She has worries enough with that family.”

“Then you must simply adopt the lot of them. I’ve always
pictured you with a brood of children, dogs, and in-lawsthough not in that order, of course. For one of your vaunted
good nature, such a household might prove suitably trying.”

David was not inclined to smile. “Her brother Kit is trouble,” he acknowledged, “an indulged sprig who quickly grows
tiresome. Whatever the source of his resentments, I now seem
to be their object. He needs to have some manners drilled into
him. But as for his apparent lack of sense-” He broke off with
a heavy sigh.

“Young Caswell hangs about with Dumont.”

“Ronald Dumont?” David asked in surprise. “Is Kit gambling heavily, then?”

“I s’pose `heavily’ depends on his resources. Sir Moreton
Caswell has deep pockets. Your young Wilhelmina has a sizeable portion. Did you not know?”

David abruptly shut his astonished mouth. “I did not”

“Perhaps you will take my advice then and run off with her
tonight.”

“I thought you counseled delay rather than `rushing about.”’

Hayden’s smile was broad. “Not once the bet is on the table.”

This time David did laugh, too distinctively. Though no
young lady was then exhibiting her skills, enough of the audience turned reprovingly toward them to alert David to his
transgression. For the first time that evening Billie Caswell
looked directly at him. Though she glanced only briefly over
her shoulder, he was fully aware of her penetrating, amberbrown gaze. Her look, her whole manner, conveyed that she
thought him rude. His jaw set. He had been listening so very
patiently to everyone besides Billie Caswell, who was the only
performer he had cared to hear.

She had once more presented her back to him. He noted
again that she had dressed her hair very prettily that evening,
gathered to the back of her head, then let to fall in lustrous
ringlets upon her nape and shoulders. He was glad she had not
yielded to cropping her hair in the fashionable style. He had
the unwelcome, possessive urge to kiss her shoulder-an
urge that he would have preferred not to fight. He concentrated very hard on the duo now on view. The girl in pink was
too tentatively singing a ballad, to the accompaniment of a
sour-faced governess’ mandolin. Outside, what sounded like
an increasingly agitated crowd repeatedly shouted, “No Corn
Laws!”

The protestors’ noise was overwhelming the performance
inside. David watched more than one distracted head turn in
the direction of the street.

“I wonder they do not call out the Guard,” he whispered to
Hayden.

“They must. I cannot stay in any event, as I-”

An angry pounding at the house next door interrupted him.
The pounding yielded to louder cries against the Corn Laws,
then the sharp sound of shattering glass. The performance
halted.

Mrs. Sanders, their dismayed hostess, could not keep her voice level as she gasped out, “Do, pray, keep your seats!
‘Tis for Mr. Harknett next door, who stands for Bexbridge.
He’ll vote-” She screamed as one of the casement windows
in their salon suddenly smashed into bits. A good-sized brick
landed with a thud on the shard-covered carpet between
David and Billie Caswell.

As the rest of the panicked guests shrieked and scrambled
across the chairs to the opposite side of the room, Billie whirled
to face the disturbance.

For an amazed second, David observed her slim, steady
form. One man in a thousand might have turned in like manner to confront a threat. That a slip of a girl should do so without flinching took his breath.

In two long strides he’d reached her and swept her up into
his arms. She was too startled to protest as he sped with her to
the safety of a corner.

“Fool,” he breathed, as much to himself as to her as he released her. He retained a hold on her shoulders, pulling her
tightly against his side. An empty bottle followed the brick
through the broken window, to crack against the toppled
chairs just ahead of Billie’s former seat.

The chant from the crowd had gained strength, occasionally rising into a series of cries as the mass of protestors
swelled and surged. Billie’s aunt Euphemia, her hands fluttering nervously before her, made her way haltingly from a far
corner of the room.

“Billie!” she said, her voice atremble. But her gaze focused
pointedly on David’s close grasp. “Are you quite all right?”

David dropped his arm to permit Billie to step away from
him.

“Quite all right, Ephie,” Billie said. She looked up then into
David’s face. “Why did you do that?”

“Why? Because your unreasoned impulse, though likely qualifying as brave, might well have killed you!”

“And your `unreasoned impulse’?”

He thought her eyes very large and dark. The spots of color
in her cheeks only heightened their brilliance.

“My pleasure, I assure you, Miss Caswell.” As he bowed to
her, he felt her gaze upon his lowered head. That she should
fault him, that she should remain so distant, grated immeasurably. Had he not saved her?

The rooms were rather dim, as the draft through the broken
window had blown out a good many candles. The yells and
huzzaing from the street were constant, and now-in the absence of music and the flimsy barrier of glass-their tenor
and import were clear. The riot still threatened. In such anger
and confusion, anyone’s house might be targeted. David thought
it imperative to move the Sanderses’ guests to the safety of the
inner rooms.

Turning away from Billie, he spoke to Hayden, requesting
his aid in removing guests to the hall, a request with which
Hayden promptly complied-as though the marquis were
used to taking orders from his younger brother.

David directed two trembling servants to douse the remaining
candles in the drawing room, then strode toward one huddled
group of guests on the far side of the salon. As he passed in
front of the windows, he could see the angry mob lit by street
lanterns outside. A section of the neighbor’s front iron fencing
had been torn up, to be carried aloft like a trophy.

As he herded half a dozen women toward the relative safety
of the hallway, he noticed, with a lack of surprise, that his
brother had managed, in his inimitable fashion, to coax most
of the other anxious guests into a quiet, orderly arrangement.
David also noticed, with less satisfaction, that Charis Athington and May Sanders had positioned themselves next to Billie
Caswell.

He did not trust himself to look directly at Billie.

“What do you anticipate, Major?” Charis asked in a tone
more excited than fearful. “Are we to be invaded?”

“I do not know, Miss Athington. But here we are at least removed from further missiles and might exit front or back, as
need be”

“How glad I am to have you here with me!” And Charis
Athington’s hand sought his sleeve. For a second David stared
in astonishment at her extremely feminine, and extremely forward, fingers. When he glanced up at Billie, he met an accusing glare. Then she turned her face away, presenting him with
only a profile-and an elevated one at that.

“Oh, Charts! Mama has fainted!” And oblivious to the flirtatious interests of Miss Athington, May Sanders abruptly pulled
her friend along with her to attend her swooning parent.

Though his arm was now free, David noted that Billie’s face
remained averted. As Miss Euphemia Caswell stood ready to
keep her niece company, David left them and wended his way
through the huddled guests. Hayden was leaning nonchalantly
against the expensive Chinese paper in the dark hall. It was
incongruous to see him thus, with so many nervous, whispering females fluttering about him, the scent of reviving sal
volatile pervasive, and so few other gentlemen present. Even
Mr. Sanders had not been prevailed upon to attend his own
daughter’s recital that evening.

“Are you armed?” Hayden asked under his breath.

“No” Something about his brother’s expression prompted
David to counter, “Are you?” With Hayden’s answering grin,
he exclaimed, “Good lord, Myles-at a ladies’ musicale?”

Hayden shrugged. “I knew how events progressed. One
cannot be too cautious. I’d venture to say the gleam in Miss
Athington’s eye should have put any man en garde”

In other circumstances David would have laughed. But he
ignored the reference to Charis Athington and looked instead
toward Billie. He could just discern her white-gowned form
beside the drawing room doorway. That he should feel the
bond with her, a close, unacknowledged connection, was a
revelation. He should not be dwelling on her in this instance,
only acting.

“If your carriage is still in back, Myles, I would ask you to
see the Misses Caswell home. I feel I must remain here with
our hostess until this mob has moved on. But I find it-I find
it distracting that I cannot trust her-Miss Billie, that is, not
to-” He knew he was babbling and abruptly stopped. He
simply did not want Billie Caswell harmed.

“Let me check the back,” Hayden offered. “With luck we
might evacuate most of this lot without ill effect”

After Hayden left, David reentered the abandoned salon
and quickly pulled the drapes shut. From one hidden side of a
window recess he discreetly surveyed the throng in the street
as it milled about, yelling and cheering. Every so often another shout of “No Corn Laws!” could be discerned amid the
noise. A window in a house to the east cracked at another projectile. But to his practiced eye the drift of the crowd was now
away from the Sanderses’ town house.

Hayden met him as he returned to the hall. “My good coachman, Perkins, had the sense to lay to in an alley a block away,”
he said, “along with Leigh-Maitland’s carriage and driver.”

“Then would you consider offering to take Miss Athington
and her mama up with you as well?”