Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (7 page)

"Outrageous!" Rosalind said. Her eyes blazed with anger and Max thought her especially lovely under that new fire. "You should not have to beg for patronage. You are better than the lot of them put together, I should imagine. How dare they!"

Max noted Fanny's flush of pride at Rosalind's words. He thanked heaven, not for the first time, that the tiresome wretch of a niece Fanny had expected had instead turned out to be this vibrant woman so full of spirit.

"They dare," Fanny said, "because they are puffed up with their own consequence."

"They sound just like my Uncle Talmadge. Horrid man."

"Lord Talmadge is your uncle?" Max asked. "He of the anti-reform speeches and morality pamphlets?"

"The very one."

"Egad, Fanny, you never told me you were related to Talmadge."

"I'm not, thank God."

"He is my mother's brother," Rosalind said. "He has always been hateful to my family because... well, just because. Anyway, these Almack's women sound just as hateful! Making you beg their indulgence. Hmph!"

"Do not waste a single thought on those harridans, my girl," Fanny said. "It doesn't bother me in the least. I have never cared about their wretched little assemblies with their weak lemonade and mediocre music and dull company. They are none of them even worthy of my contempt."

"Jealous prigs," Max said.

"I believe you must be right," Rosalind said, looking across at Max. "They must lead horribly dull lives and feel obliged to tell others how to behave in order to lend themselves some kind of importance. Jealous prigs, indeed! Mr. Davenant, I declare were we not already several streets away, I would have you turn this coach around, return us to King Street where I would drag you onto the dance floor and force you to waltz with me. I have never danced the waltz, but I feel sure you could teach me."

"Indeed, I could."

"Fanny, we must contrive to get tickets again next Wednesday. And you must come along, Mr. Davenant, and lead me out for a waltz. Will you promise?"

"Fanny will have my head if I help you to ruin your reputation, my dear."

"I will do no such thing," Fanny said. "What harm is a simple waltz, anyway?"

"And I am not sixteen," Rosalind added as the carriage came to a halt in front of Sanbourne house. "At my age, I am far less likely to cause a single head to turn if I dare to waltz. Except, hopefully, for those horrid patronesses whose rules I am simply itching to defy. Odious women! Will you promise me, Mr. Davenant?"

"All right, minx." His footman opened the carriage door and Max stepped out, then turned to hand down the ladies. "But you must promise me," he said to Rosalind, "that you will call me Max."

"Oh yes, you must cease this Mr. Davenant business, my dear," Fanny said, shaking out her skirts and adjusting her plumes. "Max is practically family, you know."

Rosalind caught his eye and grinned, obviously recollecting their previous conversation, and he gave her a wink.

When he offered an arm to lead her up the stairs, she winked back.

Chapter 5

Rosie stood on the pavement before Fanny's town- house and only half listened to the inane chatter of Mr. Jeremy Aldrich who stood beside her. They had been introduced and had danced together at the Sanbourne ball, and he had been overly attentive ever since. Frankly, Rosie found his youthful prattle tiresome and would not have given him the time of day were it not for his invitation to ride in the park.

In his brand-new sporting vehicle.

If nothing else, young Mr. Aldrich would allow her to check off one more item from her list. Actually, the item had been amended to say "drive" and not simply "ride" in a sporting vehicle, but Rosie would not broach that subject just yet.

The list should have been getting smaller as more and more items had been checked off. She had been to Almack's, had danced all night at a grand private ball, had drunk champagne, had received flowers from admirers. That last had not actually been on the list, but it ought to have been. It was most gratifying to find the drawing room filled with bouquets the morning after the Sanbourne ball.

But the list actually grew longer as she added more items to it each day. To attend a masque wearing some sort of daring costume. To take snuff. To look up her uncle Talmadge and tell him exactly what she thought of him. And to defy the Almack's ladies and dance the waltz. With Max, of course. If she was going to tweak the noses of the lady patronesses, she might as well do it with a handsome and notorious rake.

She had spent the last dozen years doing all that was proper, acting the very paragon of responsibility. During these few short months left her, it was exhilarating to do and say exactly what she pleased, to throw propriety and respectability to the winds. Lord, but she was having fun!

She wondered what Mr. Aldrich would say if he knew she intended to take the reins of his bang-up new curricle and see if she could make it fly?

The young tiger maneuvered the vehicle to a halt in front of them, then jumped down to hold the horses in place. They danced about skittishly, anxious to be off. Rosie knew exactly how they felt.

"It is a beauty, isn't it?" Mr. Aldrich said. "The sang de boeuf color is sure to be all the crack. I designed the polished brass fittings myself. See how the design incorporates my cypher? Clever, eh? You will note that even the bar is polished brass. It is perfectly balanced and sprung. And the upholstery is the finest Morocco leather. I assure you, Miss Lacey, no expense was spared in the construction."

All the while he yammered on, his young tiger held the horses—a beautiful matched pair of chestnut bays—and Rosie could think of nothing but how much she wished he would be quiet and hand her up into the thing so they could be off.

"And the improved method of suspension—"

"Yes, Mr. Aldrich," Rosie interrupted, "it is surely a fine piece of machinery and I am all agog to see how it performs. Now, hand me up please before I am overcome with excitement."

He gave her an indulgent smile. "Your excitement is quite understandable. Allow me? Up you go, then."

When Mr. Aldrich sat down beside her, and then the tiger leapt up onto his seat behind, Rosie giggled at the bouncing motion. The jaunty little carriage was so buoyant, it was like sitting in a feather bed. She could not suppress the desire to bounce up and down—just a little. It really was incredibly springy.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Lacey?"

"Indeed I am, Mr. Aldrich. Just testing the springs. This is a perfectly marvelous curricle. I adore it."

"I knew you would," he said, a smug grin upon his face. "Let us be off, then."

After a few moments of an exquisitely smooth but otherwise uneventful ride, Rosie boldly rested her hand on Mr. Aldrich's arm. He smiled triumphantly and placed a hand over hers. Her fingers, though, crept down to his hand that held the reins.

"You are going to give me a chance at the ribbons, are you not, Mr. Aldrich? Jeremy?"

His back stiffened and his hand tightened over hers. "You... you want to drive?"

"How could I not? It is such a splendid vehicle. You will make me the envy of every woman—to be seen driving a slap up to the mark carriage, with such a handsome man at my side. Please, Mr. Aldrich? Jeremy?"

He squirmed beside her. "I... I don't know, Miss Lacey."

"You must call me Rosalind," she purred.

"Rosalind." He spoke her name like a prayer and gazed at her with such calf's eyes it was all she could do not to giggle. "Rosalind. But... but, do you know how to drive a team?"

"I have been driving for years." She would not mention that she had only ever driven an old dog cart with a single sluggish nag. But how hard could it be to manage two horses?

"You think you could handle this team?" Jeremy asked.

She gave him her most adoring look and crooned into his ear. "I'm sure you could teach me what I need to know, Jeremy."

The young man was ridiculously susceptible to flirtation. Or perhaps she had simply gotten better at it. She had watched her aunt closely and taken note of her technique. Though she was older even than Rosie's father, Aunt Fanny could wrap any man of any age around her finger. It had been easy enough to learn how to flirt. You simply made each man believe he was the center of your world. It almost didn't matter what words you said, so long as you gazed deeply into his eyes and gave him your whole attention.

Jeremy Aldrich had succumbed in an instant.

When he had negotiated the streets of Mayfair and reached the park entrance, he handed the reins to Rosie. She allowed him to take her hands in his and guide her in handling the ribbons.

After a few minutes, she asked, "May I try on my own now, Jeremy?"

"You're sure?"

"Quite sure."

"All right, then. Be careful, Rosalind. The horses are fresh."

And then she was driving on her own, bouncing along on the Morocco leather seat, the horses following her lead, Jeremy beaming at her. It was wonderful. It was exciting.

It was too slow.

She flicked the reins and urged the horses on.

"I say, Rosalind, you might not want to go quite so fast. The park can be crowded this time of day."

"Then let's go this way." She steered the team away from the main paths and into the open space, then urged them on faster. And faster. And faster.

"Rosalind! What are you doing?"

"I'm flying!" And she was. With the wind in her face and the well-sprung carriage beneath her, she felt as though she could take off straight up into the sky. She gave a whoop of pure joy.

Jeremy laughed nervously beside her. "Perhaps you had better let me take the ribbons now, Rosalind."

"I'm having too much fun!" She shrugged off his hands when he tried to grab the reins from her.

"If you won't give me the ribbons, then I must insist that you pull up." There was a hint of anxiety beneath his stern tone. "Now, Rosalind. Before we have an accident."

She had no intention of having an accident, but it was his brand-new curricle, after all. She could understand his apprehension. Especially when she began to notice people scattering all in directions.

Though she had deliberately avoided the throngs of strollers and riders along the main paths, they behaved as though they believed the team was out of control and would mow them down. Blast. She was in perfect control. Her father and brother had taught her well. It was easy. If she had been at home she could have flown like the wind for miles down deserted country roads. But if she was at home, she would never have had the opportunity to drive such a fine, sleek vehicle. Blast and double blast.

With a sigh of resignation, Rosie pulled back the reins and expertly guided the team to the edge of the Serpentine. The horses, however, did not stop as she had expected but seemed headed straight for the water.

"Rosalind!"

She gave the reins a wild jerk in the opposite direction, and the team came to a sudden, jolting halt, tossing the little tiger out of his seat in back

Assured the boy was unharmed when he scampered up from the grass, Rosie threw back her head and laughed. It was jubilant, exultant laughter, for the sheer reckless thrill of the ride. Good Lord, but that had been fun. She looked over to find Jeremy staring at her open-mouthed.

"Are you mad?" he asked.

"I don't believe so," she replied, and continued to chuckle softly.

"No," Jeremy said, and then took her hands in his. Rosie was astonished to find him gazing ardently into her eyes. She had thought him angry. "No, you are not mad. But I am mad for you, my dear Rosalind. I declare, you are more exciting than any woman I've ever known. Pluck to the backbone. All the rest are nothing more than simpering, fainthearted little chits in comparison. But you, my dear Rosalind, you are magnificent."

Rosie thought he might have kissed her then and there—and she would have let him—had not a small crowd begun to gather around the curricle. Curse it! To be thoroughly kissed after such a thrilling ride— now that would have been a day to remember.

"Outstanding, Miss Lacey!" Sir Cedric Bassett said as he approached. "Never seen a female drive so well in all my life."

*          *          *

Max slowed his approach when he saw the others surround the vehicle, and could see clearly that Rosalind was unhurt. In fact, she was laughing.

"Don't look like she needs rescuing to me." Sir George Fellowes had been strolling with Max along the Chesterfield Gate footpath, taking stock of the afternoon's population of attractive females, when the shiny red curricle had sped past. Max had recognized Rosalind at once, seen that she held the reins, and assumed she had lost control of the team. Tugging his friend along, he hurried after the carriage with some vague notion of helping to avert danger.

He ought to have known better.

"Well, thank God for that," Max said and waved a hand in front of his face like a fan. "Heroics are much too exhausting."