| |
The First Engagement
Qui n’avance pas, recule
[“Who does not advance, recedes.]
—A French Proverb
––––––––
Lady Mimolette Lindsey scrutinized the two cavalry officers accompanying Reggie Ramsbottom striding across the now cleared ballroom dance floor. The last set had finished, and dancers were retiring to the refreshment tables liberally placed around the ballroom and throughout the mansion and gardens.
The trio obviously sought introductions and a dance. She’d been watching the hussar-clad men since they entered the ballroom. Though there were scores of impressively uniformed officers in red and dark blue attending the Cosingwell’s celebration, these men stood out. They wore blue coats and trousers with silver cording across the chest, red collars and cuffs, and yards of silver lace. Their fur-lined pelisses hung jauntily from their left shoulders, making them appear larger than life. The whole ensemble spoke of romance and daring. The one mustachioed officer radiated a dramatic energy worth watching. She’d caught him studying her periodically.
Letty, as her family called her, prepared herself mentally to deal with the men. She knew Reggie all too well, rich, and easily managed. The tall officer appeared a reluctant participant, but his swaggering companion? On first sighting him entering the ballroom with his gleaming smile under a jaunty mustache, her impression had been one word, pirate. Now, she decided she must be careful. He sauntered towards her like a pirate cruising the sea for victims.
Reggie stopped before her and bowed. “Lady Mimolette, uh, well met.”
Letty nodded, saying. “You are looking well, Mr. Ramsbottom. Enjoying the celebration?” She always had a difficult time not snickering when saying his name.
Reggie’s head bobbled a nod. “You appear radiant as always, Lady Mimolette.” Turning to the two cavalrymen, his voice quivered. “Uh, Lady Mimolette, allow me introduce Lord Major Tremaine and Captain Whitebread, newly returned from France.”
“Gentlemen.” She gave a regal nod, not rising from her chair.
Reggie said, “Gentlemen, the Lady Mimolette, eldest daughter to the late Earl of Bathmorris.”
Both officers bowed, and Reggie cleared his throat. “Well, I will take my leave—”
A muscular arm seized Reggie’s, Lord Tremaine saying, “Reggie, introduce us to Lady Mimolette’s sisters.” Letty raised an eyebrow at Lord Tremaine’s wicked smile thrown her way. As the eldest sister, everyone expected her to do the honors.
Flustered, Mr. Ramsbottom looked between the Major and Letty, but then exhaled heavily and introduced them as Lady Treccia and Lady Ovolina. The ladies stood and curtsied, and the officers bowed. The major appeared to hold Mr. Ramsbottom’s arm in an iron grip and looked expectantly at Letty. What was he about? Then she realized he’d decided to participate in their game. She took the hint.
“Mr. Ramsbottom, have you forgotten that you offered to dance with Miss Waffleton.”
“I, I did?”
“Why yes, at the Goodings’ ball last week. The country dances had ended, and Miss Waffleton didn’t Waltz, so you gave her your proffer to dance when next you met.”
Frowning hard, obviously doubting Letty’s memory, Reggie was about to disagree, when Lord Tremaine shook Reggie’s arm. “Come, man, you know how forgetful you are.” He turned to the ladies. “At Oxford, he was constantly forgetting he had classes.”
“Wot? You corker. You did too.”
“It wasn’t forgetfulness, Reggie, I just didn’t want to go to class.” He grinned his buccaneer grin and looked expectantly at Reggie.
He squinted hard at the major, then looked at the waiting ladies. “Well, yes, I suppose.” He faced Miss Waffleton, resignation on his brow. “If you are free for the next set?”
Miss Waffleton, a small, round blonde, nodded agreement.
Lord Tremaine turned to Letty, and she held her breath. “I understand you don’t dance, Lady Mimolette, but perhaps your sisters do?”
“I, no.” He’d stolen her stroke, to use the croquet term, and her ability to choose the ones they’d dance with. “Uh, yes.” She turned in her chair and waved a hand at two women who, regrettably, did not share her rare looks.
Taking in the whole gathering of twelve ladies sitting around Lady Mimolette, the Major said to her sisters, “Ladies, both Captain Whitebread and I would enjoy a dance. Lady Treccia, what dances do you prefer?”
So taken back by this direct question, Treccia sat staring up at the major for a moment.
“Perhaps a country dance, a Cotillion, a Reel, Quadrille, or mayhap a Waltz.”
“Oh, yes, a Waltz.” Treccia sat up with a smile, her eagerness evident. She glanced hesitantly at Letty.
Turning to Letty, Lord Tremaine said, “Of course, only if the waltz is acceptable to you, Lady Mimolette. I gather you are acting as sponsor and chaperone for your younger sisters. Being newly arrived in England after many years, I am unaware of the Society’s views on the Waltz.”
His statement, while correct, made her feel ancient, a matron past her cups. What could she say? She nodded acceptance as imperially as she could muster with the brazen man. “Lady Cosingwell has given permission for the Waltz, particularly when the Celebration will see so many guests from the Continent.”
“Excellent. Thank you, my lady.” Turning to Treccia, he smiled. “If you are not already engaged, may I have the honor of claiming the first waltz?”
“You, you may.”
The major bowed and smiled as only a rogue can, said, “Brilliant. Thank you. I look forward to our turn about the room. Do you have any preferences as to what waltz style you prefer? German, French, Italian, Viennese, or Bristol?”
Treccia blushed, “I, I don’t know any of those.” She drew her hands together into a tight ball.
“Well, no matter. We shall try them all. I’ll show you. Does that appeal?”
She smiled and nodded, relief on her brow.
Letty watched this exchange with a contrariety of emotions, surprise, satisfaction, suspicion, and yes, envy. To dance with someone experienced in the waltz would be . . . She squashed that thought, happy to see Treccia’s eyes bright. When not so Friday-faced, she proved appealing in her enthusiasm.
Lord Tremaine nudged his friend, regarding him significantly. Captain Whitebread, started, gave Tremaine a long-suffering frown and faced Ovolina. “My lady, may I, may I have the next dance?” It would be a country dance.
Ovolina nodded, less excited by the prospect than Treccia. Letty wanted to kick her. Jack Tremaine may be a second son with no prospects, but the captain proved a different case altogether. She knew he could be a son of the wealthy Whitebread brewing family. If only she could intervene with some innocuous instruction to her sister.
Letty felt she must be the one to continue the conversation. “Welcome back to England, gentlemen. Was your regiment present at Toulouse? We have a cousin in the 23rd Foot.”
The major smiled. “Yes, the Fusiliers, a fine regiment. They were part of Beresford’s Corps, as was our regiment, 15th King’s Hussars.” He clapped the captain soundly on the back. “Whitebread here outshone us all, being mentioned in Beresford’s dispatches.”
All the ladies considered the captain with interest. Letty leaned foreward. “More than one dispatch?”
“Yes, indeed,” the major replied, appearing quite proud of the captain.
Captain Whitebread turned pink and nudged his friend. “Jack, stop, you’re doing it up brown.” He turned to the women, “My ladies, one dispatch the major refers to is when I simply delivered ammunition to our infantry, nothing more.”
Ovolina smiled at this. “And the second?”
Lord Tremaine cut in. “Ah, but that delivery required braving a torrent of shot and shell, and the other dispatch recounted his squadron’s part in scattering a French counterattack.”
The captain, now blushing in earnest, frowning hard.
“Captain Whitebread commands the first squadron. Captain Whitebread commands the first squadron, and his men hold him in high reverence. Similarly, each of the squadron’s mounts is equally devoted. A crowd of love-sick horses always follow the captain around camp, which creates a dreadful commotion.” This elicited titters from the gathered ladies.
Charles threw his shoulders back, his frown actually radiating menace. “Jack, stubble it.” Jack stopped talking, his efforts on his friend’s behalf being successful. He now appeared the warrior.
“Jack?” Letty said cocking her head. “Jack Tremaine? Are you Emily Cosingwell’s famous cousin of the horse stunts, tree climbing, wild games,” she asked, lowering her voice to speak of scandalous doings, “and The Ducks?”
“Uh, why yes. Youthful misadventures, most of which Emily enjoyed too.” The major, gazing at the floor, laughed, then looked at her. “You’re a friend of Emily’s?” Letty could see the mischievous boy in his self-conscious expression.
“A dear friend. We went to finishing school together.”
“I haven’t been in direct touch with her since my regiment went abroad. I wrote my letters to the family, and they shared my news. Unfortunately, I many of their letters never reached me in Spain and France. I plan to visit her. How is she?”
“She is well, living in Shropshire, married with three fine children. She is now the Baroness Conyers.”
“The dickens you say?” The major shook his head. “Imagine that. Little Emily. We were close as children.” His face took on a somber note, as though he’d lost something valuable. “How things change.”
“Yes, they do change.” Knowing he was that Jack Tremaine, she determined to be all the more guarded. “We have a world at peace now.”
An odd expression crossed his face before returning to his cavalier smile. Here it comes, she thought, he is going to change the subject and push for a dance with her even though she’d confirmed she doesn’t dance. Letty glanced at the dozen ladies seated around her. Does she introduce them all, or pick just a few who haven’t danced yet? Ann and Amelia?
Instead, he turned and said, “Lady Treccia, Lady Ovolina, do you enjoy reading?
Surprised, both spoke at once, “Yes.” Letty was astonished too, but then became irritated. The major hadn’t attempted to persuade her to dance. Most men did, even after hearing her decline their first request.
Standing before the sisters, the two officers began a discussion on each person’s favorite books. Tremaine’s favorite book was Robinson Caruso. Interested in the topic, Letty blinked when she realized that she was not included in the conversation. She frowned at that telling behavior and resented it.
After a few minutes of lively discussion, the trio of Letty’s ‘scouts’ returned, apparently curious to discover the cause of the animated conversation, and to join in. Seeing the ladies take the empty seats, the major slapped his thigh. “Zounds, but we have been buffleheaded.” Looking to Letty’s sisters, he said, “Here we are, talking away without regard to your companions. Please, please excuse our manque de courtoisie, de politesse. Would you, Lady Treccia, introduce us to your friends,” his hand gesture taking in the whole gathering of wallflowers.
None of the other ladies had been able to join in the literary sharing because they hadn’t been introduced. Letty squinted at Lord Tremaine. He perpetrated a bouleversation, subverting her efforts, usurping her control, turning everything upside down. Letty fumed. He thought it all a lark. He was still Emily’s wild cousin. Letty clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms to avoid interjecting a cutting remark.
Treccia introduced them all, the major saying he’d had heard of Miss Peeny, Miss Mayweather, and Miss Waffleton. “I understand that you, Miss Peeny, particularly are a fine dancer. Would you consider saving a Waltz for me?
Miss Peeny frowned, obviously surprised by the request. She was one of the shrewd women in their little group. “Of course, my lord. I would be willing to dance a waltz with you after Treccia—depending on how she fares.”
The major paused for a moment to consider the impolite qualification and then chuckled. “Excellent. Of course, one can never be too careful when it comes to The Waltz.”
Letty pursed her lips at Amelia Peeny. She would never attract a suiter with such prissy behavior. She must know that. She’d angered enough gentlemen. Unexpected, Lord Tremaine’s light response was welcomed all the same.
He and Captain Whitebread returned to the discussion of books, which now including the rest of the women. The buoyant discussion drew another one of the major’s friends and two trailing debutantes, a Captain McTodd, Miss Sackrider, and Miss Cropletter. Once introduced, Letty assessed the girls as pretty but lacking in town bronze. Surprisingly, two other gentlemen approached who had previously been trapped by Letty’s foisting off dance requests onto her companions. Having already been introduced to everyone but the officers, it was quickly done, the men joined in the conversation.
Letty pursed her mouth. Lord Major Tremaine instigated the gathering around her, manipulating affairs. She had enough honesty to admit the situation itself promised dividends. The two previously lured gentlemen actually joining the group was unprecedented in the month their traps had been employed.
More than five of their wallflower cabal had or would have requests for dances. So why be upset? Because that pirate had outmaneuvered and shelved her. He appeared to know their ploys and purposes, cheerfully using them. More unsettling, she could not guess what other machinations he had in mind or why.
Emily had entertained everyone at school with tales of her adventures with Jack and family friends. Seen from a distance, it all seemed like childhood romps. The mastermind of those escapades was far more entertaining and less exasperating as an actor in Emily’s late-night stories than in person.
The master of ceremonies called out a new set of country dances. Ovolina took Captain Whitebread’s hand and they, with Mr. Ramsbottom and Miss Waffleton stood for the dance. Captain McTodd danced with Miss Sackrider. Surprising Letty, one of the returning gentlemen, a Mr. Everhard, asked Treccia to dance. The other gentleman requested a turn with Miss Peeny. There were five of their group dancing at once. The other six continued chattering away about books, amazed so many of their group were dancing.
Lord Major Tremaine pulled up a now empty chair and sat next to Letty. “Lady Mimolette, I never heard what books you enjoyed.”
Watching the dancers, she said, “Oh, was I part of that conversation?”
The major tsked. “Well, if you weren’t, it was a monumental oversight. So, do you have a favorite?”
“What do you want, my lord?”
The major frowned, apparently stymied by her direct question. Pulling thoughtfully on his mustache, he said, “I appreciate your candor, my lady. For myself, what I truly desire is to answer that question.” He offered a self-deprecating tug at the corner of his mouth. “However, pertaining to this moment, I want to enjoy a conversation with you.” When she didn’t respond, he pursed his mouth considering her. “That isn’t your desire, my lady?”
“What game are you playing at?”
“Why yours, my lady.” He said with a bright, animated expression. He glanced at the dancers swirling by. “I thought this last round of play went rather well. Everyone looks pleased, save Reggie, but he seldom appears as anything but a grumpy frog.”
“I didn’t ask you to insert yourself among us.”
“Not in so many words, but you drew me to your side all the same.”
Letty leaned back and frowned. “I believe you asked to dance with Treccia.”
“So I did. Your sister seems a fine lady, and I am looking forward to our waltz. Unfortunately, you don’t dance. In truth, I am far more interested in the bait and wanted to choose what hook I had to swallow to talk with you.”
Letty’s skin prickled, being called out in such a blunt manner, declaring his interest in such insufferable terms.
Words left her. She sat rigid, hands in her lap.
“What books do you favor?”
She narrowed her eyes, fluffing her dress. “I can’t take you seriously. You have no interest in what books I prefer.”
“Why, because I have only asked twice?” He gave her an innocent look. “Is it the third time’s the charm? What books do you enjoy?”
“You, sir, are insufferably supercilious, and impolite.”
“Supercilious and insufferable?” He eyed her sardonically. “Yes, it is a general failing among us military men.” Then, irritatingly, he simply waited, an attentive expression settling on his face.
She bit out, “Sense and Sensibility.”
“I don’t know that one. Is it new?”
“Published last year.”
“What about it stirred you?”
That ‘stirred’ sounded too salacious. “That proper ‘sense’ triumphs in the end.”
“Not sensibility? Sounds like a tragedy.”
She pursed her mouth. “It isn’t.” He implied she had no feelings.
He waited, but she said no more, for fear of losing her temper.
“I’ve been on the continent for so long. The only English literature I read was Robinson Caruso. I found Don Quixote and The Sorrows of Young Werther in Spain. In France, I recently obtained a copy of Voltaire’s Candide.”
He shrugged at her frown, not realizing she was surprised that he read at all.
“All ancient texts, I know, but books were harder to come by in Spain and France.”
“You read Spanish and French?”
“Does that surprise you, simpkin that I am?”
“Let us say, I would not have been astonished to find the alphabet your greatest enemy, surpassing even the French.”
He chuckled. “You are too cruel, my lady. French was my nanny’s first language and Oxford honed it a mite. I forced every Frenchman I captured to teach me their language. However, a good portion of the words so useful in war aren’t that suitable in polite company.
“Is that a fact?”
He solemnly nodded at her skeptical frown. “Learning Spanish was also a must warring in the Peninsula. Kept me from being shot by any number of Spanish guerillas who mistook me for a French hussar.”
She considered him anew. “Emily said she never saw you with a book. You were always off causing some mishap.”
“Did she now? Talked about me often, did she?”
Letty felt her face warm. “She shared stories as cautionary tales.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Emily always brought out the best in me.”
“Hmmm.” She gave him a half-smile. “She insisted you always brought out the worse in her.”
“Well, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.” She gave in and laughed at that. From his reaction, he appeared to enjoy her laughing. With a now familiar pirate grin, he said, “I fear dear Emily has prejudiced you against me. I admit I was a mischievous boy, but that was many, many years ago.”
“And your performance in the last twenty minutes somehow dispels that view?”
He shook his head, amused. “You wound me. I was simply willing to assist your wallflower campaign. It impressed me no end, which laid claim to my good will and a desire to become acquainted.”
The country dance ended, and Mr. Everhard returned with Treccia , offering to retrieve a glass of Ratafia for her. Treccia fell into a chair beside the major, and with a happy smile, waved off the notion. “Oh, no. One glass and I would be a tragedy on the dance floor. Please, a glass of champagne will do nicely. Thank you, Mr. Everhard.” He gallantly turned to Letty and asked if she would like some refreshments.
She shook her head with a thank you, unsure how to continue the conversation with the major now that her sister sat close. It had just become interesting.