Springtime Pleasures (11 page)

Lady Isabella’s head whipped around and she stared at Charlie with rounded eyes. “Miss Stanton!” she exclaimed.

“It will be vastly entertaining; you take my word for it.” Charlie nodded sagely.

The corners of Lady Isabella’s mouth quivered before she collapsed in a fit of giggles—much to Charlie’s delight.

“Miss Stanton, you are incorrigible.”

“Unbeatable,” Charlie corrected.

“Because you get your blow in first.”

“Exactly. Just like we will now.—But hush, here we are.” She pushed the chair into the salon that acted as card room for the duration of the ball. “Where now is our pretty lambkin?” she muttered, surveying the room. “Oh la, there is my uncle. I had completely forgotten about
him
. Drat!” She frowned.

Lady Isabella turned around, her face anxious. “Then perhaps we ought not do it? Surely we must regard the presence of your uncle as a sign.”

Chewing on her lower lip, Charlie pondered the problem. She did not want to give up their mission, but Uncle Dolmore might prevent them from joining the right card table. On the other hand…

A satisfied smile curved her lips. “Indeed, we must regard it as a sign—to proceed as planned.”

“But—”

“Shh. You just play along and all will be fine.” Charlie pushed the chair forward. “I’m sure of it.”

Lady Isabella heaved another of those deep sighs and put her hands in her lap. “If you say so.”

An uncle, Charlie reckoned, could not be more difficult to deal with than the Bestial Boar or a gruff highwayman. Thus, refusing to be daunted, she pushed on the chair until she reached the table where her uncle sat and smoked. “Uncle Dolmore!” she hailed him, her face wreathed in smiles. “What a truly
fortuitous
accident to find you
here
! Indeed, it is most
splendid
!”

Surprised, he looked up, an expression of confusion flickering across his face as he caught sight of Charlie. “My dear child, what–”

“Am I doing here?” Charlie intensified her smile, while she silently cursed her inability to flutter her lashes in a proper, endearing fashion. Emma-Lee would have been so much better for this than she. For one thing, Em was shorter and more… more feminine. For another, she had
dimples
.

With an inward sigh, Charlie prodded on. “Would you believe, sir, that Lady Isabella—this is Lady Isabella, have you met?—that my dear friend has never
once
in her life played commerce? Isn’t it the most
shocking
thing you have ever heard? I mean,
never
! I was most shocked.” She shook her head. “And saddened. Yes,
saddened
. ‘My dear Lady Isabella,’ I said to her, didn’t I? ‘You simply can
not
go on another day without having played commerce. It won’t do.’” She gave her friend a discreet nudge with her elbow.

“Oh yes,” said Lady Isabella dutifully. “That’s what you said. And I was most… eh… grateful. Yes, I was…
am
,” she corrected herself hastily, casting an apologetic glance up at Charlie.

Charlie nodded emphatically.

An indulgent smile spread across Uncle Dolmore’s face. “This is most kind of you, my child,” he told Charlie. “But you are aware of the dangers of the card table, are you not? I feel that someone as young as you—”

“Oh sir, I would never do anything as shocking as to play for high stakes and incur
debts
, I assure you!”

An elderly lady making up the party of four at Uncle Dolmore’s table, tittered. “An unusual sight, two young fillies at a card table during a ball.”

A spur of anger loosened the guard on Charlie’s tongue. “Well, I say, imagine sitting in a wheeling chair and only being able to
watch
the dancers, while having to endure comments from oafish gentlemen who haven’t had a bright thought in their lives! Wouldn’t you be bored out of your mind, too?” she said acerbically. When the lady’s pencilled brows shot up, Charlie took a deep breath and gentled her tone. “So here we are,” she added in her most cheerful tones.

Leaning forward, Lady Isabella added confidentially, “The truth is, I was ready to
hit
those… eh… oafs. If you could have heard them!” With a dramatic sigh she let herself fall back. She was clearly entering into the spirit of their game. “You would have been shocked at their… uhm… ungentlemanliness! It was only thanks to dear Miss Stanton’s intervention that I didn’t cause the… eh… most
frightful
scandal. Yes, indeed.” She nodded emphatically, as if to assure herself of the truth of her statement.

The elderly lady’s expression had turned decidedly misty during Lady Isabella’s speech. “My poor child.” She blinked a few tears away. “How I admire your fortitude.”

A flare of colour appeared on Lady Isabella’s cheeks. “Oh… I…”

“So we
thought
,” Charlie quickly cut in, “that coming into the card room would be less fraught with danger. And then there is that matter with commerce, of course. And we thought it would be quite proper if we sought out an acquaintance of Lady Isabella’s cousin, a Mr… uh… Whitstock, wasn’t it?”

“Whitstock.” Lady Isabella nodded.

“Young Whitstock?” The elderly lady, who now seemed to be determined to take the girls under her wings, knitted her brows. “He is a gambler, that one!”

“Oh, but—”

Fluttering her lashes, Lady Isabella interrupted Charlie. “But wouldn’t he be
kind
to two young ladies?”

Charlie was impressed. Not only were those flutters masterly done, but the intonation was also suitably breathless.

“We-hell…” The elderly lady heaved herself up. “I will make sure that he will. No, no, you remain seated, gentlemen. I will take care of these two lambs and will see to it that there is none of that oafish behaviour in here.” She wagged her finger at the other elderly lady sitting at the table. “Mrs Hall, I count on you to make sure that nobody will take a peek at my cards,
or
start another game without me. Not that I would ever dream that any of the gentlemen present would ever do such a thing—you are, after all, of the old school, not like those foppish youngsters.” With those words, she marched on to find Mr Whitstock.

“I say, that went very well,” Charlie whispered to Lady Isabella as she pushed the wheeling chair after the helpful lady. “You were truly splendid.”

The other girl shot her a blushing glance, accompanied by a shy smile. “Would it be very wicked of me to admit that–” The blush deepened. “—that I
enjoyed
myself?”

Delighted by this admission, Charlie grinned. “Oh no, not wicked at all. It’s the spirit of St. Cuthbert’s, you see.”

They caught up with their guide, who had led them across the room to a table where a group of young gentlemen lounged in their seats. Charlie surveyed them critically. So one of
those
was the fabled Mr Whitstock, owner of the most splendid phaeton in all of London. She only hoped that he didn’t turn out to be the chap who wore his hair combed up in a tuft on top of his head. His canary yellow waistcoat coupled with the violently purple jacket and the—good Lord!—cardinal red monstrosity of a cravat would spell horrors for the lovely phaeton. For no doubt, that man drove about in a vehicle painted in the most fantastic colours. Perhaps he dyed even his horses! That, Charlie knew, was not unheard of in London. Only the other day she had caught a glimpse of a green gentleman with a green poodle in the streets.

The helpful lady cleared her throat. “Gentlemen…”

One of the men looked up. “Lady Hazell,” he said surprised, and then they all scrambled to their feet and hastened to sketch a bow.

“Are you quite finished with this game, then?” she asked.

“Well, no, my lady,” Mr Canary Waistcoat trilled in a strange, nasal sing-song that made Charlie’s brows shoot up. “We’ve only just begun this rubber—”

“Excellent! Then you can all take your fish back—” Lady Hazell indicated the small pieces of ivory that lay piled up in a smallish heap in the middle of the table. “— and you, Mr Darling, can go and fetch some ratafia for the young ladies.” She cast a look at his cards. “You should rejoice—you have the most atrocious hand here.” While he still gaped at her like a stranded carp, she shooed him away. “Go, man, go! Ratafia!”

Aha! So Mr Canary Waistcoat wasn’t Mr Whitstock after all. Now
that
was a relief, indeed!

Lady Hazell addressed the remaining three men, “These two young ladies wish to play commerce–”

“Oh, it’ll only be me,” Charlie hastily interrupted. “Dear Lady Isabella means to watch—and to learn.”

“Oh yes,” Lady Isabella said and gave the men a brilliant smile.

“Very well,” Lady Hazell continued. “Mr Whitstock, I believe that Lady Isabella is the cousin of one of your acquaintances–”

“Dear George,” Lady Isabella sighed. “Mr George Fenton Cole, that is.”

“Yes, Mr Cole, who, I trust would wish you to look well after his fair cousin.”

As if transfixed, the men stared at the girl in the wheeling chair.

“Eh…” one said.

“Should I…” another began.

Charlie gritted her teeth. She could have hit them, especially when she saw delicate colour suffusing Lady Isabella’s cheeks. No doubt, the poor girl was embarrassed by this new display of oafishness.

“So,” Lady Hazell continued, ignoring the interruptions, “my girls, these are Sir Ross, Mr Gregory, and Mr Whitstock, as you know. And these are Lady Isabella and…” She gave Charlie an enquiring look.

“Miss Stanton,” Charlie promptly supplied.

“Miss Stanton.”

The man whom Lady Hazell had indicated as Mr Whitstock cleared his throat. “Pleasure,” eh said and sketched a bow.

His friends followed suit, mumbling something unintelligible.

“Oh, the pleasure is all ours, I assure you,” Charlie said sweetly while she did a quick curtsy.

These preliminaries done with, Lady Hazell seemed satisfied, and thus, after patting Lady Isabella’s arm, she sailed back to her own table.

Charlie gave the men her best smile. “Shall we start?” She surveyed the table in front of her. “But first of all, we need a new deck of cards. And more fish.” As Mr Gregory opened his mouth—no doubt to tell her that one didn’t play for high stakes at a ball—, Charlie arched her brows. “Or are you gentlemen making a habit of playing for measly pin money?”

In the end, it was all much easier than Charlie could have dreamt of—probably because the gentlemen of London were, in general, unacquainted with the spirit of St. Cuthbert’s. Lady Isabella played the charming, simpering dunderhead to perfection, fainting from sheer excitement at the sight of the clean, sealed deck of cards that a footman brought on a silver platter, and almost knocking Sir Ross’s glass over in the process. The ensuing confusion gave Charlie ample time to switch the new deck, which had inexplicable fallen to the floor, with the deck in her reticule. Lady Isabella allowed herself to be revived by a bottle of smelling salts somebody from the next table was so obliging to provide. She then proceeded to ahh and ohh over each new card that was put on the table, while Charlie proceeded to fleece her fellow players. It was a subtle, yet very thorough fleecing to make sure that she could prick Mr Whitstock’s manly honour to set the use of his phaeton for one day against all her previous winnings. Hedged on by his friends, Mr Whitstock finally allowed himself to be persuaded to place the bid—and lost.

Naturally.

“Lud, how exciting!” Lady Isabella beamed. “And how much
money
have we won?”

Woodenly, Sir Ross named a rather large sum.

She clutched her bosom. “I believe I shall swoon. Truly, my heart is already
palpitating
—”

“Oh dear,” Charlie said and stood hastily. “It seems our little game has overtaxed poor Lady Isabella. I
must
beg your pardon, gentlemen. Her mother most ardently entreated me not to overtire her daughter. It would be a keen pang indeed if I would disappoint her trust. So…” She gave them a benign smile. “It was such a pleasure to play with you.”

“I am sure of it,” Mr Gregory muttered darkly.

Mr Whitstock nudged his friend with his elbow, then enquired whether Charlie wanted the drafts due to her immediately. She condescended to receive them now and stowed the slips of paper in her reticule.

“Gentlemen…” With a smile and a bow of her head, she took her leave and wheeled Lady Isabella, who was already sighing and shaking with the onset of strong palpitations, from the table. Once they were safely out of earshot, the “poor afflicted girl” succumbed to a fit of the giggles. “Lud!” she finally gasped, wiping her eyes. “I believe I’ve never had that much fun in all my life.”

Chapter 7

in which our heroine collects her winnings

& kidnaps a viscount

Miss Carlotta Stanton to Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin, by Two-penny Post

My dear Emma-Lee,

that beau of yours sounds truly
aggravating
. How you have so far abstained from shooting That Man is beyond me. I do not think Miss P. w’d consider a man with a Curious Habit such as producing Bubbling Sounds very proper. How can any man think it
handsome
to cultivate such a habit, I ask you? This just goes to show that men are Strange Creatures. Still, I
feel
for you. – As I have assured you previously, there was no reason for you to overfret yourself on my account. Everything went
swimmingly
at Lady T.’s ball once I had initiated Lady I. into the Proper Spirit of St. Cuthbert’s. I must say, she put on a dashing good show—& she can flutter her eyelashes in the most enviable way. She was so overcome by emotion by our little adventure that she insisted we proceed to the Intimacy of calling each other by our Christian names. I c’sider this a great Honour. It is most
gratifying
to know that I have finally made a True Friend in this city. Don’t you sometimes miss dear, old St. Cuthbert’s?—As you can see, everything is coming along famously. It is to be hoped that we can soon cure Lord Ch. of his Sad Melancholia.

Your loving friend,

Ch. Stanton

~*~

Miss Emma-Louise Brockwin to Miss Carlotta Stanton, by Two-penny Post