Danse De La Folie

  So she consented to be handed up. Mr. Redding climbed to the seat next to her and released the brake on the gig, which enabled his restless horse to put the vehicle in motion. Turning her head, Kitty was startled to discover Mr. Aston’s curricle, being drawn by a restive pair, vanished into the gathering darkness.

  The barouche pulled ahead, its four horses given the office to gallop, and for a few moments Kitty thought with heartfelt pity of Clarissa inside being tumbled about with the serving maid, the Bouldestons, and their cousin.

  But the gig did not pick up speed. The horse walked sedately, and Kitty watched in growing indignation as the barouche gradually vanished down the tree-shrouded lane.

  As the barouche vanished, an unfamiliar weight settled around her shoulders. It was Mr. Redding’s arm!

  “Sir!” she protested.

  “I’ll protect you from the rain.” Mr. Redding’s breath was warm and smelling of wine-fumes.

  Revulsion flashed through her with every bit as much electricity as the lightning flaring overhead. She tried to shake off Mr. Redding’s arm, but there was nowhere to go—the gig was designed for a single person.

  The hand squeezed again. “Give us a kiss, now.”

  “Mr. Redding! I must request you to unhand me at once!”

  She attempted to pry his fingers off her arm, her efforts causing the gig to swing. The horse jobbed at the bit, and Mr. Redding perforce must use two hands to subdue the beast. He said, his words slurring, “Save the fight for the wedding night, my beauty. I like it fine then, but right now, you must sit still.”

  “Wedding night?” Kitty repeated in horror.

  “Sir Henry’s girl said you was looking out for a wealthy marriage, and I will give you a generous allowance, the more if you look out ways to please me.”

  Kitty’s throat closed. Tears stung her eyes as she tried to speak steadily. “I am sorry, sir, but you misunderstood, that is, Lucretia must have misstated my wishes.”

  “Seems to me you stepped into the gig readily enough.”

  “Because I thought you would follow the barouche,” Kitty retorted. “Pray let me be clear: I do not want to be married to you.”

  Mr. Redding laughed again, a sound she was beginning to hate. “I am content with that, and you will find me generous, but I must say, I did not foresee your wishing to come on the town. I would have spoken before.”

  Kitty gasped, then said in strong accents, “I do not wish to be with you at all!”

  “But here you are, my pretty. Just save the tussle for when we—”

  “Oh!” Kitty seethed with rage. And then, remembering what had happened the last time she thought she assisted at an abduction, she gathered her skirts in one hand, and with the other, she balanced against the side of the gig.

  And then she sprang out.

  The gig was not moving very fast, for the horse had already traveled from London on a hot day, and Mr. Redding had other things in mind besides the drive, but even so, the movement of the gig was enough to send her tumbling into the dirt.

  She rolled to her knees and then stood dizzily as Mr. Redding uttered an oath and pulled up the horse.

  “Lady Catherine,” he said. “This display pleases neither of us. Get in the gig.”

  “I will not,” she said. “Unless you promise not to touch me.”

  The sound of the brake engaging darted fear through her nerves. So this was an abduction. A real one! There was nothing romantical about it, she thought desolately, as lightning flared, this time accompanied by a clap of thunder.

  Mr. Redding jumped down and started toward her. She ran to the other side of the gig, crying, “Stay away from me.”

  “What is this play-acting?” he retorted. “It pleases me not. Sir Henry’s girl promised you liked me fine, and here we are, miles from anyone. I play fair—if you are the maiden you pretend to be, I am willing to stand up in church, but if you like—”

  “How dare you offer me violence,” Kitty cried, edging around the side of the gig. If she could get her hands on the reins...

  But Mr. Redding gripped them tight, the horse plunging and jobbing as its head twisted. “Do you see a pistol in my hand?”

  “Dastard. Coxcomb!”

  “Upon my word, you are a prosy one. What is it you want to hear, I love you and adore you? I will say anything you like, only get in the gig!”

  At that moment, the storm reached them, a sudden downpour battering Kitty, Mr. Redding, and the restive horse.

  “I just want to go home,” Kitty stated between shut teeth.

  Mr. Redding lunged around the wheel, then swayed, catching himself against the tracings. Kitty sprang away—and tripped over her hem.

  Mr. Redding uttered a hiccoughing laugh, then cursed. From the sound of his impatience, the rain was beginning to sober him a little. “Where are you, gel?”

  “Just go away,” Kitty said as she rolled to her feet. “I do not wish to be abducted by you or married to you!”

  “Then you shall not be,” came a calm voice out of the darkness.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “Clarissa!” Kitty cried with heartfelt gratitude.

  “Who is that?” Mr. Redding cried, as rain hissed all around them.

  “Miss Harlowe,” Clarissa stated calmly.

  “Chadwick’s girl?” Mr. Redding said, in accents of dismay. His expectations had been confounded, and foremost in his emotions were disappointment and anger, and under those, the sickening suspicion that he had been made game of.

  He leaped back into the gig, which would not have seated three even if he wished to tax his horse so abominably. “That is very well,” he said angrily. “If you will have none of me, then I’ll none of you.”

  With that he clucked to the horse, and the gig swiftly vanished down the road, leaving the two ladies standing in the rain.

  “Poltroon,” Clarissa called in clear accents.

  Kitty began to laugh uncertainly, which nearly turned to tears. She wiped rain off her face repeatedly, her fingers trembling.

  “Oh, Kitty, I am so sorry,” Clarissa said.

  “I am fine,” Kitty stated rather grittily. “That man does not deserve tears.”

  “Quite so. I wish I had my umbrella,” Clarissa responded. “I could have used it to thump him over the head. As well as to ward the rain.”

  Kitty lost control then, and gave vent to wild laughter, which caused Clarissa to laugh as well. For a time they stood there in the rain, laughing and laughing, in spite of sodden gowns and ruined hats.

  When the gusts died away, Clarissa said, “We had better begin walking.”

  Kitty fell in step beside her, but observed, “It is quite ten miles. It will take us all night, if highwaymen do not get us first.”

  “No,” Clarissa said, practical as always. “I fully expect a respectable house or cottage to appear before long, to which we may apply. Visitors go to Richmond Park every day, and surely we are not the only ones who missed their party.”

  “Is that what we will say?” Kitty asked.

  “Yes,” Clarissa stated firmly.

  “Is that how you came to be alone on the road, did you miss the others?”

  There was a long pause, then Clarissa said, “No. Miss Bouldeston was a little too quick to jumble us all into the barouche without you. So I let myself out the other side. I do not know if she noticed or not, and I do not care. Especially as she promptly gave the driver the signal to go. I was on the other side of the gig, which prevented me from gaining Mr. Redding’s attention. Or perhaps he ignored me, but I got left behind.” Clarissa smiled Kitty’s way. “So I started walking. I thought I might catch you up before long.”

  Kitty said, “Mr. Redding gained a false impression of me.”

  “I think,” Clarissa said, enjoyed the relief of speaking her mind, “Miss Bouldeston deliberately misled Mr. Redding about you. That is not to excuse his behavior.”

  “He was certainly in liquor, which may explain the things he said. But
she was not. Why would she do that?”

  Clarissa pressed her lips together, then said, “As I am not in the lady’s confidence, her motives can only be guessed at.”

  Kitty said aggrievedly, “I am a simpleton. I set myself up for understanding, yet I have never understood Lucretia.”

  “That is because there are so many inconsistencies in her words as well as her conduct.”

  Kitty sighed. “I was going to tell you once, about my single entry into society, when I was eighteen. Lucretia had been to Town for the first time, and, well, it was before Papa died, while Grandmama was ill.”

  “Go on,” Clarissa said.

  “The Bouldestons always went to Tunbridge Wells for the assemblies. They invited me. I think my brother asked Lucretia too, but at all events, I know I told Lucretia that I was making over one of my mother’s gowns. It was a very pretty yellow silk, with a long sash with a fringe, and when we met outside the Assembly, she had nothing but compliments to speak, though I did have my cloak on, but I am certain it did not cover my gown entirely. But once we were inside, someone came up to be introduced, to ask me to dance, and she came up, and made a show of looking at me all over, and she said how pretty I was, but then she said in very loud accents, Catherine, I am desolated, but if I do not do my duty, who will? Only married ladies wear yellow silk, or is there an Interesting Event I did not know about? Everyone laughed—or at least, my memory insists everyone laughed, though they may not have done. They may not have noticed at all. But I was so ashamed, I made an excuse, and went to the cloak room, and cried until it was time to leave, and then I had to lie to Papa and tell him I was ill. And I did not want to go into company for ages after, for I was convinced I had become infamous. Why could she have not told me before? I never understood that.”

  “Spite,” Clarissa said.

  Kitty looked her way, but she could make out nothing except the barest outline of Clarissa’s form in the emerging starlight, as the clouds above began to disperse. “Spite? But what could I have done to deserve it?”

  “Again, I cannot penetrate her motivations, but I would assert that if your conduct was then as it is now, the problem has never lain with you.”

  “Spite,” Kitty repeated, then said in a rush, “I have tried and tried to like her, to be glad for Carlisle, but I never could. Every summer when she returned from London and talked about how many men were secretly in love with her, I kept hoping she would jilt my brother and marry someone else. Well, I shall take great pleasure in telling my brother about this.”

  Clarissa said, “I quite understand the impulse, but I believe it would be better not to do so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Think it through with me, Kitty. First of all, your brother must naturally go to Lucretia for an explanation, and what will she say? That you were not missed in the bustle—a bustle that she carefully planned, but I cannot prove that. That she thought to help you find a husband. She will even insist that you encouraged Mr. Redding.”

  “But Mr. Redding said that she put that idea into his head. I must send Carlisle to him.”

  “Then what must be the result of that?”

  Kitty raised hands to her hot cheeks. “Oh, then Carlisle must call him out, or insist we be married, either of which would be horrid.”

  “At the very least your name would end up on everyone’s lips, and that, I may venture to say, was probably her intention.”

  “But Mr. Redding can ruin me,” Kitty said, as the possible consequences began to harrow her. “He has only to say that we were alone in that gig...”

  “I do not think he will,” Clarissa said.

  “You do not?”

  “No. First of all, as you observed, he was in liquor. Lucretia, I saw, kept his glass well poured. In that heat, and all that wine—I feel fairly safe in venturing that he will be fit for nothing by tomorrow. And when he does regain his intellects, a moment’s reflection will show that he would appear a sorry, even laughable figure. My appearance would do nothing to help his case, and then, you know, his going off and abandoning two ladies in a storm... no.” Clarissa ran her hands up her arms, then wrung her fingers. “The more I consider, the likelier I think it that the gentleman might prefer to retire to his estate in case you tell a tale that does not redound to his credit. He may also fear my father,” she added. “He does not know your brother except whatever tales Miss Bouldeston might have told of him, but he is old enough to know that my father fought a couple of duels when he was younger. He had rather a reputation.”

  In spite of the rain, her clammy, sodden clothing, and her vexation, Kitty could not help being diverted by this unexpected disclosure. The indolent Lord Chadwick, fighting duels? “Very well. If it is as you say, then I must suppose my reputation will not be smirched, but it seems hard not to tell Carlisle what happened. And to think he will take her to wife!”

  The longest silence yet grew between them as they walked steadily, Clarissa saying finally, “I believe we must leave it to your brother to question his intended wife, or not, as he sees fit. But I think it would be a great mistake to force him to choose between the two of you. For I would be surprised if Lucretia has not a tale ready to explain both our absences by now.”

  They had reached Richmond Gate, which still stood open, as the last of the visitors had not departed. The ladies walked out, and twice carriages dashed by, splashing both sides high with muddy water. They leaped back to avoid the splash, which perhaps prevented them from being seen, but in any case, neither carriage halted.

  They resumed their trek, their shoes ruined, not that they noticed. Each was too burdened by conflicting thoughts.

  At least the rain had become intermittent, as the moon shone bright and silvery-blue in between the silently sailing clouds.

  The girls began to talk determinedly of other things as they walked along the road. No more carriages passed. The moon had moved higher in the sky when the rhythmic thud of horse hooves once again reached their ears. Only this time, they were coming from the direction of town.

  The two looked at once another, each seeing no more than a pale blob of a face, before Clarissa said, “This will not be a party leaving the Park. Perhaps we ought to take a place beyond the safety of that hedge.”

  Kitty ducked her head, and scrambled off the muddy road, Clarissa on her heels. They peered out. Visible at first were the carriage lamps, two eyes of winking gold, and between them a uniform darkness.

  The sound grew, the darkness resolved into the silhouette of a team of horses, and behind them, seated high, the shape of a man in a caped driving coat.

  The equipage neared, began to pass. The driver turned his gaze from one side as to the other, and as his moonlit profile was briefly outlined against the darkened countryside, Kitty gasped.

  Clarissa’s nerves turned to snow as Kitty cried frantically, “Carlisle!”

  St. Tarval pulled up the curricle. Kitty pelted down the road, Clarissa running after. Kitty leaped up onto the floorboard of the vehicle to fling her arms around her brother, but the horses, thoroughly unsettled, jobbed and pitched, causing the curricle to sidle, and Kitty fell backward, once more landing in the mud.

  Clarissa bent to offer a hand, but Kitty said breathlessly, “I am fine, truly. It’s not as if I have not taken a tumble before.” She stood up, trying to brush the worst of the mud from her gown as she exclaimed, “Carlisle, what brings you here! Did you come to rescue us?”

  As she spoke she looked up, to discover her brother was not listening to her at all. His hands were busy with the reins, but his countenance was turned away from her, his hat throwing all but his chin in shadow.

  Looking from him to Clarissa, upon whose uplifted face the moonlight shone in full, Kitty made a stunning discovery.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The marquess did not begin the day in a good temper.

  He had been in a reflective mood ever since the night at Almack’s, at which he had witnessed his betrothed’s determined efforts
to catch the attention of Mr. Devereaux.

  In part he hoped that she could succeed in catching the gentleman’s eye, for that would solve his own problem so neatly. At any rate, he was convinced that in spite of her getting her father to insert that notice into the newspaper, she had no regard for him whatsoever.

  After a couple of days of thought, he came to the conclusion that he had better have a frank talk with his betrothed. This prospect he regarded with dread, for he had seen her temper when she pinched at her sister. But temper or not, he was determined to come to an understanding with Lucretia before he left London.

  The morning he made his decision, it seemed impossible to extricate himself, for he came downstairs to discover Lord Arden having joined Ned at breakfast, full of reminders of their plan to go off to a shooting parlor. Ned did not want to forego, and the marquess could not think of a sufficient excuse to avoid something he’d agreed to.

  What with that and the luncheon afterward, it was later in the afternoon when St. Tarval at last was able to extricate himself and take a hackney coach to Mount Street.

  However, when he arrived there, it was to the surprising discovery that the sisters had taken a party of friends to Richmond Park. He thought nothing of that until he went on to Brook Street to call on Kitty, to discover that she and Miss Harlowe were absent—that they, Eliza Harlowe informed him, were gone with Lucretia and Lucasta.

  Why had he not been invited? St. Tarval was walking back down the steps to the street, wondering if Devereaux had been invited, when the gentleman himself arrived.

  The porter called one of the footmen out to walk the beautifully matched bays as Mr. Devereaux touched his hat to the marquess. They greeted one another politely as they passed on the stairs. St. Tarval heard the butler saying “Miss Devereaux is in the parlor with Miss Matilda and Miss Eliza,” before the door shut.

  Obviously this expedition to the Park was not a ruse aimed at Mr. Devereaux. What could possible lie behind it?

  A glance skyward showed a distant line of cloud that promised the usual late-afternoon storm. Surely the picnic would have been finished by now. He determined to get the talk over with.