The Rake's Rainbow (27 page)

George remained passive with an effort.

“But it seems too late to make it up to her. She hardly ever speaks to me these days.”

“That doesn’t sound like Caroline,” protested George. “She is not the type to hold a grudge, and a more forgiving nature I have yet to meet. What did you do to her?”

“Nothing!”  But his voice lacked conviction. “I really did not instigate that accident, you know.”

“What accident?”

“She didn’t tell you?  She came close to being killed last week.”  At George’s gasp of surprise, he related the details of the mishap on the stairs. “I cannot believe she suspects I caused it, yet she is so distant these days, and her eyes wonder.”

“No, I too cannot believe she harbors suspicions,” agreed George. If anything, she was madly in love with her undeserving husband. “Yet your behavior could suggest such a thing to a less scrupulous mind. We both know where your heart lies and so does Caroline.”

“God, what am I going to do, George?  Some days I truly believe I am mad.”  He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Perhaps you need to distance yourself from the lady,” suggested George with great daring. “Then you can evaluate the situation with an open mind. You might discover she is an ordinary beauty rather than a goddess.” 

He dared hint no further for anger already suffused Thomas’s eyes. How could the man remain so blind?  Rumor credited her with three regular lovers and innumerable casual liaisons. Since Darnley’s death there had been a steady parade of gentlemen through her room. He knew courtesans who entertained less. But he had to admit that Thomas would be the last to hear such stories. Few people dared mention Alicia to him.

He let the subject drop and examined his unpromising hand. He had not seen anything this bad in months. Drawing the full complement of five replacement cards changed nothing. “Have you seen any good horses lately?”

Thomas’s expression lightened as he considered his own hand. “Not since young Delaney bid such an exorbitant amount for the pair I wanted. I hope the lad has a good trainer. They were barely half broken.”

“I don’t know about his groom, but he has to be the most cow-handed driver I’ve ever laid eyes on. They spent Christmas with us if you recall. While his twin sister batted her lashes at me, he was out ditching a dogcart pulled by a placid pony along a wide, dry lane.”

“You can’t be serious. Caroline could drive better than that after one lesson, and she had never sat on a box before.”  Pride threaded the words, raising another speculative glance from George.

“If the horses are as green as you say, we’d best pray he doesn’t drive them in town.”

“What is he doing in town anyway?  He cannot yet be eighteen. I would have thought he was still in school.”

“What a miserable hand!”  George tossed his cards down. “I concede. He was sent down for some prank or other. A pig in the bagwig’s rooms or a bear in the belltower – something like that.”

“Were we ever that young?”

“I seem to recall an incident concerning a certain tutor and two goats. Of course, the perpetrator was never discovered. Cut.”  George had been busily reshuffling.

Thomas laughed in remembrance. “Not to mention the unsolved mystery of how the hedgehogs got into Wrexham’s boots. Who are you backing at next week’s races?”

They discussed horses while playing out the next hand.

“Damn,” muttered Thomas as George won the last trick. “I should have discarded the diamond.”

Hold that thought,
begged George, but he dared not voice the command aloud. “You still take the day. That first hand was a killer.”  He tossed down a couple of coins and excused himself.

Setting out at a brisk walk, George traversed St. James’s, heading for Bond Street. Was Alicia’s hold finally beginning to slip?  This was the first time Thomas had admitted that his treatment of Caroline was both shabby and undeserved. George hated seeing two of his closest friends at loggerheads, especially when they were so well suited.

But his cogitations ceased when a terrifying spectacle greeted his eyes. A high-perch phaeton careened around the corner, its seat precariously balanced a good six feet above the ground, two wild-eyed chestnuts in the traces. No whip would drive so fast along a crowded street, he realized just before he identified the driver.

Lawrence Delaney.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, already darting toward a door to protect his hide from the inevitable disaster. He dared not shout a warning. The horses were barely under control as things stood.

Perhaps the lad would escape unscathed.

He prayed.

But Fate had other ideas. A cat tore out of an alley, a yapping terrier on its heels. Shouts rose as the creatures threaded the crowd.

The sudden din proved too much for Delaney. His horses bolted in terror. Sawing on the ribbons merely swerved them toward the sidewalk, overturning his phaeton and pinning several pedestrians beneath the wreckage. Delaney landed against a brick wall, one leg broken and his head concussed.

“Somebody fetch Dr. Mantry,” shouted George, as he ran to help.

It took the efforts of six gentlemen before the horses were finally under control.

Chapter 15

Caroline always enjoyed paying afternoon calls with Emily. It was far more entertaining than making the rounds with the countess, for Emily patronized young matrons.

“Did you see Miss Fielding’s face last night?” Emily pursed her lips as her town carriage rumbled along the cobbled street. “If ever anyone looked thoroughly kissed!  That girl had better learn to control her countenance if she plans any more assignations in the garden.”

“Meaning that one should not allow a gentleman to make improper advances unless one can appear cool and bored afterward?”

“Something like that. She can probably get away with it this time, but if it happens again, she will be thought fast. Did you hear about Lord Packford and the pigeons yesterday?”

“Not only heard. I was there, and nearly fell out of Jeremy’s curricle I was laughing so hard and trying to remain ladylike about it. You know how puffed Packford is.”

“Lord, yes. He makes Mama seem positively plebeian. And his cravats rival Robert’s.”

“Not anymore. He was sauntering along with his nose in the air, face twisted into that pained expression he adopts in the mistaken belief that it radiates boredom – I swear, he looks more like a colicky babe than anything else.”

Emily giggled.

“Well, there he was, pointedly ignoring those whom he thought socially inferior, when along came a flock of pigeons.”

Emily burst into laughter.

“At least ten of them,” continued Caroline, giggling in turn. “Big, fat pigeons. One by one, they swooped d-down and s-soiled his c-coat. You should have seen his f-face!  One of them hit his n-nose!”  And she succumbed to hilarity, only a desperate grip on the strap keeping her in her seat.

Tears rolled down Emily’s cheeks, and she pulled out a lacy handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes in a hopeless attempt to stem the flow. Caroline followed suit.

The carriage pulled to a halt before Stafford House, and a footman let down the steps. Quelling their laughter, they composed their faces into social smiles suitable for afternoon calls and descended.

Stafford House was elegantly appointed, Lady Stafford favoring a classical style with simple lines and rich colors. The butler led the way upstairs to the drawing room.

“Well, he may be more circumspect, but young Mannering is still hanging out after that shocking Darnley wench. Lady Sefton saw him calling on her just the other day,” boomed Lady Beatrice.

“Given their respective reputations, it is not to be wondered at,” agreed another. “He has ever been a rake and she is certainly no better than she should be.”

“Lady Wembley and Mrs. Mannering,” intoned the butler as they arrived in the doorway.

“Welcome,” said Lady Stafford. Not a single social smile hinted that they had been discussing Thomas moments before. Greetings were exchanged and Caroline found herself sitting next to Lady Beatrice.

“And what has that husband of yours been up to lately?” probed the dowager slyly. “I have not seen him for several days.”

“We attended the Harris ball and the opera, but mostly he is pursuing horses and finding it most frustrating.”  The best course was to confront the gossip, offering an explanation for that most public call. Hopefully Lady Sefton’s view had not included Alicia’s intimate caress. Caroline firmly pushed her own searing memories aside.

“Tattersall’s does not have any horses that meet his needs,” she continued. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?  Nor has he been able to find what he wants from private sellers. Westhaven has three colts but none are suitable for hunting. And Lady Darnley asked him to evaluate her late husband’s stable before she puts it up for auction, but he declined to buy. The viscount had a deplorable eye for horseflesh – surprising in one so closely related to Graylock.”

“You will not find it surprising by the time you reach my age,” snorted Lady Beatrice. “Men will never seek advice, having such exaggerated opinions of their own abilities.”

“True, though that has never been one of Mr. Mannering’s failings. He has often consulted Graylock and others to ensure the success of his own venture.”

“Sounds like a man of unusual sense.”  Her voice could not hide surprise at this conclusion.

“I have found him so, and the last year has matured him to a remarkable degree. Fortunately.”

“You know about last year?” prodded Lady Beatrice.

“Of course. He made quite a cake of himself. Little boys...”  She ruefully shook her head. “He is horribly embarrassed to be reminded of how silly he was. But at least the lady was beautiful. I’d hate to have a husband who had turned mooncalf over an antidote.”  She offered her lies with a perfectly straight face. Thomas might rue the day he was forced to marry her, but the least she could do was protect his reputation. It was the only way she could express her love. And his credit could not stand another beating. Without a title he would never recoup a second time.

“Lady Horseley,” intoned the butler, again appearing in the door. The new arrival greeted those already gathered, two earlier visitors took their leave, and the footmen again passed refreshments.

“There has just been a shocking carriage accident over on St. James’s,” Lady Horseley announced. “Young Delaney lost control of that new team of his and overturned his phaeton.”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Lady Stafford. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Delaney broke his leg, according to Lord Ashton. He came on the scene just after it happened and helped calm the team. And apparently a couple of others were knocked down.”

“Wembley has often decried that boy’s driving,” declared Emily. “What is his father about to allow such pranks?”

“Lord Delaney was no better,” put in Lady Beatrice. “I recall similar incidents from his own youth. He once ditched your father, Lady Stafford.”

The hostess giggled at the thought.

“Yes,” added Lady Pembroke, “and there was quite a commotion when he was refused membership in the Four-in-Hand Club. He swore it was due solely to his Irish background, unwilling to admit that only top sawyers are accepted, and he could never hope to qualify.”

“At least if young Lawrence is laid up with a broken leg, we will be safe on the streets,” commented Lady Stafford. “That phaeton of his would be hard for even a good whip to handle. Boys should be barred from driving such vehicles.”

“And his horses were barely trained,” Caroline added. “Mr. Mannering had hoped to buy them with the idea that a year of work would turn them into a reliable team. But Delaney offered an exorbitant price, nearly double their value.”

“Cubs will ever behave recklessly.”  Lady Beatrice sighed dismissively. “Remember the scrape Albright drove into three Seasons ago?”

“Of course. Ran his carriage into the Serpentine during the afternoon promenade. Miss Severton had hysterics for days and never forgave him. Until then we all thought they would make a match of it.”

“That’s nothing compared to Shelford’s mishap back in ‘04,” contributed Lady Stafford. “He was visiting my brother’s estate that summer and lost control of his curricle. Bounded over lawns, through Mama’s garden party, knocked over two tables, and landed in the pond.”  Several ladies laughed. “Fortunately, no one was injured, but he was so embarrassed that he spent the rest of the summer working on his driving and now belongs to the Four-in-Hand Club.”

Emily caught Caroline’s eye and rose to leave. Behind them, the discussion recalled other exploits of cow-handed young men.

“I hope you successfully killed that story about Thomas,” Emily said when they were seated in her coach.

“Surely you don’t believe it!” exclaimed Caroline, detecting a hint of fatalism in Emily’s voice. When no answer was forthcoming, she snorted. “For heavens sake, Emily, think!  As careful as Thomas has been, can you imagine him waltzing up to the front door at three in the afternoon if his call was not innocent?”

Emily relaxed into a smile. “Put like that, you are right. Even in his worst obsessive trances, he has never lost all signs of intelligence.”

“And she did request his analysis of her stable. Dawson got it from Cramer who saw her note.”  Of course, what else might have occurred during that visit was not to be considered in company.

“I wonder if young Delaney will learn anything from today’s mishap.”

“That he needs driving lessons, one could hope.”

“Or that he should consider becoming a fop. Robert cannot handle anything more spirited than a plow horse, you know.”

“Really?  What do Thomas and your father think of that?”

“Father sighs and refuses to discuss it. Thomas would never criticize him. He is very protective of Robert. And he may recall how much work it took to turn himself into a whip. The summer he was thirteen, he spent hours driving every day. He sustained three wrecks and two runaways before he mastered the art.”

“Goodness, I cannot imagine Thomas losing control of a horse.”

“Not any more. But skill at his level requires much practice. Like you and the pianoforte, I imagine.”