Miss Delacourt Has Her Day (10 page)

Anthony inclined his head in agreement. “And you must keep my uncle’s tasks for me a secret. My Miss Delacourt has had her peace cut up enough for one day.”

“You can be quite sure I shan’t breathe a word”

Anthony left his mother’s abode in Berkeley Square more in charity with her than he had been in some time. His heart lightened by her promise to procure Ginny a voucher to Almack’s, he turned his steps toward his preferred florist to order a posy made up for his beloved. She would no doubt wear white, as would the other young girls making their come-out this season, so he decided blush-pink roses to be just the ticket to bring out the color of her dusky cheeks.

He imagined how pleased she would be with his plans for the evening: dinner en famille, dancing at Almack’s, and perhaps a stolen kiss or two in the shadows of the darkened parlor at Wembley House before bidding her good night. But first, he would visit Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Academy on Bond Street. He had some training to do.

By the time the posy arrived at Wembley House, Ginny was already dressed for the evening in what promised to be her favorite gown of the season. It was once again white but much more to her taste than the satin she had worn to the Hadleys’ the night prior. The underskirt, a medium-weight silk in the palest blush, was topped with magnolia-white, petal-soft silk, fine and delicate as a spider’s web. The bodice was the same magnolia over blush silk with tiny puffed sleeves and a low decolletage. A narrow blush satin ribbon was tied around the high waistline. It put Ginny in mind of the Maiden’s Blush roses in Grandaunt’s garden, white with a hint of palest rose in the center.

“But why are you not wearing your lace fichu?” Grandaunt demanded as she bustled through the door, a posy in her hand. “You must remember what I said about showing too much decolletage in an establishment such as Almack’s. We wouldn’t want the patronesses thinking you too fast”

Ginny thought this speech wholly characteristic of Grandaunt in light of the fact that the low neckline had been upon her insistence in the first place. However, the arrival of Anthony’s note early in the afternoon stating his intention to escort them to Almack’s that very night had sent Grandaunt into such a pother, off they had gone to the Pantheon Bazaar to purchase a lace fichu for Ginny’s gown.

Grandaunt thrust the posy into Ginny’s hands and drew the fichu from its place on the dressing table. “Where is that girl of yours?” she demanded while tucking one end of the lace into the neckline of Ginny’s gown, wrapping it around her neck, and tucking the other end in like the first. “She should be doing this, not I”

“Yes, of course, Grandaunt, but Nan has just gone to fetch the curling tongs from the kitchen. Are these from Anthony?” Ginny asked, indicating the little bouquet of roses she held clutched in her hands.

“Yes, they are, and they couldn’t be better matched to your gown. Now,” Grandaunt said as she took the posy from Ginny and deftly began to disassemble it, “this is how it is done. You wear a few buds in your hair just so,” she said, lifting her squablike frame onto her toes and holding the roses against Ginny’s brow. “Your girl can affix those once she has curled your hair. Next, you pin one or two along the sash at your waist like so”

To Ginny’s utter amazement, Grandaunt herself fetched a pin from the table and made short work of the task.

“Lastly, you take what is left, tie it up in a ribbon, tuck it into your decolletage, and voila!” Grandaunt exclaimed, stepping back to survey her work.

Ginny regarded herself in the pier mirror. “Grandaunt! How lovely! But do you not think the fichu and the roses together are a bit much?”

“Pshaw! I am well aware what the young girls think of wearing a lace fichu in tandem with a ball gown. I felt very much the same when I was your age. However, trust me, it will be most commendable in the eyes of the patronesses at Almack’s. Besides which,” she added with a wag of her finger, “the roses will put everyone in mind of the fact that, though many shall have the honor of dancing with you, your foremost admirer is none other than Lord Crenshaw. We mustn’t allow anyone to forget that”

Most especially not Lady Crenshaw or that odious Lady Derby, Ginny thought. What Ginny herself was to think of the puzzling status of her engagement, however, was something else.

“Grandaunt, I do not wish to give you cause to feel I have anything in my heart but gratitude for all you have done for me. However, if your words this morning have made worse my case with Anthony’s family, I think it best for me to know my standing before I sit down to dine with his mother.”

There was apprehension in Grandaunt’s eyes in spite of her vain attempt to hide it. “Is this public declaration of his affection not enough?” she asked, indicating the roses. “You are to dine with his mother. She has procured for you vouchers at Almack’s!”

“Yes, Grandaunt, but I know so very little of Society, even still. People are forever doing what is kind and polite, and I just as often allow myself to be drawn into their net, only to find I am quite unwelcome, after all.”

“Harrumph! Do not forget, Lady Crenshaw is the widow of a mere baronet. My dead duke outranks him any day of the week,” Grandaunt declared. “Why, do you not think I could procure a voucher for you with but a snap of my fingers? As my relation, you are unexceptionable in every way.” With this, she bent a fierce look on her great-niece. “As long as you do not forget yourself and say something completely beyond the pale.”

She heaved a sigh and stepped back for one last look at Ginny’s immaculate ensemble. Doubtless, she was pleased, for she smiled and said, “You must know, my dear, all has been forgiven: the unfortunate beginning of the season-I’ll be the first to admit you did not take well-and your hasty retreat to the country earlier this month. No doubt, even the contretemps at Lady Hadley’s last night has already been forgotten. What power Anthony’s mother has to stir up trouble is but a puff of smoke in the face of your charm and eminent suitability.”

Ginny bit back a smile. She knew her grandaunt was doing her valiant best to assuage her own fears as well as Ginny’s, and she loved her for it. “Thank you, Grandaunt! Ah! That will be Nan at the door. I must hurry and finish with my hair. It is very nearly time.”

“You are most correct, my dear,” Grandaunt said. She opened the door to allow Nan’s wideeyed passage into the room and was gone before Nan could bob a curtsy and murmur, “Your Grace”

Ginny could see that Nan was full to bursting, but all she managed to say was, “Well, I never!”

“She does seem a bit subdued, does she not?” Ginny said with a wry smile. “She is still smarting over Lady Crenshaw’s use of the word guttersnipe. I wonder what sobriquet she will have for me tonight.”

“If my eyes have anything to say about it, I daresay she will call you beautiful,” Nan replied. “But first, we must curl your hair.”

Ginny sat obediently in the chair and watched as Nan turned her long, thick hair into a casually disordered arrangement of curls, braid, and bun. Once the last roses were fastened into the curls, Ginny surveyed her appearance in the mirror. She was pleased with every detail except one: the fichu. Against the soft cream of her gown, the crisp white lace was almost loud and competed for attention with the posy of roses nestled in her decolletage. She pulled the fichu from around her neck just as a rap came at the door announcing Lord Crenshaw’s arrival and left it, forgotten, on the dressing table.

Anthony stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited for Ginny to descend. It mattered not how many times he laid eyes on her, each time was more breathtaking than the last. Her beauty grew alongside his love for her, and nothing, not even his grandmother’s reproaches, could budge him from his spot.

“Anthony, you look a fool, standing there like some mooncalf! Come into the parlor as a proper gentleman should and have a drink. I certainly feel the need for a restorative in light of who shall be my hostess this evening.”

“Strangely, I no longer find any benefit in alcohol, Grandmama,” Anthony replied without taking his eyes from the upstairs landing.

“No benefit in alcohol? If I didn’t know better, I should think you expect to live on nothing but love!” Grandmama retorted, but she was to have no reply to her impertinence, for Ginny had appeared at the top of the stairs, and the roar of the blood rushing in Anthony’s ears drowned out all other sound.

As he watched her gracefully descend, a sudden memory of how she had looked that day in Grandmama’s study less than four weeks prior rose into his mind. She had been so becoming in her green gown, it was the first time he had actually noticed she was beautiful. Yet, the Ginny of the green gown was but a caterpillar compared to the butterfly that flitted its way down the stairs in all its soft, white glory.

The knowledge that this beautiful, virtuous, intelligent, generous-hearted girl loved him in return made him feel as if he could slay dragons. So the duke wanted him to best the most famous pugilist in England in a round of boxing. What of it? So what if the duke demanded that Anthony win an impossible race? With love as his wings, he’d do it. A flight in a balloon? Done! Nothing was impossible compared to one impossible truth: Ginny Delacourt loved him not for his title or his wealth or his perfectly tailored and exquisitely made clothes but for who he was. For himself alone.

So startling was this thought, the breath caught in his throat. The pain of Lady Derby’s rejection he had taken such care to keep alive and caged in his chest, the same pain that Ginny had beckoned forth during those early days of their courtship, had flown farther and farther away with each throb of his loveswollen heart until this moment, this time, this place. As she reached the bottom step and put her hand in his, he felt the cage door swing shut, enclosing love where once there had been only hurt.

“Anthony, what is it?” Ginny asked. “You look as if you’ve never before seen me”

“No, I don’t believe that I have,” he said, tucking her hand into his arm and escorting her toward the drawing room. “That is to say, I’ve never seen you looking as utterly enchanting as you do this evening.”

“Do you mean that?” she asked, her eyes aglow. “I do so love this gown. Not quite as much as my wedding dress, but… oh, dear!” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I have spoken out of turn. Grandaunt insists, as a matter of course, that you mean to marry me but I… I..” She turned and pulled him aside before they entered the drawing room in full view of Grandmama’s watchful eye. “I can’t be entirely sure what is safe to assume and what is not,” she said in a low undertone. “Not after all that has been said and all that has not. Grandaunt seeks to assuage my fears by claiming you would not have sent the roses if you did not wish for everyone to learn of your attachment to me”

“She is exactly right,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips in order to keep his gaze from falling to the little bouquet tucked into her dress. “My uncle has tasked me with one or two chores”-three, to be exact-“before I formally announce our betrothal, but they will be the work of a moment,” he said with a snap of his fingers.

“Anthony!” Ginny cried, her eyes pools of horror. “What has happened to your hand?”

Too late he remembered his bruises from the bare-knuckle boxing he had engaged in with Gentleman Jackson earlier in the day. If only he hadn’t handed off his gloves to the butler. “It is nothingjust some sporting among myself and some, er, friends,” he said as breezily as he dared. It was not uncommon for a gentleman to avail himself of a round of boxing. The Prince Regent indulged in the sport on a regular basis. Anthony hadn’t the slightest reason to feel guilty. Nevertheless, keeping the truth from Ginny as to his motive made him uncomfortable. He wondered if perhaps he had better tell her of the match scheduled between himself and Mr. Jackson for the next afternoon, then thought better of it. There would be time and plenty after they were wed to divulge the truth to her regarding his uncle’s unreasonable demands.

“It is indeed fortunate that we are off to dine en famille. At least their appetite won’t go begging once they see your bruised hands, as surely they know of your proclivity for boxing, though I must own, I did not” She took his arm to lead him into the parlor, just as the sparkle in her eye and her arch smile took him to task for the oversight.

“There are many things about my grandson you do not know as of yet, Ginerva,” Grandmama intoned. “He has trained in boxing since he was a very young man and, I have been told, even excels at it.”

“Thank you, Grandmama,” Anthony said with hopes she would perceive that his gratitude for her explanation extended beyond her simple compliment.

“I am pleased to know you are among the best,” Ginny replied, her eyes shining. “But I should hate for you to damage your face again so soon, ah, that is to say…” Ginny blushed and looked away in a fit of charming confusion.

He knew she was thinking of the first time he had kissed her during those early days of their quarantine at Rose Arbor. She had kissed him in return, then thrown a book at him, landing him a hefty lump to his forehead. Though enticing in the extreme, it had not been the proudest moment for either of them. He assumed Ginny had no greater wish than he for Grandmama to learn about that particular set of circumstances.