Page 55 of Miss Dashing
Hecate had the beginnings of a headache, a pinching around the temples. She counted it a small price to pay for spending hours each night in Phillip’s arms, but the toll was mounting. Waiting for the household to batten down for the night, slipping across the park, then returning before dawn ran contrary to her usual well-ordered routine.
Racketing about in the dark made her feel like a Brompton in the harum-scarum sense, but then, by next week, the opportunities to be private with Phillip would be at an end.
“And that,” Johnny said with a self-deprecating smile, “is how I came to be driving a donkey cart when I was dispatched to pick up my new commanding officer’s lady wife. Let it be said, however, that they were matched donkeys, each one as malodorous and contrary as the other.”
“How marvelous!” Flavia sighed as the rest of the audience laughed and tapped spoons against glasses. “Now I want to be driven in Hyde Park behind a matched pair of donkeys with Johnny at the ribbons.”
“Matched asses in Hyde Park,” Mrs. Roberts murmured across the table. “Intriguing concept. On that note, shall we ladies withdraw to the blandishments of the teapot?” Bless her, she directed her question to Edna, who had no choice but to rise.
Hecate waited for the guests to sort themselves out and found Johnny winging his arm at her.
“My dear, dear girl, grace me with your company, won’t you please?”
Hecate wrapped her fingers around his arm while Phillip did the pretty for Mrs. Roberts. They passed close enough that Hecate could catch a whiff of Phillip’s shaving soap, though he wasn’t wearing his usual lavender meadow scent. Something heavier and sweeter, perhaps from the stores stocked in the summer cottage.
She didn’t care for it. “I am not a girl,” she said, offering Johnny a bland smile. “Haven’t been for years.”
“One notices the transformation.” He imbued his words with a hint of flirtation. “Notices and appreciates. You’re in charge of this gathering, aren’t you?”
“I have assisted Edna with some details.” That he’d see Hecate’s hand on the reins pleased her, which was ridiculous.
Johnny laughed softly. “You were always excessively capable. I knew if I took you to Canada—as badly as I longed to—the whole lot of ’em would come to a scandalous end. Admit it, I made the right decision leaving you at your post while I made my fortune in the New World.”
Hecate was torn between resentment—when had Johnny Brompton acquired the right to assign her the duty of rescuing his family?—and confusion. He spoke to her as if they’d been on parallel missions on separate shores, all for the greater good.
“Your strategy proved successful,” Hecate said as they approached the parlor door.
“My strategy? When have I ever had occasion to discuss strategy with you? So lovely a pair of ears ought not to be burdened with the details of maneuvers and means.”
He’d always discussed his plans and dreams in terms of tactics, at least when conversing with Hecate in private. Johnny was shrewd, though perhaps he’d learned to hide the shrewdness behind blather.
“You advised me to fend off all offers of marriage until I was one-and-twenty, at which time, I’d begin acquiring control of my money. That was sound thinking, and I thank you for it. I manage my entire fortune now, and that would never have happened if I’d married.”
“You manage the whole yourself?” Johnny patted her hand. “Good for you. I’m proud of you, Hecate. The entire family is in your debt, and I will be the one to acknowledge what we owe you. Well done.”
The effect of his words was like expecting skimmed milk in her tea and finding somebody had stirred in heavy cream instead. The lavish praise felt heavy and sticky rather than rich.
“Thank you. I hope your rooms are in order?”
“Lovely. The staff says you kicked Lord Phillip out to make room for me. I will have to express my appreciation to him for accepting lesser quarters, but you need not have displaced the ranking guest on my behalf. In Canada, I spent many a night beside a campfire. A trapper goes for months without sleeping in a proper bed. It’s a hard life, and I am well pleased to have it behind me.”
He’d be back to Canada on a fast ship once the Bromptons started relieving him of his fortune.
“Then we must ensure your comfort while you’re here,” Hecate said as the gentlemen began filing back toward the dining room. “It’s good to see you.”
“Wonderful to see you.” He held her hand and gazed at her with a seriousness that belied the raconteur’s good spirits. “A dream come true.” He bowed over her hand and departed, leaving Hecate alone in the corridor and wondering what on earth he’d intended with that excessive flummery.
“The evening put me in mind of my attitude toward Crosspatch’s churchyard gossips,” Phillip said as he and DeWitt wandered toward the summer cottage. “Not a word of the proceedings ever involved me. I lack any aptitude for intemperance, flirtation, adultery, wagering, rage, or crime, and thus I was of no interest to them, nor they to me.”
“You also,” DeWitt said, “never ran off to join the traveling players, leaving your womenfolk to make shift. The Crosspatch neighbors must have made a great deal of hay over that.”
“We worried about you,” Phillip said, and to his consternation, he was still in some regard worried for DeWitt. The fellow was unsettled, and fishing generally lost its charm by the third hour. As far as Phillip knew, DeWitt had yet to catch anything save a few naps.
“I don’t get the sense anybody worried about Cousin Johnny,” DeWitt said. “His years in Canada were apparently one long, uninterrupted lark.”
“A lucrative lark, based on his turnout.” Two golden rings on his left hand, a third on his right. A tasteful cascade of lace beneath his chin, the fragrance of gardenias wafting about his person. Three gold watch chains across his flat middle and a dragon twisted onto the gold of his cravat pin.
Gardenias.The sooner Phillip washed away the stink of the fancyparfumhis valet had insisted on packing, the sooner he’d breathe freely.
