Ridiculous (27 page)

“What, may I ask, were you thinking?” she demanded. “How could you do this to me?”

Millicent flushed to the roots of her hair.

“Cousin? I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”

“Look. Look. That is your name plastered all over the gossip page. Mr. North said this, Mr. North graced that party. Mr. North. Mr. North. Mr. North. The pages are full of you. Have you lost your senses?”

As the page passed under her nose for the third time Millicent managed to take hold of it and, reading as she went, entered the breakfast room.

It was as Felicity described. The attendees at last night’s party competed with each other to describe the “irresistible humor” of Mr. North, some quoting at length the text of her jokes. Millicent set the sheet aside and nodded to the hovering footman who poured coffee before retreating.

“Well?” demanded Felicity, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

“That I am happy my name is a simple one to spell correctly.” Millicent sat and took a sip of coffee before glancing up at her mother. “What would you have me say, Cousin Felicity? That I am ashamed of myself? Of all the things I could be ashamed of, I have to say that being counted as popular cannot be one. Only yesterday you were pleased that my humorous nature caused you to receive a number of invitations. Now you are offended? I do not understand you.”

“That is beyond the point. You have made yourself a public mockery. A fool.”

“Cousin Felicity, I have always been a fool. That was the plan. Have you just this moment realized?”

“But your name is in the paper! People will read it.”

“Yes, I do realize that, though I admit I had no plans to have my name in print. I see no reason to be so excited about it.” Millicent waved her cousin to a chair, only that moment realizing that she had seated herself while a lady was still standing. Immediately she rose to her feet. “My dear cousin, consider, I shall never have my name in the paper as a participant of a duel, nor shall I be the cause of a marital fracas, nor be involved in an infidelity. Compared to those greater sins being a humorous guest at a
ton
gathering is hardly a crime.”

“But … but,” Felicity sank into the proffered chair, “but you should not make yourself such a public figure.”

“I am fashionable and the
ton
is fickle. Wait but a moment, my dear cousin, I shall fall out of favor soon enough and no one will utter my name again.”

“The duke does not object,” Mildred pointed out. “Surely he is a better judge of what is acceptable than we.”

“I suppose,” Felicity stared mournfully at the paper at Millicent’s elbow. “It hardly seems proper for a young person to draw so much attention to h…”

A cough from the doorway interrupted the discussion. Merit the butler stood there with two footmen burdened with several hat boxes.

“Sir, as you requested, I have some … items for your review.”

Millicent stared at him blankly for a moment. Merit wiggled his eyebrows, twitched his shoulders and gave meaningful looks toward Maude who was wearing a turban on her head, until Millicent finally realized what the man was trying to subtly convey.

“Oh, yes, items! Please have them taken up to Mrs. Boarder’s sitting room.”

“Mine?” Felicity shook her head. “I have not purchased so many hats.”

“It is the head wear you requested for Maude,” said Millicent. “A selection for you to choose from. Those you do not like will be sent back.”

“Oh, yes.” Felicity leapt to her feet and hurried from the room. Her voice could be heard echoing back down the hall, demanding Maude attend her.

Maude sighed and obediently left her breakfast to follow her mother.

“No thanks given to you for the speed of delivery,” observed Mildred. “Mother is impolite from time to time.”

“Oh, it is no matter. Merit is the hero of this hour. He has distracted Felicity’s attention from me. I shall thank him later.”

* * *

Millicent spent the day peacefully dealing with her correspondence. A note came down from the upper floors informing her that the ladies would be taking their luncheon on trays, but they fully expected to attend the scheduled musicale that evening.

Millicent passed that piece of information on to Merit with a request for the carriage to be readied and promptly forgot it.

It was not until she was dressed in the “best” of her formal attire and waiting in the front hall that she saw what had been occupying the ladies all day.

Felicity was first to descend, a self-satisfied smile on her face. Millicent could only gape. Instead of the faded blond tresses liberally graced with grey arranged in a dignified chignon which was her mother’s usual hairstyle, Felicity Boarder wore a brilliant blond tower of curls, with three ringlets dangling before each ear. Mildred followed beneath a wig styled with masses of ringlets at the back and six kiss-curls across her forehead.

Maude’s was the worst. The hair was styled in a manner more suited to the previous century with three formal white feathers rising over her tower of hair to dangle before her eyes. A string of pearls and three silver ribbons were twisted through the mass.

The weight of the thing was such that Maude was frowning in her efforts to keep her balance. Despite her work she stumbled on the last step. Immediately her hand flew to her head, to no avail. The hair slipped forward and sideways.

“Oh, Maude, be careful,” cried her mother. “You will ruin it.”

“It is impossible to anchor properly.” Maude used both hands to force the wig straight. “My hair is too short.”

“This is beyond enough,” shouted Millicent, surprising even herself by the volume. “I shall not appear in public with any of you if you insist upon wearing those monstrosities.”

“Mr. North,” began Felicity.

“No. In this I am deadly serious. I am a fool for the entertainment of the
ton
, but this is beyond anything I should undertake. Maude, your own hair could not be more ridiculous than that wig. Take it off; I insist. Go upstairs at once, have your maid comb out your natural hair, and be done with it. Mildred, you as well.”

“I shall keep mine,” declared Felicity, holding her head high.

“That is your privilege, Mrs. Boarder,” shot back Millicent, “but think on this. You wear that in public and I shall spend the entirety of the evening making jokes about people who go about wearing cats instead of turbans on their heads. Do not think that I will not.”

Felicity went pale, then red. “You would not dare.”

“I promise you,” growled Millicent. “I am content to be a figure of fun, but these … I declare to be too much.”

Felicity sulked and argued until she realized that both of her daughters were already disappearing upstairs in obedience to Millicent’s commands. Maude, when she returned was smiling, her bright gold curls fluffed about her head like a halo and threaded through with narrow green ribbons that matched the trim on the bodice and sleeves of her virginal white gown.

Felicity turned with a huff and went upstairs to redo her toilette.

“You look better,” said Millicent to her sisters.

“Oh, much,” said Maude. “It was somewhere between the third and fourth wig that I realized that there were worse things than my haircut. I now think I look very well with short hair, compared to the alternatives.”

* * *

The final touch to her confidence came when Shoffer, upon seeing Maude reared back in surprise, smiled, and kissed the back of her hand and declared that none in the room could compare with her beauty.

* * *

Millicent was strolling about the outer edges of the ballroom and trying to decide which group of wallflowers to honor with a dance when Shoffer stiffened and tried to disappear behind Millicent’s back. His expression was one of such horror that Millicent first checked to see that her sisters and Lady Beth were well before looking about for the danger. A London ballroom was not the place to fear brigands or cut purses, but the cause of Shoffer’s distress was soon apparent. A glowing débutante – all white silk and pink flowers – appeared at his side.

“Your Grace,” she said, “I fear you have forgotten our waltz. You did promise to dance with me at the Longstride soirée last year before you were called away to attend your sister. You did promise and I will hold you to it!” She tittered and simpered in what she imagined was a fetching manner.

Shoffer glanced desperately toward Millicent who was tempted to leave Shoffer to deal with the matter himself. That whim lasted just a moment. Listening to the girl’s high pitched titter, Millicent winced and moved between them.

“Oh, no, Your Grace, you cannot,” Millicent laid a restraining hand on his sleeve – though Shoffer made no move toward the débutante. “Remember what your physician said this afternoon.”

The hopeful virgin’s eyes opened wide. “Physician?”

“Oh, yes,” said Millicent. “His Grace had a dreadful accident today. He was dismounting from his horse and his foot landed in a pile of, well, I cannot go into details which are not fit for a lady’s ears. Let it be said only that slipping while half on and half off a giant stallion such as His Grace rides, well … we can only hope that he recovers.” Millicent glowered at Shoffer and shook her finger under his nose. “I believe you were warned that the injury would be permanent if you exercised yourself. You should be at home in bed!”

“Well…” stuttered Shoffer. “My sister… The hostess … I could not disappoint.”

Millicent seized Shoffer by the elbow and began directing him toward the nearest door. “I act your physician’s part in this. If you do not rest, you will be a disappointment to your future wife. Now, come along.” And with that she hustled Shoffer from the ballroom.

“My thanks,” said Shoffer, as they made their way down the less crowded corridor past a gathering of gentlemen hiding from the dancing. “What injury am I supposed to have suffered? In case I should have want of the excuse again?”

“You have herniated yourself.”

“What?” Shoffer began laughing. “What made you think of it?”

“Oh, the local blacksmith was dismounting once and fell. He hurt himself in the … the.” Millicent could not prevent the blush that rose to flood her face, even while she grinned broadly. “The poor man fell, clutching himself in an area gentlemen do not usually admit to the existence of in the presence of ladies, and screamed for such a long time. It was pitiable. Later his wife said he was not much good for anything at all. It was odd. The blacksmith’s wife popped out a child a year for the first five years of their marriage, but since then, not a one.”

Several men who were nearby all winced and groaned at that information. Shoffer pushed Millicent along before him.

“Thank you very much for starting that rumor about my vigor and future fertility,” he hissed. “Come, North, let us find the billiard room and rest my supposedly wounded pride.”

Their host, a man who understood that sometimes it was necessary to hide from the female of the species, had set up a comfortable seating area in the billiard room complete with a set of footmen standing ready to fetch drink or anything else that might be required. Shoffer led the way toward a grouping of leather armchairs near the window, far from the occupied ones near the fireplace and nodded acceptance of the whiskey offered by the attentive staff. Millicent waved it away.

“You know, North,” said Shoffer after he had taken a fortifying sip. “I do not believe I have ever seen you drink.”

“I take wine with dinner,” replied Millicent.

“Yes, I know, but never at any other time.”

“What, Your Grace, would you have me turn drunkard?” Millicent laughed. “’Tis no very great deal. I do not drink because when I am drunk I am far sillier than you could imagine.”

Shoffer put a horrified expression on his face and flinched away. “No. Say not so. You? Silly? I will not credit it.”

Millicent took a cigar out of the humidor on the nearest table and threw it at Shoffer. Another footman appeared instantly with a taper to apply light to the tobacco.

“The truth?” continued Millicent, with reluctant honesty since Shoffer appeared to be waiting for an answer. “I do not like to risk what I might say, what I might do when I am disgusted. I am fool enough sober, I find I do not like myself drunk.”

Shoffer puffed on the cigar and released a long stream of smoke. “You are your own best judge, North.”

Millicent felt the tension unclench in her stomach. That was the complete truth. She knew herself to be chatty, but the one and only time she had taken too much wine she had talked endlessly, telling secrets of much less consequence than the ones she currently held.

Several moments passed while Shoffer smoked and sipped. He studied the end of his cigar with interest far beyond that piece of burning leaves deserved while Millicent shifted in her chair uncomfortable with the silence. During the last few days there were more and more occasions when the duke was silent. Pensive. His preoccupation worried her, though she had no idea why or what she could do to ease him. In so many tales, the legends of the gods and demi gods of ancient times, the hero ventured off in company with a loyal companion to see what could be discovered. Once or twice while reading Millicent wondered why those companions had not gone and had adventures of their own. Now she knew. They could not bring themselves to be parted from their beloved heroes. Sitting so close to him and yet not able to touch was agony, but not one she was willing to surrender. Even as a young woman, or miracles, a wife, she would not have the same access to his time. He would be off with his friends, seeing to his business, and she would have a few minutes over meals before he escaped to his club. But as North she could travel in his shadow by day and by night, listening to his confidences and sharing his life the way no woman could.

And if he never knew of her love, no matter, she would have the daily blessing of seeing his face. Hearing his voice. She closed her eyes and commanded her tears not to fall. When she composed herself she leaned forward, catching his gaze.

“May I inquire, Shoffer? How long shall we hide here?”

“Are you impatient to return to the ballroom and your devoted audience, Mr. North?”