Louise Gouge - A Lady of Quality

Rich, heady fragrances filled the rooms, some nearly overpowering. Winston watched as the proprietor advertised the qualities of the various flowers, with Miss Hart nodding or shaking her head. At last she seemed to settle on a large container of vibrant purple delphiniums.

“Yes, I believe these will be perfect. The fragrance is enough to freshen the room but not so overpowering as to spoil one’s appetite. You may create—hmm, let me see.” She tilted her head prettily, stared off thoughtfully, then refocused on the aproned vendor. “I believe four arrangements will be sufficient.”

“Of course, Miss Hart. Would you permit me to include a spray or two of—”

“Wait.”

Both Miss Hart and Mr. Lambert looked at Winston as if he were a squawking gander. In truth, he had no idea why he had interrupted the man, but now he must follow through with his challenge. “I cannot imagine that Lady Blakemore will prefer anything but roses.” He gave Miss Hart what he hoped was a smug look. “Red roses.”

Just as he hoped, her eyes lit with the same spark as when they had begun their verbal rivalry. Had he found the key to redeeming the game?

“Red roses? La, what an idea. Why, the fragrance of too many roses can overpower the aroma of even the most delicious roast beef.” She arched her perfect brown eyebrows and sniffed for emphasis.

“Au contraire, mademoiselle.” Winston crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his nose at her. Which was a bit difficult, considering her height. “The fragrance of roses can only enhance the flavors of a well-prepared supper.” Not that he had ever noticed such a thing.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Lambert wring his hands as alarm spread over his slender face.

“Milord, Miss Hart, please. Perhaps alternating arrangements of roses and delphiniums would suit Lady Blakemore?”

“No.” Winston shook his head. “Roses or nothing.” Miss Hart’s dark frown told him he had gone too far. He should have taken into account the power of his title, which would trump anything a lady’s companion might say. But could he manage to redeem the situation once more?

“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.