FINALLY, finally, finally, Romilla noticed her stepdaughters were near to collapsing in their chairs and let the girls head upstairs to wash and rest. On the way to the large floating staircase in the middle of the front hall, Gail and Evangeline passed their father’s library. Sir Geoffrey had dismissed his steward and was now speaking with his secretary (although who could tell, the two were practically interchangeable).
“No, no, no,” the girls heard their father say. “I will be damned if I attend one of Mrs. Brenton’s musicales. If they’re the same as three years ago, they’re a damned waste of time. I have no patience for such missish drivel, and neither do my daughters. I expect Romilla will want to choose from the other invitations on that day. Moving on to the twenty-sixth, I’ll be in Parliament…”
As they passed the door, Gail caught a whiff of her father’s cigar smoke, a scent that had seeped into everything that was Sir Geoffrey. Gail blinked back memories of being little and held by her father, inhaling deeply the sweet dark aroma that had settled into his shirts. Gail knew that long after her father was gone, the smell of cigars would stay in the leather of the library’s books, the solid maple desk, the carpets, and the curtains. It was a thought that made her smile, albeit a bit sadly.
“Sounds as if Father will have no trouble falling back into London life,” Evangeline remarked.
“He never has,” Gail replied.
“Are you glad to be home?” Evangeline asked, taking her sister’s arm affectionately.
“I’m glad that we are no longer on the road,” Gail said, laughing. “But it is difficult to call London home. We’ve spent less time here than we have in other cities.”
“Yes, but there we are the guests, the foreigners. There is something wholly relaxing about being a native.”
“I suppose you are right on that score. No language barriers here,” Gail mused.
“As if language was ever a barrier for you!” Evangeline laughed.
As the girls turned into the east wing, they were met by Mrs. Bibb, rushing down the hall with some mending in hand.
“Oh! Miss Evangeline, Miss Gail, you gave me such a start!” Mrs. Bibb proclaimed, hand to her breast. “But where are the two of you headin’ now?”
“We are very tired, Mrs. Bibb. We are going to wash and rest for a few hours,” Gail explained to the housekeeper.
“But, beggin’ your pardons, dears, you’re in the west wing, with the family rooms.”
“Mrs. Bibb, are you certain? I’m quite sure our rooms were in the east wing, in the…” Gail’s voice fell as she realized…
“The nursery, miss? La, you haven’t been in this house since you were out of the schoolroom, have you? Your rooms used to be in the east wing, but now that you’re not young girls anymore, you’ll be in the west wing with your parents.”
“Well.” Evangeline cleared her throat. “Yes, I suppose that does make sense. Gail?”
Gail, a bit thrown by her own wrong presumption, recovered well enough to reply, “Yes, of course. How silly of me, Mrs. Bibb. Could you show us the way?”
More than happy to oblige the young ladies, Mrs. Bibb led Evangeline and Gail to a pair of rooms in the west wing, across the hall from each other.
“They’re not connected?” Evangeline inquired.
“Well, miss, Lady Alton thought you would be wantin’ your privacy,” Mrs. Bibb mumbled as she twisted the mending garment in her hands.
“But we always…” Gail’s voice drifted off sadly. She couldn’t remember a time she and Evie had not been together. If they weren’t sharing a room, they at least had a connecting door so they could talk at all hours of the night.
But apparently, not anymore.
“Think of it this way, my dears,” Mrs. Bibb said, as she opened the door to the room on the left, ushering Evangeline inside, “you’ll be right across the hall from each other, not six feet away. Also, Lady Alton said you could each do up your rooms in any way you please. Seein’ as the front drawing room and a few other rooms are going to be done over as well, it’ll be no bother to have some new wallpaper or cushions in here.”
Evangeline’s room indeed wanted refurbishment. It must have been ten years at least since the walls had been covered in a pattern that alternated pink roses with pink stripes, and the color had faded in time to take on a hint of dingy gray. The linens were freshly cleaned, but dulled by time and disuse. Mrs. Bibb then crossed the hall and opened the door to Gail’s room, a mint green, which was equally in need of touching up. Still, Gail was a little peeved to have been so maneuvered.
“Why does she want to change everything?” she blurted to the faded walls.
“Oh now, Miss Gail, when a lady enters a house she intends to make her home, she needs to put her own stamp on it. That’s all her ladyship is trying to do.”
“But this is my mother’s house,” Gail replied, her voice cracking under its own exhaustion and despair.
Mrs. Bibb looked Gail up and down. “Now, dearie, I know it’s hard, but a house is a thing—a pile of bricks, nothing more. The only thing left in this world your mother can still lay claim to is the two of you. And she had right proper young ladies, ones who can weather any change that comes their way. Am I right?”
Gail nodded grudgingly and turned to her sister. Evangeline smiled bravely, determinedly putting a bright face on the situation.
“At least you got the view of the garden,” she said. “I look out on the road.”
Gail went to her sister’s window. “No, you have a view of the park, I look out onto our one tree behind the house.”
“We can switch if you like—” but Gail interrupted her.
“We wouldn’t want to deprive all your suitors of the opportunity to serenade you in the moonlight, or break their necks scaling the sheer face of the front of the house,” she grinned impishly.
Gail took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. Crossing back to her own room’s doorway, and smiling just as bravely at Evangeline, she said, “You know, my room could use some new colors. What do you think of a butter yellow?”
Evangeline smirked. “I think the color is quite becoming on you.”
Mrs. Bibb sagged in relief. Gail walked through her door and watched Evangeline enter hers across the way.
“We’re going to lie down for a spell, Mrs. Bibb,” Evangeline told the housekeeper.
“Yes miss, never you worry. You two have yourselves a good rest.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bibb,” the girls chorused, as they shut their doors.
“I’ll have you up by half past two, because Lady Alton wants you both in the drawing room come three to discuss plans for your coming out ball,” Mrs. Bibb said as she walked away.
As if on cue, two heads emerged from opposite sides of the hallway.
“What ball?”
“DO you have to snore through everything I say?”
The speaker kicked his subject a little less than gently with his heel, but all for naught. His faithful steed, Jupiter, who on any other day would have torn through Hyde Park like one of the mythical furies, simply would not move faster than a slug. Maximillian, Viscount Fontaine, and future Earl of Longsbowe, let out a frustrated roar, which of course did nothing to speed Jupiter’s step. Max dismounted and thought to pull the bloody horse along, but quickly discarded the idea. Knowing Jupiter’s disposition, which today was one step above that of a stubborn mule, he would simply dig in his hooves and stop moving altogether. So Max, bereft of other options, decided that this indeed was a lovely spot to stop for a rest and tethered the black beast to a nearby tree, where he could mope to his heart’s content.
A few minutes later, a tall, well-dressed gentleman riding atop a lively bay mare came galloping up to Max and Jupiter.
“Fontaine, what happened? The first time in my life I beat you in a race, I turn around to see you’re not running it.” Mr. William Holt dismounted as he addressed his friend.
“Sorry I couldn’t oblige your desire for a little sport, Holt, but Jupiter here had other plans.” Max looked daggers at Jupiter, who solemnly munched on a patch of clover.
“He didn’t wish to race?”
“That’s putting it mildly. He flatly refused.”
“But Jupiter’s a flier, if I’ve ever seen one! Is he injured? Or ill?” Will inquired, looking anxiously at his best friend’s mount.
Max snorted. “Hardly. Jupiter is simply lovesick. He fell madly for a mare at the stables where I was boarding him. But she was sold, and so he mopes. Won’t gallop, barely walks, and refuses cubes of sugar. It’s the damnedest thing I ever saw. I told him there are other females out there and that we’d find him a sweet-faced chestnut to moon over, but he refuses to listen.”
“But, Jupiter’s a gelding,” Will said questioningly. “He can’t—”
“Yes, yes.” Max frowned. “But I fear this has less to do with physical functions and more to do with—as disgusted as it makes me—affection.”
Will looked thoughtful. “Why don’t you buy the mare from its new owners?”
Max sighed, running his fingers through his midnight-black hair. “I don’t have the blunt for a new horse, you know that. Besides, it’s no use. The stable master’s son was the one who handled the sale. He’s barely fifteen and as green as they come. Doesn’t remember a thing about the man who purchased her, just that he paid cash and was a gentleman.”
“Well, that’s something! How many gentlemen do you know who actually pay their debts?” Will smiled good-naturedly.
Max harrumphed. Trust Will to see the hope in every situation, no matter how desperate, or in this case, how silly. He was one of those sunny people that never failed to brighten a room, could contribute intelligently to a conversation, and always seemed to enjoy himself.
It was highly annoying.
“Fontaine,” Will said, “you’re scowling. Don’t be so bloody dour! This is not something that requires the patented Longsbowe black humor. It’s springtime. No wonder Jupiter is in love. We all should be! ’Tis the season to appreciate lovely females of all species.”
Max’s eyebrow arched cynically. He knew his friend too well. “And have you chosen which fair young miss you plan on falling madly in love with this year?”
“Not yet,” Will grinned, “but there is no lack of choice.”
“For you perhaps. Sometimes I believe you are the far luckier to be born without a title or a father who demands heirs in a timely fashion.”
Will’s smile faded. “You received another letter?”
Max nodded. “You’re surprised? He’s sent them once a week since I went to school. Now the old codger insists I be married this year and start producing offspring by Christmas.”
Will sighed. “Do you know,” he drawled, “I do not envy the nobility. Now, now—I realize that as I am in trade, I am naturally beneath your set and therefore should fawn at your feet.” Max shot Will a sardonic look, who blithely continued on. “But I cannot. You have marriage forced upon you to continue your line—and therefore find it revolting, putting it off as long as possible. And forget love! That should only complicate matters. I, on the other hand, am free to fall in love as I please, whether she be pauper or princess. I look forward to falling in love every day.”
“And you do. Every day, with a new girl,” which was a statement to which Will could only agree.
Max raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated, letting Will’s speech roll over him.
“So, I’m hopeless.”
“Now, I didn’t say—”
“So I suppose I should have it over and done with,” Max determined. He untethered Jupiter from the tree, giving gentle tugs on the line to lead the recalcitrant horse back to its lonely public stables.
“Marriage? You’re joking.” Will laughed, meeting Max and Jupiter’s pace.
“No no! First my father, now you—I’m convinced. I should choose a wife—any relatively well-bred young lady would do,” Max said, shrugging off his friend’s disbelief and smothering a smile. “You should look into settling down as well.”
“Me?” Will squeaked, turning paler than marble, much to Max’s amusement.
“We are getting on in years, you know,” he intoned seriously.
“We are eight and twenty, if we’re a day, not exactly diseased and decrepit,” Will argued. “You’re funning me, I know it.”
Max’s eyes were suspiciously wide and innocent. “Not a minute ago, you accused me of being dour. How could I not be serious?”
“I know you, Fontaine,” Will said triumphantly. “As long as your father keeps haranguing you, you’ll keep defying him in the only ways you can. No chance you will ever consider marriage.” And with that, Will blithely nudged his bay mare into a canter, moving in front of his friend.
Although Max acknowledged Will’s statement as true, Max’s face still darkened, his thoughts focused on his father’s most recent, and most pressuring, letter. It was amazing how easily a man whom he hadn’t seen in years still managed to prick at his temper. Annoyed, Max pulled a little harder on Jupiter’s reins than necessary, and suddenly the horse ground to a halt. He pulled all the more fervently and was soon tugging with all his strength. With Will chortling from ahead, Max let out a frustrated yell, capturing the attention of no small number of other riders.
“I don’t know which of you is the more stubborn,” Will said, chuckling.
“He is!” Max barked, still pulling at Jupiter’s reins. “He refuses to believe there is nothing so foolhardy as love!”
GIVEN Mrs. Bibb’s informative parting words, rest was difficult to achieve for both Gail and Evangeline, but for entirely different reasons. Eventually, Gail was able to close her eyes and relax into the faded green counterpane, and when she and Evangeline emerged from their rooms at three, they were greeted by an enthusiastic Romilla, ready to tackle London society in earnest. She, and a bevy of footmen, had spent the last few hours productively. Romilla had sent notes to make appointments with modistes, milliners, jewelers, and old acquaintances. She, with Mrs. Bibb’s assistance, had begun interviewing the downstairs maids, to discern which would be most suitable to be trained as a ladies’ maid for Evangeline and Gail. She had also sent inquiries through Morrison to hire painters and handymen, to redo no less than five rooms that were not to her taste. When Romilla did something, she jumped in with both feet and did not look back.
So it was with her desire to throw a ball for Evangeline and Gail’s coming out. It would have to be a grand crush, surely, and with Sir Geoffrey’s political contacts, it could be the smash of the Season. She had already begun making lists of prospective dates and whom to invite and sketching cunning little invitation designs. The idea of having a ball thrown in her honor, to have to be the center of attention (along with her sister), made Gail rather queasy. Her own anxieties about being looked at all the time and having to be interesting and polite at a moment’s notice overtook any joy she would have in the project. But as nervous as the ball made Gail, it made Evangeline positively giddy. She had, of course, been reticent to begin with, but as Romilla spoke at length about the flowers and the courses, and oh, the gowns! Evangeline’s interest could not help but grow, and soon she found herself swept up in the excitement of it all. When Gail excused herself from the conversation, Evangeline was debating the merits of decorating the ballroom with very fashionable orange trees, while Romilla was extolling the virtues of lemon.
Whenever Gail found herself in a confused state of mind, she went to seek out the one person who in the past had been a comfort. Her father. Quietly crossing the main foyer, Gail knocked on the library door, and was bidden a gruff “Enter.”
She poked her head in, again hit with a wave of cigar-scented air, mixed with a springtime breeze, courtesy of an open window. The smell brought an easy smile to Gail’s face.
Sir Geoffrey stood at the window, cigar stub between his teeth. He turned to see his youngest child, and smiled.
“Ah my Gaily girl! Glad it’s you! Shut the door, shut the door. If Romilla caught me with this”—he wagged the cigar—“she’d string me up by my cravat.”
Gail narrowed her gaze as she approached her father. “Is that woman trying to make you stop?”
“Now Gail, don’t start. She’s being a wife, worrying about her husband and the like.”
Gail was immediately contrite. “I know Papa, it’s just…”
“What is it, my little girl? Whatever’s bothering you, you can tell your old father.”
“Well…I mean, she keeps calling me Abigail. No one calls me Abigail, why should she?”
“Now, now, that’s simply her way. But I think it would take a lot more than that to get you to this state, so you’d best tell me so I can go about making it right.”
“It’s just that…” Gail picked at the sleeves of her gown. “Romilla sees Evie as a perfect young lady, and Evie is so excited about being in town and throwing parties. And, well, look at me. Everything I am needs improvement.”
Sir Geoffrey wore a look of shock. “No! Never say so!” he said, gathering his girl into a bear hug. “There’s nothing the matter with you, dear, and well served will be those who realize it. Romilla just wants us to have the best of everything. And I will admit, I have some regret that I dragged you girls about the Continent. Our travels may not have been the best home I could have given you. If we’d stayed in one place, you could have made more friends, maybe had a beau or two. Evie might’ve been married off by now!”
“I loved our life!” Gail protested, pulling out of her father’s embrace.
“As did I! A new place every year! What did the French call it?”
“Une annee de nouvelle vie,” Gail spoke with easy fluency.
“A year of new life, exactly. But, my Gaily girl, what I would have given to have taught you how to swim in the lake at our house in Surrey. And what would you have given to have had a full stable of horses—ones you raised from colts? Eh?”
Gail had to smile at that thought. What joy a stable full of horses would have brought when she was a headstrong ten-year-old intent on jumping every fence she could find!
Sir Geoffrey placed the stub of his cigar on the windowsill.
“Now buck up, my girl! London’s ever so much fun! And this year, you get to enjoy it all.”
At this, Gail went visibly green. “I’m not certain I’m as happy to attend the Season as Romilla and Evangeline are. I just wish to survive it.”
But Sir Geoffrey simply waved this off. “Nonsense, just nerves, my dear. Now, I have a prospect to cheer you up.”
Gail’s face lit with curiosity. “What is it?”
Her father chuckled. “Patience, Gail, patience. You never could wait for your surprises. Be on the front steps tomorrow morning at seven o’clock.”
“Seven o’clock? That’s practically dawn! No one will be awake then.” Except Romilla, Gail thought, but she fervently hoped her surprise would exclude her stepmother.
“Gaily girl, seven o’clock is the perfect time for some fun.”
So, the next morning at exactly seven o’clock, Gail did exactly as she was told, and found herself on the front steps of Number Seven. She had been correct in her assessment that no other house would be awake at such an hour, as Berkeley Square was as quiet as a church on Saturday, and she did not notice any twitching of curtains from next door. Even her father did not await her on the steps. But Gail was most certainly not alone.
In front of the house was the most beautiful chestnut mare Gail had ever laid eyes on. She was roughly fifteen hands high, with white stockinged feet and a glossy brown coat that shone like sunbeams in the bright morning light.
A groom held her by the reins, and when Gail approached, he bowed and handed her a note in her father’s familiar hand.
Gaily Girl,
I knew you’d be itching for some exercise, so I wrote ahead to my steward last week and had him pick out the most beautiful and spirited mount for you this Season. I think he made a wise decision. Her name is QueenBee, and she is yours. I thought you’d like some time to become acquainted before the rest of the world rides out for fashion, hence the early hour. (I thankfully remain abed, for who in their right mind would be awake at this time?)
So hurry up and get changed, my girl! I’ll see you at tea—not before half past ten, please.
Love, Papa
“SHE’S really all mine?” Gail asked in a whisper, venturing a hand to stroke QueenBee’s nose. She had never owned a horse before; their mounts were always let and sadly returned.
“Why, yes, miss,” replied the befuddled groom. “Who else’s could she be?” QueenBee nuzzled her hand, causing Gail to giggle through her awestruck adoration. So intent was she on QueenBee’s shiny coat and steady gaze, she did not hear the groom’s next question until he asked it a second time.
“Pardon me, miss, but will ye be wantin’ to ride this mornin’?”
“What? Oh yes! I must change. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be down in a trice!”
Gail ran up the steps into Number Seven, forgetting to even shut the door behind her. But it was of no consequence, as she was back down again faster than a jackrabbit, now wearing a deep green velvet riding habit and matching leather gloves. She carried an old, wide-brimmed leather hat in one hand, her riding crop in the other. Then, with childlike glee and perfect horsemanship, Gail was seated into QueenBee’s ready saddle.
The groom could only gape. Gail grinned in delight, for never had a horse and rider taken so quickly to each other. They were five-minute friends, and already they moved and looked as one.
“Are you riding with me?” Gail asked the groom, who quickly shut his slackened jaw, and reached for his own mount nearby.
“ALL right, Jupiter, yesterday was unpleasant, but today we have the whole park to ourselves.”
Max addressed his sulking horse as they entered the gates to the park, biting off a yawn. Here he was, up at an ungodly hour of the morning, after Holt dragged him to the Norrichs’ card party last night, all because of his horse. His silly, lovesick horse.
Max had spoken to Mr. Wyatt, the stable master, and was told that, although Jupiter was in the best of health, he was uncommonly mournful. Wyatt thought Jupiter might pick up a bit if he were given free reign to run without large crowds about. Eager to get Jupiter out of his current disposition, Max found himself at the park hours before anyone else would think to be there.
It was a lovely morning—cool and crisp, the sharp sun melting the dew off the grass. It was a day to be outdoors, and Max almost felt sorry for those that weren’t. Almost, for his head still ached a bit from partaking of the Norrichs’ fine selection from their personal cellar.
Max shook the cobwebs from his brain, kicked his heels into Jupiter’s flanks, and set forward at a brisk trot. Happily, Jupiter was improved this morning, and he took to the winding paths of Hyde Park with great aplomb.
“There. You see, Jupiter? Nothing in this world a good solitary ride can’t make right.”
Max was rather pleased with himself. Smiling, he and Jupiter reached an open field near a lake, and both horse and rider were more than ready for a full-out gallop. With another judicious kick, they set out across the expanse of green lawn, breathing in the beauty of the morning and the exhilaration of the ride. They were a magnificent pair, Max tall and strong, his body’s rhythm flowing from horse to rider. Jupiter’s midnight black hair matched that of his master, both shining in the sun from their exertions. After a good number of minutes, Max brought Jupiter to a trot again. Both horse and rider happier for their exercise, Max turned his mount to start across the lawn and toward the winding paths that led to the tall wrought iron gates of the park. He checked his pocket watch. It was a quarter to eight.
EVERYTHING was perfect. A beautiful morning, an empty park, and a wonderful horse that was all her own. As Gail wound through the wooded paths, QueenBee responded perfectly to her slightest touch. The groom was keeping a respectful distance, about twenty feet behind, giving Gail enough room to enjoy a sense of solitude. Jimmy’s mount was older, slower, and so they walked at a meandering pace for several minutes before both Gail and QueenBee were itching for a good run.
“Jimmy, is there a field, or an open space nearby where we may gallop?”
“Well, er, yes, miss, right up here through these trees,” the groom pointed. “But,” he stuttered, “don’t you want to wait a bit before gallopin’? Your horse being a new mount an’ all?”
But Gail had already taken off in the direction Jimmy had indicated, leaving the befuddled groom and his lackadaisical mount in her dust.
She came up to the field, a great expanse of green about a mile square, sloping into a valley and edged by great maple trees on three sides, a lake on the other. Gail raised her hand to the brim of her weathered hat, shading her eyes. She beamed, taking in the view of the sun dappling on the water, and addressed her horse.
“Isn’t it magnificent? Are you ready for a run?”
But QueenBee was not ready for a gallop. She had suddenly become very nervous, very skittish. For QueenBee had spotted something Gail had not. Across the field was a horse and rider, bearing down with all possible speed, and headed directly for them.
JUPITER whinnied, his upper lip curled back, and began to dance.
“What is it, now?” Max dropped his watch, trying to control his horse, but found himself barely able to keep his seat.
“Jupiter, calm down! Steady, boy! Steady…whoa!”
Jupiter took off at full gallop across the field. All Max could do was hold on for dear life. He tried to see what in God’s name had spooked his horse, but the sun’s reflection off the nearby lake blurred his vision. Suddenly, he saw her.
The young lady and her horse had just emerged from the clump of trees that shaded one of the park’s many idyllic wooded paths. Her horse had seen Jupiter charging full speed ahead, but the lady had not. The lake to one side held her attention. Max pulled and pulled on Jupiter’s reins, and Max thought he heard a snap. But Jupiter would not be deterred from his course, in fact, running all the faster. So Max did the only thing he could. He yelled.
“Move! Move out of the way!”
The girl started, and finally saw Max riding as if the devil was on his tail, not fifty feet away from her. A second passed, but then she flicked her reins and brought the mare around. She took off at a gallop, headed toward the water. Jupiter, the stubborn mule that he was, veered to follow the girl.
The white-footed mare was fast, but Jupiter was faster. He caught up with the girl too easily, and was soon keeping pace alongside them.
“Damn you, you stupid horse, stop!” Max yelled, but Jupiter had long since established that he wasn’t listening.
“What’s wrong with you, you idiot!” yelled the girl. “Pull up on the reins!”
Max, glowering, yelled back, “If you haven’t noticed, I am pulling up on the reins!”
The girl looked over at Max with an expression of utter annoyance, as if he were a simpleton of the first order. Then she narrowed the space between them and reached out, grabbing the reins from Max’s hands. Before he could protest, she followed the reins up to Jupiter’s bridle, and pulled him toward her. Jupiter swung around to an abrupt halt, the girl’s mare ground to a halt to avoid running into Jupiter, and both riders were thrown off their mounts.
Into each other.
And into the lake.