Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (35 page)

He feathered his
careful way around a carter rumbling by before answering. “Yes, I
know everyone in London,” he agreed. “Whether I choose to
acknowledge them often hinges on the weighty matter of how their
neckcloth is arranged, or whether”—he smiled sideways at
Jeannie—“or whether they wear red or white roses. It is a matter of
some concern.”

Jeannie glanced behind
her at Larinda, who was contemplating the crowds on Piccadilly, her
chin resting in her hand. “Sir Peter Winthrop?” she asked, her
voice low.

The Beau shook his
head. “Alas, a sad case. He saw the need for a little rustication.
’Twill do him wonders.” He sighed. “Some people haven’t the stamina
for a London Season.”

In another block, they
entered Hyde Park and joined the other carriages passing in review
down Rotten Row. Brummell looked over his shoulder at Larinda. “Pay
close attention, my dear. We should espy any number of choice
spirits with which you could form an eligible connection.”

Larinda only smiled,
but her air of quiet reflection returned as soon as the Beau
addressed himself to his horses again.

“
We
might stroll about after we have traversed the length of the row,”
Brummell explained. “One should reconnoiter the terrain before
attempting an advance on foot, especially so early in the Season.
Ah ha!”

He reined in slightly
and pointed with his whip to a gathering of several young
gentlemen. “Larinda, look you over there. I espy a covey of
eligibles. Not a man in the group worth less than ten thousand a
year.” He looked closer. “Most of them appear to possess their own
teeth, and Lord Spaulding over there has been known to utter at
least one witticism before in his life.”

Jeannie laughed out
loud and the Beau nodded approvingly.

“
Hurrah for you, madam. I was beginning to think that something
was deviling you.” He leaned closer and touched her shoulder with
his. “Madam, I could find you a husband with less difficulty than
you would imagine.”

She shook her head
again. “No one on this road is hanging out for a pensioned
widow.”

“
Then
we will find a nabob who does not care about the size of your
purse, m’dear. Oh, look, Larinda! Twenty thousand a year on the
starboard beam, if I may quote the estimable Captain Summers. His
breath is bad, but he breathes.”

And so it went, down
the row and back again. Jeannie nodded and smiled, noting with
amusement the young ladies, with their fashionable close-cropped
hair, who had attempted to braid their hair in imitation of her own
style at the theater last night. There were red roses everywhere.
The men who had scrutinized her so archly at Almack’s and the women
who had stared outside the Pantheon Bazaar were all amiability as
they approached Beau Brummell’s phaeton as though it were the
Fisherman’s Throne in St. Peter’s Basilica.

Such dissembling, she
thought, and then the smile left her face. It is no worse than the
deception I have practiced upon myself. In sudden shame of the
acutest sort, Jeannie lowered her eyes and spent a moment in
serious examination of the stitching in her kid gloves. I would
disdain these foolish fashion-mongers, and I am no wiser than
they.

The unfairness of her
situation washed over her like a full bucket, suddenly thrown.
While she raised laughing eyes to Mr. Brummell and uttered witty
profundities that she could not recall the moment they left her
mouth, she wanted to leap off the phaeton, pick up her skirts, and
run and run until she reached Kirkcudbright. She smiled and
flirted, even as she longed to throw herself on her knees and sob
out the whole business at Galen McVinnie’s foot.

But she could not; she
dared not. She had promised she would not.

Another traverse of the
row took them to Hyde Park Gate again. By this time, Jeannie’s lap
was full of more invitations to luncheons al fresco, masked balls,
routs, theater parties, and quiet evenings
en famille
.
Larinda appeared slightly more cheerful, and the Beau was
positively shaking his own hands. He drove with a flourish and high
good humor back to Wendover Square, where he led them to the door.
He kissed Larinda’s hand and then bowed for a longer time over
Jeannie’s.

“
My
dears, you are fairly launched,” he decreed as he finally released
his hold upon her and stepped back. “In future, I promise a dance
to each of you at any gathering we find ourselves gracing, should
you so desire. I shall sport a red rose for the remainder of this
Season.” He paused in momentary thought, as if wondering how this
could be any better. A light came into his eyes. “And for you, Mrs.
McVinnie, I will paint a miniature of myself.” He took her hand
again. “Something to tweak any bashful suitors and bring them up to
the mark.”

“
You
are all condescension,” Jeannie said with a smile.

“
Indeed I am,” he agreed, and released her hand once more. He
walked to the phaeton and tipped his hat. “And much too exalted for
my own company. Do I see you tonight?”

He did, and at all
three events that Larinda had selected for the evening’s enjoyment.
He danced his way down a country line with Jeannie, carrying on a
playful conversation even as his expressive eyes darted about the
room. Jeannie could only mind her steps and wonder at her dancing
partner’s agility.

She did not lack for
partners, some seeking her out because of their curiosity, and
others wanting to know more about Larinda. She said all that was
polite, and tried not to allow her own eyes to stray about the
ballroom as she searched for Captain Summers.

After squiring Lady
Smeath about and then bounding energetically through a mazurka with
Larinda, he had abandoned the dancing floor. He spoke to no one,
and no one singled him out for attention. He stood alone, a man
used to the overpowering solitude of command at sea. As she danced
and flirted gently, Jeannie felt her heart go out to him. She
looked at the single females who circled the ballrooms on the arms
of their partners, wishing one of them would look about long enough
to at least flutter her eyelashes at the lonely man who stood so
erect with his hands behind his back, staring across a sea of
people.

Their next remove took
them to Wembley Place and the home of Lord Something or Other, who,
Lady Smeath assured her, only attracted the truly exalted into his
circle. There was a card room, and Captain Summers vanished into it
as soon as he saw that his niece and his impressed crew were busy
doing their duty.

At some point after the
clock had struck innumerable times and the room was becoming muzzy
with smoke from the candles, he resurfaced and asked Jeannie to
dance.

She made a face at him.
“Sir, you are to ask some eligible female. How are you to find
someone during this Season if you fraternize with your crew?”

He only smiled and took
her in his arms. “Hush,” he ordered.

Every time Jeannie
stood this close to the captain she was reminded of their first
meeting when she sewed on his button. Her eyes went first to the
button and she tugged on it without thinking. He chuckled. She
blushed and stared at his Knight of the Bath insignia, which was on
her eye level.

“
You
may tug on that, too, if you choose,” he offered.

“
I
will not, and you must excuse my impertinence. I am—”

“—
merely a managing female of Scottish persuasion who likes to
assure herself that all things are right and tight, spit-spot and
proof-positive. I do remember that much about my own Jeannie
McVinnie,” he concluded. He stopped suddenly on the dance floor,
narrowly averting a collision with a member of the Life Guards.
“I’m so tired of being in overheated rooms,” he said as he led her
off the floor and out onto a balcony overlooking Lord Something or
Other’s garden.

“
Much
better,” he said as he breathed deeply of the damp earth. “One
becomes used to wind in the face.” He turned toward her.
“Especially on the weather side, this way. That’s how I know if the
ship is on course. The wind hits me right here.” He turned again
and rested his elbows on the balcony railing. “Damn this east
wind,” he said softly. “Damn it.”

He was silent then
until the dance finished and other couples, laughing and
breathless, joined them on the balcony. Jeannie could sense him
becoming more and more agitated by the chatter about him. She moved
closer and put her hand over his. He started in surprise, but did
not draw away. He laughed softly. “Did you know that under Article
Twenty of the Articles of War, a crew member can be hanged for
touching the captain?”

“
I’ll
have to remember that,” she said.

“
See
that you do,” he said in his captain’s voice, which he immediately
ameliorated. “But not too soon.”

Lady Smeath cried off
after the second ball, pleading a sick headache. After arranging a
ride home for Larinda and Jeannie with friends, she tottered toward
the door, leaning heavily on her brother’s arm. She was not too far
gone to offer Larinda a pearl or two of unwanted advice, and to
tell her to make herself available in the morning for a meeting on
the subject of Larinda’s own come-out ball.

“
We
must do it, and soon, my pet, no matter how indifferent my health.”
She fluttered her hand toward her heart and shook her head. “Your
future is all that matters.”

“
Yes,
Aunt,” Larinda said, her voice filled only with a noticeable lack
of enthusiasm.

Lady Smeath frowned and
set her lips tight. “You know that is what we have been planning
for,” she exclaimed in rallying tones. “Didn’t we plan and plan all
last year in Suffolk? For years, I vow.” She patted her heart. “I
never had a daughter of my own. This is everything to me.”

“
Yes,”
Larinda agreed. She managed a slight smile before turning back to
the baronet’s son who waited like an overeager puppy for his turn
to dance.

Not until the stars
were winking out and the dawn making perfunctory gestures did
Larinda and Jeannie return to Wendover Square. Larinda had slept
against Jeannie’s shoulder all the way from Vauxhall to Regent
Street. Jeannie propped herself against the window and gazed out at
the night. The trees, their leaves still half-grown, were waving
gently in the little breeze.

“
It
blows from the east, Captain,” she murmured out loud, her eyes
ready to close. “What can it bring tomorrow?”

Wapping opened the door
for them when he heard their footsteps on the front steps. Larinda
dragged her shawl up to her shoulder again and asked Wapping if
there were any messages for her. When he shook his head, she only
sighed, looked as though she would ask Jeannie something, and then
went to the stairs, pulling herself up them hand over hand.

Wapping cleared his
throat. “Mrs. McVinnie, the captain requests that you join him in
the breakfast parlor.”

Jeannie shook her head.
“You tell the captain that I am no hero tonight and require no
brandy. Good night, Wapping.”

Wapping cleared his
throat again and said louder this time, “Mrs. McVinnie, I think you
had better do as he says.” He lowered his voice and looked about,
as if wary of agents from foreign shores. “He received a missive
from the Admiralty House, and he is in rare ill humor.”

“
Oh,
no,” she said, fully awake now. She ran down the hall and into the
breakfast parlor.

Summers leapt to his
feet when she entered the room and closed the door behind her.
Without knowing why, she held her arms out to him and folded him in
a strong embrace.

“
My
ship, Jeannie, my ship,” was all he said.

T
here was nothing Jeannie could say. She held the
captain close instead, resting her head against his chest until his
agitation lessened. And even when his heart had ceased to pound so
vigorously, she felt remarkably disinclined to release her grip. He
was warm and comfortable and she wanted him.

That thought was
sufficient to cause her to drop her arms as though he burned.
Captain Summers stepped back suddenly and ran his fingers around
his collar, muttering something about the trouble with overheated
rooms as he looked about for the brandy bottle, which Wapping had
placed upon the sideboard. He uncorked the bottle and looked at her
inquiringly.

Jeannie shook her head.
“And not much for yourself, sir,” she said.

He nodded, not put off
by her command. He sank into his chair again and stretched his feet
out in front of him. He took a sip of the brandy, then pushed the
letter toward her.

She read it slowly,
frowning over the nautical phrases, and finally raised a
questioning eye to him.

Summers took the letter
back, stared at it again, and then crumpled it in his hands. “It
was that damned east wind, Jeannie,” he said when the silence was
heavy as mist between them. “Just as I feared. What can my
lieutenant have been thinking? A ship of the line came out and
broadsided the
Venture
.”

He threw himself to his
feet again as though the room were several sizes too small, and
paced about, clapping his hands together in agitation, until
Jeannie reached up when he passed her and grabbed them. He leaned
his hands on her chair then and looked down at her.

“
What
will happen to your first lieutenant now?” she asked.

The captain resumed his
pacing, his hands firmly clasped behind his back this time, even
though his fingers twisted together.

“
When
the mast went by the boards, it took him along. And the sailing
master, and eight of the crew who were bracing sail, and two marine
sharpshooters in the roost. Such a butcher’s bill, Jeannie. I can’t
even count that high.”