A Lady of Quality

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“I beg your pardon.” A well-favored and familiar gentleman dressed in a black suit approached from the direction of the front entrance. “Perhaps I may be of assistance in your decision.”

“Mr. Grenville.” Mr. Lambert appeared near to collapsing, and Winston felt a pinch of guilt over his charade. “If you give me a moment, I shall be pleased to help you myself.”

“No hurry.” Mr. Grenville tipped his hat to Miss Hart and offered Winston a slight bow. “Good afternoon, sir. You will perhaps remember our meeting this Sunday past when you attended my brother Lord Greystone’s wedding.”

“Ah, yes.” This gentleman’s brothers had snatched away the only two ladies Winston had attempted to court this Season. Was this one about to take Miss Hart, as well? Still, he could not avoid introducing them. “Miss Hart, may I present Mr. Grenville, the vicar who conducted the viscount’s wedding.” He turned to the vicar. “Miss Hart is Lady Blakemore’s companion.”

The lady executed an elegant curtsy and held out her hand. “Mr. Grenville, I have heard nothing but the highest praise for you and your family from Lord and Lady Blakemore.”

“I thank you, madam.” He bowed over her hand. “I know you are a comfort to Lady Blakemore now that all of her children are married and living in different parts of the country.”

“I do hope so.” Miss Hart gave him a warm smile.

“By the by, Winston,” the vicar said, “Greystone tells me you were quite the hero in the matter of the climbing boys. Not many peers would endanger their own lives by fighting criminals in defense of two small chimney sweeps.”

“’Twas your brother’s triumph,” Winston said. “I was merely along for the ride.” True, it had been a great adventure. But he was learning this day that entering a den of cowardly miscreants was actually much easier than discerning what might please a young lady.

“A hero. My, my.” She shot a triumphant glance at Winston, as if she somehow sensed he would not continue their argument in front of the vicar. “Well, sir, we have completed our business.” She spoke to the flower vendor. “The delphiniums, Mr. Lambert.”

Mr. Lambert wrung his hands again and cast an anxious look at Winston. For his part, Winston had the urge to gently tweak Miss Hart’s pretty little nose, as he had frequently done to his little sister when they had quarreled. He managed to squelch the temptation and instead gave the lady a bow of defeat. “The delphiniums. But do put at least a single white rose among them as a symbol of my surrender.”

Mr. Grenville laughed. “Well, I see that my interference is not necessary.” He clapped a hand on Mr. Lambert’s shoulder. “I have come to fetch the bouquet my wife ordered. Do you have it ready?”

While the minister conducted business with the relieved flower vendor, Winston quietly exhaled his relief over learning the gentleman was married. He would be more than pleased to have a measure of whatever graces those Grenville brothers possessed, some intangible quality that gave them such charming airs, especially with the ladies. Was it something a gentleman could learn?

They took their leave of the vicar and left the building, but Winston tarried after handing Miss Hart into the landau. When Mr. Grenville emerged carrying a nosegay of daisies and other small flowers, he beckoned to him.

“Will you call upon me at your convenience, sir?”

“Indeed I will.” The vicar beamed at the invitation. “It will be my pleasure.”

With a time settled upon, they parted company, and Winston climbed into the carriage.

“In need of spiritual advice, are we?” Miss Hart gave him a pretty, innocent smile at odds with her impertinent question.

Winston could think of no clever response. Toby, on the other hand, harrumphed with disapproval of her insolence as he slapped the reins on the horses’ haunches to urge them forward.

A dark look passed over her face, almost a scowl. Was she mortified by her question? Angry about being chided by a servant, even passively? Or had Winston somehow offended her...again? This time, he would not rest until they reached a truce. He tapped the driver’s bench with his cane. “Hyde Park, Toby.” To Miss Hart, he said, “We must do as Lady Blakemore instructed us.”

She merely nodded. They drove in silence for several moments. At last she released a long sigh.

“I beg you, sir, you must not keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me about your gallant rescue of the climbing boys.”

* * *

Catherine did not wish to hear the story, did not wish to know how this man could be a hero to little chimney sweeps and yet turn around and as much as murder Papa. Yet courtesy demanded that she ask him about the incident after the vicar mentioned it. Lord Winston would boast, of course, and expose his pride, which he had cleverly hidden from Mr. Grenville. But then, one always pasted one’s best face on when talking with a clergyman. Even she had offered Mr. Brown, the pastor of her home parish, only her brightest smile and nods of agreement when he had counseled her and Mama about Papa’s tragedy. While she knew some men entered the church for political reasons, Mr. Brown was all sincerity, and he had a gift for discernment, much like Mr. Grenville appeared to possess. Too much interaction with such spiritual guides would expose her lies. Therefore, she would avoid Mr. Grenville at all costs.

Now, having boldly demanded to hear about Lord Winston’s heroism, she sat back, awaiting his response. Oddly, he tugged at his collar, and if she did not dislike him so thoroughly, she would find his reddening cheeks quite charming, in a boyish way.

“I fear, Miss Hart, that too much has been made of my part in the event. I merely accompanied Lord Greystone on the adventure. For some charitable reason I know nothing about, he had taken in the little chimney sweeps, and when their former master kidnapped them, Greystone was determined to have them back. After a Bow Street Runner located them in a disreputable tavern on the Thames, the three of us went there to rescue them. Greystone was the true hero, for he entered through an upstairs window and brought the lads out. While he and the Runner made their escape, I held off a few ruffians with my sword and pistol. They were cowards, the lot of them, for not a one attempted to engage me in a fight.”

“Were you all that eager for a duel, then, master swordsman that you are?” The instant she said the words, Catherine cringed inwardly. He would no doubt wonder how she knew such a thing about him.

But he simply chuckled softly and shrugged. “Actually, I do like fencing, but I cannot be certain my instructor, Mr. Angelus, who owns the academy where I practice, would call me a master swordsman.”

Against her will, she detected a hint of humility in his tone rather than the pride she had expected. Had all of his arrogance during their match yesterday been mere bravado? No matter. She would never relent in her belief that he was a villain, albeit a humble one. How the two qualities could reside together in a single man, she could not guess. One thing she did know: all this talk of swordsmanship must cease before she gave herself away.

“Still, you must admit your rescue of the little boys will be a grand tale to tell your own sons.”

“Hmm. I had not thought of that.” He grew pensive, as if envisioning such a scene.

The winsomeness on his handsome face pierced Catherine’s heart. What did he dream of? Hope for? Did a titled gentleman of his wealth, who sat with the great nobles of England in the House of Lords, have any unfulfilled dreams? No, she must not think of such things, must not ask him of his ambitions as though they mattered to her. With no little effort, she thrust away every kind impulse toward him, silently hurling the epithets liar and murderer at him as the landau rolled into Hyde Park.

They continued their ride in silence, passing food vendors, grand carriages of every description and numerous well-dressed people on horseback. Catherine recognized several peers and elected members of Parliament who seemed to have taken advantage of their day off from lawmaking to enjoy the late-afternoon sunshine. Lord Winston received a few solemn nods, but no one called out greetings, although more than one lady eyed the two of them with open curiosity. With all the noises of carriage wheels and chattering people, Catherine felt no need to attempt further conversation with Lord Winston.

“Miss Hart.” His mellow voice broke into Catherine’s reverie. “May I offer you some refreshment? If I am not mistaken, strawberry and lemon ices are available across the way.” He pointed his cane toward a line of trees.

She gazed in that direction. “That would be lovely.”

He ordered his driver to the shaded area where several tradesmen had set up their carts to sell pastries, ices and even complete picnics. There he handed her down from the landau.

“Your choice, Miss Hart.” He gestured broadly toward the numerous sellers calling out to passersby to come taste their wares.

“I thank you, sir.” Catherine studied the row of eager vendors, choosing at last a lively old woman in a tattered apron selling strawberry ices and cream-covered currant tarts. While her escort selected his own food and drink and settled the bill, she strolled among the oak and willow trees toward the Serpentine River some thirty yards away. Having sat most of the day, she longed for the exercise of an invigorating walk, preferably here in the shade as soon as she finished her refreshments.

“What ’ave we here, Joe?” A scratchy male voice came from behind a wide oak. “A pretty lady with a heavy purse, and all alone, at that.”

Another voice cackled, as if his friend had made a fine joke. “And all for the taking, wouldn’t you say, Jigger?”

A violent shiver shot up Catherine’s spine. These vile men meant to attack her, and she had no weapons to defend herself. A glance back at the carriage revealed she had wandered farther away than she had thought. There stood Lord Winston looking this way and that, apparently searching for her. Was he too far away to hear her cry out in the noisy park? Was every decent person too far to help her?

Before she could scream, one of the men grasped her around the waist from behind while the other covered her mouth with a filthy handkerchief that smelled of liquor and sweat. The other man wrested her fan and reticule from around her wrist, knocking her tart and ice to the ground and tearing her sleeve.

Then he began to tear at her gown.

Chapter Six

At the sight of Miss Hart being accosted by two villains, Winston’s heart jolted with fear such as he had not felt since Father died. But while he could not save his sick, elderly parent, he could save this lady. Seizing his cane from the carriage, he called for Toby to bring his whip, and the two of them raced toward the melee.

As they quickly covered the distance, their hats flying off in the wind, Winston saw Miss Hart wriggling and twisting and cheered her courage. When the heel of her half boot connected sharply with her captor’s shin, the man howled, which served to alert others in the park that a crime was in progress. To Winston’s relief, a crowd began to gather. But to his horror, before he could reach Miss Hart, she was flung to the ground and landed hard. The impact sent her bonnet flying, and her long, dark hair fell loose from its pins and formed a silken shawl about her shoulders.

He reached the scene and slammed his cane against the skull of the man who had thrown her down. The attacker landed on his back and emitted a loud cry of agony. In one fluid movement, Winston slammed one Hessian boot down on the man’s chest, unsheathed his sword from the cane and stuck the point into the villain’s neck, drawing blood. Toby set upon the other man with his whip until he curled into a ball and screamed in pain.