Somerville Farce (9 page)

“So, you don’t plan to give me my cottage
and allowance? You had better think twice, your grace. I could
leave this house now and go straight to the nearest newspaper
office, to tell the world what your reckless brother has done,” she
remembered pointing out, refusing to rise from her seat.

“And who would believe you, Trixy?” he had
answered, holding open the door to the hallway. “My aunt will be in
residence before nightfall, and my servants are exceedingly loyal.
It would be my word against yours. And remember, I’ve already met
Helena. The girl is in no danger of becoming known as a
bluestocking. It shouldn’t be any trouble to convince the twins
where their best interests lie. No,” he had ended, smiling as Trixy
began to walk, head down, out of the room, “I should think you’ll
see it my way in the end.”

He had then held out a hand to grasp her
elbow, detaining her for a moment more. “I will provide for the
girls, I will replenish all your wardrobes, I will give the girls
their Season, I will allow you to stay with them, in order to ease
your mind, until they are married off. I will do all of this for
you and the daughters of my enemy. But I warn you now, Miss
Stourbridge, if a single word of anything that has happened between
the moment Lord William first broke into the house on Half Moon
Street and this moment reaches my aunt’s ears, the whole lot of you
will find yourselves sleeping under the hedgerows, my support
withdrawn. Have I made myself clear... Trixy?”

“What possible plausible reason are you
going to give your aunt for having Eugenie and Helena here?” she
had asked, refusing to raise her head for fear he would see in her
eyes the nervousness she felt standing so close to him, feeling his
strong hand against her elbow. “Surely I should know, if I’m to
instruct the girls in what and what not to say.”

“That’s simple, Trixy. I am prepared to tell
my aunt that you, the devoted companion, prudently brought the
girls to my door yesterday to beg my help, as Somerville had run
off, leaving you all penniless. My aunt is a good woman, but she is
not the possessor of an outstanding wit. She will accept what I
tell her. I am to be a hero, I think, a selfless gentleman who has
taken pity on three destitute women, believing myself to be at
least partially responsible for your plight, as I was the one who
scared off Somerville in the first place. Yes, Trixy, I believe I
rather like that, don’t you?”

“I don’t think you care very much either way
what I believe... Harry.”

The duke’s hand had finally dropped away
from her elbow. “On the contrary, Trixy. I care very much what you
think. After all, only consider where your ‘thinking’ has got us
already.”

Trixy had turned, looked up at the duke,
opened her mouth as if to speak, and then shaken her head, turning
away.

“What?” Glynde had challenged, his every
word a dagger thrust to her heart. “No last words? No magnificent,
cutting exit line? Why, Trixy, you disappoint me. Surely it isn’t
this easy to have the last word against you?”

But it had been that easy, Trixy recalled
now, throwing herself across the bed on her stomach, to lie with
her chin in her hands as she stared out the window at the gathering
twilight. And what bothered her most was that she hadn’t seen it
coming.

She had been silently preening all day,
congratulating herself for her brilliant coup in besting the Duke
of Glynde. Her plan, conceived in self-defense, had quickly become
personal—a battle of wills between the self-assured, handsome duke
and herself, a poor, hardworking woman of no power and little
prospects.

It had been David against Goliath, and the
victory, although short, had been very sweet. But it was over
now—and she hadn’t even suspected that there had been a flaw in her
scheme.

He had taken her plan and twisted it around
to his own advantage, and while she admired his ingenuity, she
hated him for his arrogance. If only she had been born a man, if
only she had wealth and position behind her, if only...

“If only he weren’t so handsome,” she ended,
laying her cheek against the satin coverlet. “If only there were
some way I could turn into a gorgeous young lady and dazzle him
with my beauty, my wit, my generous dowry. Then I should be on an
equal footing with Harry—and entice him into losing his heart to
me, only so that I could crush it mercilessly beneath my dancing
slipper, just as he has so successfully crushed my brief dream of
independence.”

Trixy lay across the bed for a long time,
until Lacy came to tell her that the dinner tray had been delivered
across the hall to the twins’ chamber.

“Coming, dearest Lacy,” Trixy said brightly,
rising quickly from the bed. And then she crossed the hall to eat a
good dinner, chattering happily to the twins about their good
fortune and the wonderful Season they would all share in London,
measuring her words carefully, until, in the end, the twins
actually believed that their come-out had been the plan all
along.

Trixy might have had to force some of her
gaiety, but her good mood did not rely entirely on her hard-learned
ability to hide her true feelings. For Trixy Stourbridge had used
her time lying across the bed wisely—and once more, she had a
plan.

“E
xcuse me, ma’am,”
Trixy said politely, standing in the doorway of the main saloon
just before noon of the following day. “Could you possibly be Lady
Amelia? No, of course not. Silly me, to ask such a question. Harry
has hinted to me that his Aunt Fauntleroy is a much older woman, a
contemporary of his father’s. You couldn’t possibly be she... but
you must be. How I shall roast Harry for bamming me with tales of
how his darling aunt might be too fatigued to take on the role of
hostess for the Season. I’m Trixy Stourbridge, by the way,” she
said, advancing into the room to curtsy in front of the woman,
“companion to the Misses Somerville, Harry’s wards.”

Amelia Fauntleroy, a woman who would never
see the sunny side of fifty again, held out her hand to Trixy, then
patted the spot next to her on the sofa, urging the newcomer to sit
down. “We have heard of your advent, Miss Stourbridge,” she said,
employing the kingly “we” with an ease that indicated the woman was
comfortable in its usage, “and although we are still very much at
sixes and sevens, what with thinking of all the intricate
preparation that goes into the successful launch of two young
misses, we are eagerly anticipating the event.”

Trixy bit down hard on the inside of her
cheek, trying not to give way to mirth. The woman was going to be
so easy it might not be sporting. Sneaking an assessing look at
Lady Amelia out of the corners of her eyes, Trixy took in the
woman’s self-satisfied expression, plumpness of face and figure,
her watery blue eyes, her obviously dyed black hair, the flowing
draperies of her gown, and the four rings that all but cut off the
circulation in four of her pudgy fingers. Oh, yes. This was going
to be very easy.

“Then you are pleased!” Trixy trilled,
clapping her hands delightedly. “Oh, dearest Harry was right—you
must be the very best of aunts. Just wait until you meet Eugenie
and Helena, Lady Amelia. You’ll be immediately taken with them, as
they are wonderful girls. So biddable, so freshly beautiful. Truly,
ma’am, diamonds of the first water—and so very grateful to you and
dearest Harry for all you are prepared to do for them.”

Lady Amelia smiled at the flattery even as
she frowned in confusion. “We do not quite understand this
familiarity with our nephew,” she admitted, picking at the lace on
the skirt of her gown. “His grace has given you permission to
address him as Harry? It’s most odd, we think.”

Trixy bent her head and held her breath
until her cheeks became flushed, as she had never been able to
blush on command, no matter that she was a fair-skinned redhead.
She couldn’t bring herself to lie to the woman, but that didn’t
mean she had to tell the complete truth, did it?

“Oh, dear me,” she said with a nervous
giggle, “I thought you knew, Lady Amelia. I’m so embarrassed. Harry
has been so very gracious as to allow me to address him informally,
as he, in turn, does me. He... he’s a very sweet man, isn’t he?
Please tell me you don’t mind. I wouldn’t wish for you to be angry
with Harry. He has been so kind—taking me in, offering to provide
me with an entire new wardrobe so that I may take part in the
Season as well. Oh, yes. He expressly said that he harbors the
belief that I too, and not just the girls, might be satisfactorily
settled before the Season is over.” Find herself a widower, would
she? Harry would rue the day he had jabbed her with that dart, she
thought, fluttering her lashes demurely.

Lady Amelia giggled. Trixy could hardly
believe what she was hearing, but it was a definite girlish giggle.
“Oh, that Harry—what a card!” Lady Amelia trilled, laying one
beringed hand on Trixy’s forearm. “We think we are beginning to see
the reason behind our nephew’s uncharacteristic act of charity. He
must have seen you when he went to Half Moon Street to call out
that odious Myles Somerville and become instantly smitten. No
wonder he took you in when you applied for his help. We couldn’t
believe he would willingly take on the debut of two young ladies,
daughters of his enemy, but now we understand. He has another,
eminently more personal reason for helping those poor girls, hasn’t
he? Were you taken with Harry on sight as well, dearest girl?”

Trixy placed her hand over the older woman’s
and patted it. “Truly, ma’am, I don’t believe you have the right of
it. Harry was just being kind. I doubt he cares a snap for me. As a
matter of fact, I’m not even sure he likes me very much. It’s the
girls who concern him, who have touched his tender heart. You
mustn’t read romance into his simple act of charity.”

Lady Amelia nodded sagely. “We understand
your meaning completely, my dear, and we shan’t tease him with our
knowledge. We always knew it would take a more mature woman to
pique his interest. We cannot wait to get you to London and outfit
you in a way that will dazzle Harry. It shan’t be easy—your hair
presents quite a problem, you understand—but we shall consider that
a challenge. Oh, but it will be fun to watch Harry try to elude the
callings of his heart, my dear, truly it will. For so long we have
feared that Harry would never wed, that he was taking this duke
business too seriously, but now... well, just let us say that we
are very pleased.”

As Trixy allowed herself to be enveloped in
a perfumed hug, she decided that dishonesty, once the first
faltering step had been taken, rapidly became increasingly easy to
repeat. She had a roof over her head for the Season, the promise of
an entire new wardrobe, the wages Harry promised to pay her, and
with only a little luck, she would end up with the cottage and
allowance as well.

T
he Duke of Glynde
was perplexed. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting
the atmosphere of Glyndevaron to be once he’d made his
announcement—complete with carefully calculated fibs—to his Aunt
Amelia, but he was certain that he had not gotten what he had
expected, for the general mood inside the house for the succeeding
forty-eight hours had bordered on the euphoric.

His aunt, for one, couldn’t be happier, nor
more nearly incoherent in her joy. She was “absolutely taken” with
Eugenie and Helena and all but promised her nephew that, together,
the beauteous twins would take London society by storm.

And, according to his aunt, Trixy
Stourbridge was “a rare treasure,” a young woman so good of heart
and unselfish of spirit that she did not make a single demand for
herself, caring only for the good of the twins; her modest nature
made it imperative that Aunt Amelia see to it that the companion be
rigged out in all the latest fashions and be forced, if necessary,
to join in all the fun of the Season.