Cupid's Choice: She's a shy beauty in distress. He's a chivalric gentleman.

Cupid’s Choice

Gayle Buck

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2015 © Gayle Buck

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It was a gray, chilly day in February when the cumbersome traveling coach, accompanied by two outriders, rolled up before a respectable town house located in a quiet side street situated off Albemarle Street. A fine mist had turned to cold drizzle an hour before and the slighter of the horsemen was huddled miserably inside his greatcoat.

Swinging down from the saddle, the broad-shouldered horseman glanced over at his companion. He laughed and in a cheerful, rallying way, said, “Come, Percy, this is fine weather compared to what I have seen in a Spanish bivouac.”

“You are undoubtedly right, Uncle. However, that happy reflection does not bring warmth to my face and hands,” said Lord Percival Holybrooke. Under the lowered brim of his hat, his face was imperfectly seen; but it was a handsome countenance, possessing a long straight nose, a mouth that was thin-lipped but well-shaped, and a firm chin.

The young earl stepped down from the creaking saddle, grimacing as his boots splashed into a hole of dirty water. “I no longer envy your soldiering experiences, sir!”

Colonel Caldar laughed again, the weathered lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling. Throwing the reins over his horse’s head with a large gloved hand, he said, “Well, lad, let us see how your mother and sister have faired the last leg of the journey. We shall all be glad of a hot meal and dry bed, I’ll wager.”

One of the coachmen climbed down from the coach seat and took the reins for the horses so that the two gentlemen could go around to the side of the coach.

A footman had emerged from the opened door of the town house and had run down the wet steps to unlatch the coach door. The iron step was let down and the passengers were respectfully requested to descend to the streaming walkway.

Colonel Caldar and Lord Holybrooke were in time to take the footman’s place and hand down Mrs. Holland and her daughter. As soon as Mrs. Holland was safely on the flagstones, she reached out with both kid-gloved hands to take hold of the broad-notched lapels of the earl’s dampened greatcoat.

“Percy! I feared for you riding in the rain. You haven’t taken a cold, have you, my dear?” asked Mrs. Holland anxiously, her dark eyes taking stock of her beloved son’s face.

Shaded by his riding hat, Lord Holybrooke’s black brows drew together over gray-blue eyes that held mild irritation. “Of course not, Mama,” he said with admirable restraint. “I am not a child, you know.”

“Leave him be, Aurelia. A little wet never hurt anyone,” said Colonel Caldar mildly.

Mrs. Holland shot a glance at her brother. “I beg to differ, Arnold. I for one am quite susceptible to the damp, and dear Percy has always taken after me in that respect. I only hope that he may not come down with an inflammation of the lungs.”

“Come, Mama! I am not so sickly,” said Lord Holybrooke, the flicker of a smile touching his face. He gently pushed aside her clutching fingers.

“If you insist on arguing the point standing on the walkway in the rain, we shall all no doubt contract influenza,” said Colonel Caldar acidly.

Mrs. Holland glared. She turned to her son with a regal toss of her head. “Pray escort me into the town house, Percy. I refuse to bandy words in such a vulgar fashion with your uncle.”

“Of course, Mama,” said Lord Holybrooke, taking his mother’s arm. He glanced backward over his shoulder with a wink for his uncle and sister.

With a sigh, Colonel Caldar turned to his niece. “Well, Guin, we have been blessedly forgotten for the moment. Shall we go in, my dear?”

Miss Guineveve Holland had stood by patiently during the skirmish between her elders. Now she smiled affectionately up at her uncle, droplets of water dripping steadily from the brim of her bonnet. Colonel Caldar was not above medium height, but her own short inches made him seem large to her. She tucked one hand into his arm. “Oh, yes, Uncle, I should like to do so! My half boots must be quite soaked through, for I stepped into that puddle when I stepped down and now my feet are frozen.”

Colonel Caldar glanced down at her with sudden concern, his thick sandy brows contracting. He covered her slight hand with his large square one. “My dear! You should have said something at once.”

“It doesn’t signify, dear sir. Mama wished to assure herself that Percy had taken no harm, you see,” said Guin calmly. She stepped slightly aside as the footman carried some of the baggage past her toward the town house doorway.

Colonel Caldar’s lips tightened as he continued to look at her, but he said only, “Aye, I do indeed see.” He escorted his niece straight up the steps toward the front door, calling for the porter to see to the remainder of the baggage. “And send word to the kitchen to have a hot posset sent up to my niece in her room.”

Guin anxiously scanned Colonel Caldar’s grim expression. She thought her uncle did not precisely understand how it was. The servants should not be busied on her behalf when there were other, more important, claims on them. “No, really, there mustn’t be any trouble taken over me, sir! It is Mama and Percy who are affected by the cold and wet. They should have the services of the staff first. I shall do very well once I have put off my wet half boots, I promise you.”

“You’ll do as I say, young lady,” said Colonel Caldar in a tone of authority. “Percy is like whipcord. He’ll do in a pinch. As for your mother—” His firm lips tightened again. There was a flash of anger deep in his blue eyes. “Your mother is very capable of seeing to her own comforts. She is one of the most selfish creatures I have ever known.”

“No, no! How can you say so, Uncle?” exclaimed Guin, astonished and distressed by the colonel’s assessment. She glanced quickly around the small entry hall, fearing that her mother might overhear and take offense. She was relieved to see that except for the back and forth bustling of the footman and porter, the entry was deserted, her mother and brother having apparently already gone upstairs.

“I can say it quite easily, my dear. She is my sister, so I have known her all of her life. The only being Aurelia has ever cared for as much as herself is Percy. And how that can be when you were born twins, I cannot and never will understand.”

“Oh, no, no! You are being unjust, sir!” protested Guin at once.

“Scarcely that, Guin! As you very well know, if you could be brought to admit it,” said Colonel Caldar in an undertone, casting a glance at the passing footman to assure himself that the servant man could not overhear. “My sister is a monster of selfishness, and she treats you scarcely better than an indigent relation! I wish you would stand up to her, my dear!”

Guin found that she could not speak, for her voice was suspended by the tight constriction in her throat. She made a gesture of denial with her hand.

Colonel Caldar saw the startled tears in his niece’s large dark blue eyes and realized that he had gravely upset her. His fierce expression softened. He put a stalwart arm around her shoulders and gave her a swift, awkward hug. “Never mind, Guin. You are a good, sweet girl. Percy knows your true worth, as do I. Now, here is the maid ready to take you up to your room. Do as I say, and drink the posset! It will warm you inside.”

Guin gave a small laugh. Shaking her head at him, she turned and obediently followed the somber-dressed maid up the broad carpeted staircase to the second landing. She was relieved that her uncle had not continued to speak so slightingly of her mother. It was distressing to her whenever her mother came under censor, for she always felt her emotions torn.

In this instance, loyalty toward her mother warred against the depressing conviction of the truth that Colonel Caldar had so unexpectedly tossed out. Guin unconsciously shook her head, denying it to herself. It wasn’t true! Her mother didn’t treat her badly, precisely. It was unfair of her uncle to say so. It was just that Percy was able to cajole their mother. And Percy was more deserving of attention because he had been heir to the old earl. She understood perfectly. She had always understood.

Guin could not reconcile her jumbled thoughts. Her uncle’s words could not be easily shaken. Guin made a determined effort to thrust aside what her uncle had said. She would not think about it any longer, she thought resolutely.

The maid stopped before a heavy paneled door, and opened it. The tiring-woman showed Guin into a bedroom. “Here we are, miss.”

The bedroom was bathed in the last rays of the gray day outside the window. The noise of the rain, now falling in earnest, and the occasional clip-clopping passage of a carriage sounded distinctly from below the narrow window. Obviously she had been given a front bedroom overlooking the cobbled street.

Guin entered hesitantly, glancing about her at the unaccustomed furnishings. The bedroom’s proportions were small. A large four-poster bed commanded the room, its faded rose damask curtains neatly tied back at the rounded posts. An old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe took up nearly one wall. Next to it was a massive cheval glass. A chaise lounge was shoved into the shadows of the farthest corner. There was a washstand with a chipped bowl and pitcher. A single wing chair, with a small parquet occasional table beside it, had been arranged in front of the hearth. Someone more sophisticated would have unhesitatingly stigmatized the bedroom to be dowdy, as well as inconvenient, situated as it was above the street, but to Guin’s eyes it looked quite comfortable.

A small fire burned on the hearth. Guin was drawn immediately to its welcoming glow. Unbuttoning her kid gloves, she peeled them off, laying them carefully on the high wood mantel before bending to spread her chilled hands to the flames. When she felt the warmth beginning to thaw her cold hands, she sighed contentedly. It had grown cold in the coach and she had stifled a sneeze or two. In fact, now that she was in front of the fire, she realized she was chilled all the way through. Her brown pelisse was serviceable enough, but standing in the drizzle had gotten it damp enough that it no longer served to keep her warm.

Behind her, the maid bustled about opening and pushing aside Guin’s few pieces of baggage until she opened a modest strapped trunk. Out of it, she began to pull out the few necessary articles for which she had been searching. “You’ll be wishful to put off them damp clothes, miss. I’ve found a nice clean dress,” said the maid. “If you’ll remove your bonnet, I’ll help you with the pelisse buttons. We’ll have you changed in a trice.”

Guin straightened from warming her hands to look around at the maid in surprise. “Why, I have always dressed myself. Surely you’ll be wanted by my mother, Mrs. Holland.”

The maid looked queerly at her. “No, miss. I am to be your maid. The mistress has her own dresser, who arrived two days past. And a nose-in-the-air piece she is, too!”

A knock sounded on the door. The maid went to open it, the modest wool merino gown she had found still flung over her arm. There was a short murmured exchange. Then the maid closed the door and came back with a tray, which she sat down on the occasional table. “Now, miss, here is your posset come and you not ready to drink it!”

Not saying another word, Guin untied the sober-colored ribbons of her plain velvet bonnet and removed it from her head. The maid twitched the damp headgear efficiently out of Guin’s hands.

Guin blinked. She was still shocked by the notion of having her own maid to dress her. She had never been vouchsafed such a luxury in her life. Even at Holybrooke, where they had gone to live permanently after her brother had inherited the title, she had still dressed herself.

“Why don’t you sit down, miss, and drink your posset while I remove your half boots,” suggested the maid.

Guin started to object, embarrassed by the attention, but something in the maid’s expression stopped her. Instead she mutely did as she was told. Things were certainly going to be different in London, she reflected, not at all certain she could readily adjust to the changes.

She picked up the porcelain cup containing the posset that had been brewed for her. Holding the hot cup between her hands and allowing the heat to pleasantly sear her palms, she took a cautious sip. The warm liquid soothed the tickle in the back of her throat and left a wonderful feeling of well-being as it went down into her. Guin closed her eyes, breathing in the warm aroma. It was so nice. She would have to thank her uncle for ordering the posset when she saw him later. She scarcely noticed while the half boots were pulled off of her feet,

“Miss, your half boots are soaked through!” exclaimed the maid. “Your stockings are that damp!” Efficiently she peeled off the woolen stockings and began to rub her new mistress’s feet dry with a rough towel.

Guin’s eyes flew open. She looked guiltily at the tiring-woman. “I-I stepped into a puddle, you see.”

“Your half boots could be proper ruined,” said the maid, turning her attention back to the footwear for a critical examination.

Guin was appalled. All feeling of well-being fled. The familiar panicked feeling settled in her stomach, tightening into an unpleasant knot. Involuntarily, she exclaimed, “Oh, no! They cannot be! Mama will be so angry with me if they are!”

The maid looked up quickly, an astonished expression in her pale blue eyes. “Miss?”

The hot color of embarrassment flooded Guin’s face. She nervously turned the cup around and around in her hands. “My—my mother is very insistent that I am not wasteful or—or frivolous. I don’t wish to be required to purchase another pair.”

After meeting Guin’s worried gaze for a long considering moment, the tiring-woman rose to her feet with the half boots still clutched in her hands. She said decisively, “Never you fret, miss. I’ll see that they’re dried proper and well greased so they’ll not crack. Now, let’s see about getting you changed.”