Miss Delacourt Has Her Day (11 page)

“If it please you,” he said quickly to cover Ginny’s discomfort, “I shall give it up entirely.” That was to say, after the bout tomorrow. He would have to be sure to avoid any punches thrown at his face, but if he were even half as skilled as Grandmama claimed, he should manage rather nicely. “I believe it is getting late. We ought to be on our way to Berkeley Square”

Wraps, gloves, and Anthony’s hat were brought and donned, and after a short carriage ride, Lady Crenshaw’s house on Berkeley Square hove into view.

“This is passing strange,” Anthony mused. “Dinner is meant to be a small affair, but the avenue is thick with carriages”

“That saucy Countess de Lieven resides down the street,” Grandmama said with a huff. “Doubtless she is having her own dinner party before doing her duty as patroness of Almack’s tonight.”

Anthony wished to believe her explanation, but the sight of Lady Derby alighting from a carriage directly across from his mother’s front door gave him pause. “Do beg pardon, Grandmama, but it would seem you are incorrect.” Reaching for Ginny’s hand, he gave it a squeeze. “It looks as if there will be a few more guests to dinner tonight, but never fear, the dancing shall be all ours”

Dinner, alas, was not. When Anthony, Ginny on one arm and Grandmama on the other, entered the parlor, it was fair to bursting with guests. Lady Derby, who was entertaining the attentions of a pair of young bucks, came first to eye, while his mother was soon spotted in the act of attempting to foil the nefarious intentions of a gray-haired lothario.

Across the room, the sofa was taken up by a grim-faced man of the cloth doggedly conversing with a wan young woman, one whose resemblance to the former Lucinda Barrington was remarkable. Too remarkable. Gad, it was Lucinda! Quickly, he scanned the room and determined that her husband was one of the bucks enjoying Lady Derby’s sphere of smiling approval. No wonder Lucinda was out of sorts. What game was his mother playing, and how might he thwart it before it was too late?

“Ah,” he said, testing his voice for telltale tremors, “I think it best if we leave.” Grandmama, her mouth opening and closing like that of a blowfish, was at a loss for words. It was a first in Anthony’s memory.

“I think not,” Ginny said with surprising calm. She looked directly into his eyes, and he saw no fear in them. He dared to flick a glance at Lady Derby, who simpered at him over her cordial of canary. No fear there, either. His mother, on the other hand, was making herself as small as possible in the shelter of the gray-haired man’s imposing girth. It couldn’t be Everston, could it?

Shaking free his arms, he was across the room in two strides. “Mother, I would have a word with you”

“Anthony!” Lady Crenshaw cried with a shaky little laugh. “Have your manners gone begging? You do not give Lord Everston his due”

Anthony inclined his head. “Everston, I do beg pardon, but I must have a private word with Lady Crenshaw.”

Everston bowed and moved away.

“Mother! Him?” Anthony cried. “Of all people, how could you? You know how Grandmama detests him. Look how he corners her even now.”

“Anthony, I will not be dictated to in my own home! It is my dinner party, and I shall invite whom I wish.”

“Ordinarily, I would agree with you wholeheartedly. However, dinner was meant to be just the four of us. You know how I have been counting on you to make Miss Delacourt feel a welcome part of the family.”

“Yes, she is most naturally welcome. Only a dinner party of three females and one male would be uneven, don’t you agree?” she asked with a snap of her fan, behind which she hid her face from the company at large. “I invited Everston for your grandmama. They are both getting on so in age, don’t you think? Mr. Graham neatly rounded out my numbers. However, when Lady Derby got wind of it, I could hardly claim it was family only and felt I must invite her, as well. And then..

“Mother!” he hissed. “The undesirable presence of Lord Everston pales in comparison to that of Lady Derby. How can you not perceive that? What of the feelings of Miss Delacourt?” he urged, but Lady Crenshaw had already moved away and did not benefit from his words.

Drawing a deep breath, he took stock of the situation. Ginny had placed herself between the crotchety cleric and Lucinda, who doubtless felt a measure of relief by the act, as she was now wringing out her much-abused handkerchief rather than employing it to stem a tide of tears. Grandmama had wrested herself from the clutches of Everston, who watched her greedily over his snifter of French brandy as she greeted Avery and drew his attention to his woeful wife. Anthony’s mother had disappeared, which left only Lady Derby and the last male guest. With a start, he realized it was Simmons, a much-disliked schoolmate from Eton. As Simmons was the son of a mere baron, Anthony assumed Lady Derby’s flirtations were only useful in marking time.

Realizing what his mother intended for the evening, he felt his hands curl at his sides. Seating at the dinner table was ordered by precedence, dictating that he and Lady Derby should walk into dinner together and be placed side by side. Ginny would be left to sit below the salt with the dour preacher, a man he had never before seen in his life. He wondered where his mother had dug him up. Scotland was as good a guess as any, but he rather doubted even his mother’s reach went quite so far.

He knew Ginny’s wits and charm would get her through any unpleasantness with the prim and prosy preacher, but he was more doubtful about her reaction to his own dinner partner. Memories of the rather strained meals he had endured during the quarantine at Rose Arbor threatened to do away with his appetite altogether, especially when he considered the presence of Lucinda. For some unaccountable reason, dinner at the Barringtons’ almost always involved dropped napkins, clattered forks, or shattered crystal. Perhaps such imbroglios went unnoticed in the provinces, but here in town they were likely to be a matter for much discussion.

Shuddering, he began a mental inventory: napkins, not much to fear there; spoons he could deal with; forks, knives, and crystal goblets, all heavy and inclined to be sharp. Dinner plates! He hadn’t any experience with how far or accurately a laden dinner plate could fly, and though he enjoyed the broadening of his horizons as much as any man, he rather doubted flung china would improve anyone’s character and certainly not his mood.

At risk of being maudlin, Anthony added Avery to the list of possible sources of unpleasantness. One mustn’t forget his penchant for tears a la carte or a la anywhere, for that matter. The fact that their last conversation had involved being called out by Avery-a tiresome habit of his-was a fact that returned to Anthony’s conscious memory in full force. Though he would much rather point a pistol at Avery than endure his tears, he preferred weeping to risking Lucinda’s imagined indisposition becoming the topic of conversation at dinner.

There was nothing for it. It was time to leave. He went immediately to Ginny and took her by the hand.

“The bell has not yet rung,” the preacher protested with a strong burr. “I have been enjoying the company of this fair, wee lass,” he said with a clap of his hand to Ginny’s arm, “and I won’t part with her until I am made to.”

Anthony’s gaze flicked from the preacher’s black-rimmed fingernails, which stood out in strong relief against Ginny’s fair skin, to her face. To his surprise, she gazed steadily back at him with wry curiosity in her eyes. It would seem that Ginny had had enough of tears, as well. Despite her willingness to brave every affront, even the attentions of the loathsome minister, Anthony wanted nothing more than to leave and to do so with as little fuss as possible. Silently, he drew the glove from his hand, shockingly bruised as it was, and once again took Ginny’s hand in his.

He heard the gasp of alarm she dutifully swallowed before she addressed the man seated at her side. “I am persuaded, Mr. Graham, you won’t begrudge me a moment with Lord Crenshaw.” She honeyed her words with a smile.

The smile was lost on Mr. Graham, however, whose whole attention was given over to the red and purple bruises covering the knuckles of Anthony’s hand.

“Mr. Graham,” Anthony said with a fractional bow of his head. “It would seem there’s another just like this one. I would be most pleased for you to make its acquaintance if you are so inclined,” he added in a low purr.

Mr. Graham withdrew his hold on Ginny’s arm and clasped his hands tightly together in his lap. “Fists are not the weapon of a gentleman,” he said gruffly. “I prefer the use of pistols myself.”

“For that, I fear, you shall have to get in line,” Anthony drawled; then, drawing Ginny to her feet, he led her swiftly to a side table and poured himself a drink.

“Did I not overhear you tell Grandaunt only this evening that you no longer have a taste for alcohol?” Ginny asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Did I?” Anthony said in a voice that sounded curt even to his own ears. “It looks as if I spoke too soon. At any rate, we must depart,” he said, pulling her paisley shawl up around her shoulders. “I’ll fetch Grandmama, but you must head straight for the stairs.”

“What? Because of that poor minister?”

“Yes.” He shook his head. “No! That is to say, I made a mistake in bringing you here tonight.” He had trusted his mother to make Ginny a part of the family. However, in light of present company, it was clear she had never intended to do any such thing. If the promised voucher for Ginny to Almack’s appeared, he would eat his hat. Worse, the longer they stayed, the greater the chance that his dear mama would let slip the details with regard to his trio of odious tasks, the ones he meant to keep from Ginny at all costs.

He saw her face crumple a bit and congratulated himself on his decision to quit the house. Her tears were more endurable than Avery’s, but he had no wish to start them flowing anytime in the near future.

“No tears tonight. I’m afraid I left my handkerchief at home, and Lucinda’s already looks the worse for wear.”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, to say he knew not what, for she was spared the effort of formulating a reply when the dinner bell rang. Mr. Graham shot instantly to his feet, whereupon, to Anthony’s dismay, Ginny took the preacher by the arm and went with him into dinner.

tinny regretted her decision the moment she took her assigned seat between Mr. Graham and Mr. Simmons, who was of an age with Anthony but seemed much younger with his flighty ways and shallow observations. Sadly, her conversation would be limited to him and the dour minister, since speaking across table was highly improper at a formal dinner, even if one were betrothed, albeit somewhat secretly, to the man seated directly opposite. Meanwhile, she would be forced to endure watching as Anthony limited his conversation to the ladies at either side. Lucinda and Lady Derby were two of a pair; both bore the title of countess, a head of lush blond locks, and an expression of coy defiance.

The fact that Anthony had once been attached in one way or another to each of them, however falsely, did nothing to quicken Ginny’s appetite or her confidence in her own upcoming nuptials. Neither did the initial hurt that had assailed her when Anthony was so eager to hasten her away from this paltry clutch of “high Society.” Even so, that had faded enough to make way for curiosity. Though she was tempted to believe he feared she would say or do something unsuitable, she knew him well enough by now to suspect that something else was afoot. She took a sip of the soup course, a light broth seasoned with garden herbs, and waited.

“Miss Delacourt,” Mr. Simmons said with an ingratiating smile, “I understand you are newly come to town.”

“Yes, indeed,” Ginny replied. It seemed better to leave unsaid the fact that she had been in town and presented at court at the beginning of the season, before that fateful fortnight spent quarantined in the country. “I find I am enjoying the parties and balls a good deal more than I expected.” She stole a glance across the table to see appreciation for her remark in Anthony’s eyes but was surprised to find only wariness.

“Oh, do you not enjoy dancing, Miss Delacourt?” Mr. Simmons parried with a significant glance of his own at Lady Derby.

“Who does not?” she asked but owned to herself that it very much depended on with whom one was dancing. She could not prevent her eyes from once again straying across the table but this time was genuinely startled by Anthony’s grim expression. If she didn’t know better, she would hazard a guess he would like nothing better than to fasten Mr. Simmons’ hand to the table with a fork.

Lady Derby’s expression, however, was one of unaccountable mirth. Ginny bit her lip in consternation and spooned more soup into her mouth.

“Well said, my dear Miss Delacourt! You acquit yourself well on the dance floor, do you not?” Mr. Simmons asked.

Ginny pressed her napkin to her lips, giving herself time to think. Mr. Simmons, whose gaze had slid from her face to her fichu-deprived decolletage, seemed to be baiting her, Lady Derby was clearly in on the joke, and Anthony’s face was quickly becoming the immobile Society mask she had been at such pains to animate not many weeks hence. Quickly she called to mind everything she knew about dancing, table talk, and polite conversation in general, but none of what she had said so far seemed the least amiss.