The Ransom (12 page)

Back inside the house, barefooted mulattos wove expertly through a crowd that barely noticed their presence—until a tray of drinks or pastries was held before their noses.

“Have you seen Lord Munthrope?” She stopped Sir Branwell to ask.

“Nay, my dear. Not since I arrived. But if you are looking for a dance partner?” His bloodshot eyes sparkled with interest.

She declined and hurried along. Another lady had just seen him in the billiards room, but when Juliana arrived, he was gone. A gentleman told her he was upstairs in the library regaling a crowd with his tales at court as a young man. But he was not there.

“Oh, fie!” She huffed as she stood on the upstairs landing and gazed down into the parlor on one side and the ballroom on the other. Heat flooded her as her anger inflamed. How dare the man throw a betrothal celebration and then ignore the woman he planned to betroth!

A familiar face drew her gaze to Captain Nichols in the parlor below, drink in hand, conversing with one of his naval officers. Why in the blazes would Lord Munthrope invite him when the very purpose of their courtship was to keep him at bay? He lifted his eyes just then and saw her looking at him. She glanced away, seeking her friends.

She found them in the ballroom. Lady Anne, Miss Margaret, and Miss Ashton were flirting with a group of gentlemen, who seemed more than happy to indulge their whimsical silliness for a chance to dance—or mayhap
more
as the night progressed. She started down the grand staircase, intending to ask them whether they’d seen Munthrope, when the man himself paraded into the parlor, a horde of admirers fluttering about him like pesky summer gnats. Indeed, he captured everyone’s attention with his cocky gait and beribboned arms waving through the air he lavished an exorbitant tale on all within earshot.

“Oh, Munny, you are too much, too much I say!” one man cackled, holding his corpulent belly as Juliana descended the rest of the steps then forced her way through the crowd to stand before the pompous oaf.

“Ah, Miss Juliana. You are the vision of Helen of Troy, bringing gentlemen everywhere such joy. Why then must you be so coy?” His impromptu ballad sent the crowd into fits of laughter as he urged on their praise with one hand pressed to his bosom and the other wiping a feigned tear from his eye. From the tips of his red-heeled shoes to the top of his curled and pearled periwig, he was all silk and lace and gold embroidery. Juliana found disgust joining the anger in her belly. She merely stared at him, her face a mask of controlled civility, until his eyes met hers once again. They were so blue, like the color of the deep sea, and for a moment a flicker of intensity spanned their depths. Then it was gone, replaced by a languid haze.

He pressed a finger to a fake mole glued onto the white paste covering his face. “I perceive Miss Juliana is not pleased with me. La, what to do?” The mob surrounding them laughed.

“Alack, can a woman ever be truly pleased?” one man said.

“Indeed, my friend. I believe ships have been sunk, mountains climbed, rivers forged, and wars fought and lost over that very question!” Munthrope announced with a flourish.

When the laughter faded, Juliana did her best to control the fury stiffening every muscle and nerve. “May I have a moment of your time, your lordship?” She gave a tight smile.

“Do not steal him from us, Miss Juliana,” one elderly lady begged. “The festivities would be so droll without him.”

“I only need a moment, madam, and he shall be yours for the rest of the night.” The rest of eternity, if Juliana had her way.

The portly woman fluttered her fan about her pasty white face and grinned. “Oh dear, do not tease me so.”

Munthrope opened his mouth to utter some witty response, when the ground trembled. At first a violent jolt struck, and then it seemed the very floor melted beneath Juliana’s feet. The chandelier above them swayed, scattering light and dark over the room. Somewhere glass shattered.

Lord Munthrope clutched her arm. Not a fearful grip but one meant to calm and steady her. A strong grip with a look of concern to match in his eyes. The quaking stopped. The orchestra faded into a discordant tune.

The crowd silenced around them, save for gasps and murmurs.

“My word,” a lady panted out. “’Twas an earthquake.”

“A small one,” Munthrope assured.

“We get them all the time,” Lord Gilfoil addressed the entire room. “A little shaking here, a little there. ’Tis nothing to concern ourselves with.”

“Concern? Bah! I arranged it for our entertainment,” Munthrope added. “I spare no expense for my guests!” This brought smiles from the crowd as he gestured for the orchestra to begin again. Soon, the room filled with idle chatter and music once more.

Juliana dragged him from his sycophants. “I must speak to you, milord. ’Tis urgent.”

Munthrope extended his arm and placed her hand upon it, all the while nodding and smiling at the guests vying for his attention. “Can it not wait, my sweet?” His smile was forced.

“I am not your sweet, and nay, it cannot.” Juliana seethed as he led her beneath the stairs to a private space.

He turned to face her. His right brow rose, lifting the silly horse patch he always placed above it. “If ’tis regarding my tardiness, I am deeply ashamed and beg your forgiveness, but it couldn’t be he—”

“Though I admit to being angry regarding your ill-manners,” Julianna interrupted, waving a hand through the air, “I have not given it another thought, milord. I must speak to you about your upcoming announcement.”

Two gentlemen approached, both well into their cups. One of them slapped Munthrope on the back. “Munny, there you are. Do regale my friend here with your tale of the Fishmongers Tavern,” he slurred. “The one where the crab crawled off the dinner plate and down a lady’s bodice!” This caused the two slosh-numbed men to bend over in laughter.

Juliana frowned and tugged on one of Munthrope’s massive silk sleeves. “I beg you, milord?”

“La, if you insist.” He fingered a lock of his periwig and bent to whisper in her ear. “Behind the gardenia bush, there is a bench. Meet me there in five minutes.”

Juliana thought it an odd place to meet, but she didn’t have time to agree before Munthrope began to entertain the two men with the ridiculous story.

Clutching her skirts, she made her way to the veranda, ignoring the calls from acquaintances to come join them, as well as the desiring glances of more than one gentleman. A blast of heat swamped her as she stepped outside to a cloudy sky that hid the moon and stars. Neither the sweltering temperature nor the humidity kept the guests from flitting through the courtyard, filling their cups in the fountain and squawking like a flock of ducks over a fresh pond. They rather resembled ducks now that she looked at them, waddling to and fro, flapping their mouths and wings in an effort to gain attention. Despite her anger toward Munthrope, she chuckled at the image as she searched for the gardenia bush. There it was. Turning sideways to squeeze her hooped skirts behind the shrubbery, she slid onto the stone bench and drew in the sweet smell of the creamy flowers.

A minute passed, then two, then what must surely be five. And more. Several couples, fairly drooling over each other, happened upon her secret spot seeking privacy. But then upon seeing her, dashed away. A horde of mosquitos nibbled on her neck no matter how many times she swatted at them. The ducks stopped quacking, and she peered through the leaves to see people abandoning the courtyard to enter the house again. Odd. Why would they all leave at once?

Then she heard his voice, that insufferable dandy, Munthrope, his tenor high, his tone emphatic, his lilt entertaining. Why was he relaying yet another ludicrous tale to his guests when he’d promised to meet her? Blood boiling, she eased from behind the bush and marched across the courtyard, when a few of his words pricked her ears to alert. Words such as “grand event” and “announcement”. The buffoon was going ahead without her! Clutching her skirts, she plowed into the mob that filled the veranda, shoving people aside, ignoring their oaths and protests, and burst into the front parlor to find His Lordship standing atop the landing as if he were king looking down on his subjects.

“I am thrilled to announce that Miss Juliana Dutton has accepted my suit!” the man bellowed, causing a stir of whispers and shrill of excited voices.

No!
Perspiration moistening her neck, Juliana forged through the swarm of people, who now willingly parted for her, and started up the grand stairs, feeling all eyes upon her.

“Ah, there my sweetness comes!” Lord Munthrope extended a lace-veiled hand and perfected a gallant bow. Then gazing over the crowd, he added. “I dare say, the woman will be late for her own wedding!”

Laugher bounced among the guests as Juliana’s fists and teeth clenched harder with every stomp she made up the steps. She stopped before him, barely able to contain her fury.

“To Munny and Miss Juliana!” one man shouted with a lift of his drink.

“Here, here!”

“Huzzah! To Juliana and His Lordship!” another man proclaimed, and soon the entire room was aflame with shouts of congratulations. Only a few of the women remained sullen, obviously none too pleased at losing a chance to catch the wealthy son of an Earl.

Fie, they could have him, for all she cared!
Their jealous eyes pierced her as she attempted to get Munthrope’s attention. He smiled at her now, the gray flecks in his eyes twinkling in mischief. Had he purposed to announce their betrothal without her? Did he know she’d intended to cancel their bargain?

“Milord, a word please?” Without awaiting an answer, she took his arm and dragged him to the side while the crowd below them continued to buzz with the news.

“My intention was to call off your announcement,” she whispered intently. “If you had given me but a moment of your time, we could have avoided this unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness?” His painted brows rose, incredulous. “Cancel, you say?” Pain glazed his eyes, though she was surely mistaken. “Beshrew me, milady, you do not intend to shame me in front of my friends?” He glanced around at his fickle acquaintances, though she saw no fear in his eyes. “And make me a laughingstock?”

She wouldn’t tell him that he’d already achieved that on his own.

“Begad, I did you a favor, milady. Did you see Captain Nichols’s face when I proclaimed our courtship?”

“How could I? I was sitting behind a bush in the garden!”

One side of his lips quirked. “Ah yes, I cry pardon, my sweet. I intended to join you.”

“After you declared our bargain to all, I wager?”

Lord Munthrope gave her a listless look. “Our bargain would be impotent without an audience.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, she took in the crowd again, most of whom had already returned to their revelry, stealing glances at the stairs. From beneath his curled wig, Captain Nichols leveled a gaze at her akin to two cannons ready to fire. Indeed, the man seemed well out of sorts.

“Our plan was to keep the good captain at bay, was it not?” When she didn’t answer, Munthrope continued, raising a gloved hand in the air and admiring the rubies inlaid in the silk. “How now? Have we not achieved our goal? Do say you won’t destroy our plans by announcing me a fool to everyone here.”

A wave of his rose-cinnamon cologne engulfed her and she turned to face him. For his ill-treatment of her that evening, he more than deserved to be made a fool, yet something in his eyes—a genuine yearning, a desperation—softened her anger. Though she didn’t need further complication in her life, mayhap their bargain would work to her benefit. If Captain Nichols let her be, that was. Besides, ’twas possible God wanted her to help this overstuffed princock. He’d said their courtship would aid him with his overbearing father, did he not? Surely her sacrifice on his behalf would please God. And she needed God’s favor now more than ever.

“You have my word, milady, I will intrude on neither your kindness nor your life. Then after time has passed and Captain Darling has moved on, I will allow you to bow out of any obligation to me, and hence reserve your dignity.” He adjusted the emerald pin adorning his fleecy cravat.

Juliana could understand why people hung on this man’s every word. Despite his extravagant attire, grandiose ways, and outrageous tales, there was an excitement that hovered about him, a charm that lured, and an authority that made you want to trust him. And for the moment, Juliana had no choice but to do just that.

“Very well, milord.”

“I am your servant, milady.” He winked and gave a flourishing bow.

Before Juliana could react, Munthrope threaded her hand through his billowing silk-laden arm and was triumphantly escorting her down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, the revelers swarmed them: men dragging Munthrope off for a drink and the ladies hovering around Juliana offering their approval of the courtship. She soon found herself in a circle dominated by Lady Ann, Miss Margaret, and Miss Ashton, who were all abuzz with excitement over the news.

“You scamp! Why didn’t you tell us about Lord Munthrope?” Lady Anne chastised.

Margaret slapped her with her fan. “The last time we saw you, you behaved as if you couldn’t stand the sight of him.”

“And all this time, hiding it from your best friends.” Miss Ashton sighed and glanced forlornly in the direction Munthrope had gone.