stoic mask. “I hope you will have an enjoyable evening. But do not stray from your party. There are ruffians about who prey on women.”
“Oh, fustian!” she said. “You are just trying to ruin the evening for me. Why are you so disagreeable?”
Before he could answer, the duchess whisked her out the door. “For a prim schoolmistress, you are becoming quite a socialite,” she said. “I do not think Lord Shrewsbury likes it one bit. You are proving to be quite an enigma to the good baron.”
“Why is that?”
“He keeps trying to pigeonhole you, but you do not fit anywhere he puts you.”
“He pigeonholes people? What a rigid personality he must have!”
“Says the young woman who pigeonholes the entire male sex as ignorant and oppressive!”
Hélène considered this. “That is not very well-done of me. The duke certainly does not fit that description. But such men as the duke are rare, you must admit.”
“I freely admit it. He is a very enlightened gentleman.” The duchess smiled broadly. “And Lord Shrewsbury is very rigid, but I would not call him an ignorant man.”
They were near to Lady Clarice’s home now. Hélène said, “No, he is really quite well informed on a number of subjects. More so than most gentlemen of the ton, I fancy. And he is very generous and kind. We are simply a bad combination. I always push him to the edge of his temper. Sometimes, intentionally.”
“I am aware of that. Why is that, I wonder?”
She thought, but could not think of an answer. “I really do not know.”
*~*~*
Hélène took very great care with her appearance that evening. She wore a black evening gown with a square neck and short, puffed sleeves, trimmed in quantities of black sequins and shiny jet beads. It was made for dancing with its full skirt and suggestion of a train. Lady Clarice loaned her a hooded black velvet cloak to go over it. Looking at herself in the mirror she felt like a princess in a fairy tale. What a far cry from the schoolmistress she really was. This time next week, she would be wiping noses, teaching letters, and supervising bed times.
But tonight would be a night out of time. Like Cinderella’s. Without the glass slipper.
When the party arrived to whisk her away in the coach, she briefly wondered if they were going to a masquerade. Baron Delacroix seemed to be a parody of himself—dressed entirely in black, including his shirt and cravat.
He looks like the devil himself!
Once they were in the coach, Ginny chattered away like a magpie. “Oh, I am so excited! I have wanted to go to Vauxhall since I was a girl. Thank you so much, William, for taking us!”
Her mother, looking insignificant in an out-of-date purple frock, was scarcely less excited. “And thank you, dear, for including me! What you young things should want with an old woman is beyond me.”
“You are to lend us countenance, Mama,” her son said.
Hélène did think it kind that her children had included their mother in the outing, and could not help but wonder at it. Perhaps once there, the baron would wander off and leave Ginny and her to the baroness’s chaperonage.
The point came in their journey where they boarded a small boat and were rowed to the site of the gardens. As they came closer, Hélène saw the Chinese lanterns lighting the area, showing dense shrubbery and trees. They disembarked behind another party that appeared to be the worse for drink, laughing and staggering out of the boat, nearly landing themselves in the Thames.
Lord Delacroix leapt nimbly from the boat and reached for her gloved hand, which he held in a firm grip as she negotiated her way onto the shore. After assisting his mother and sister to alight, Delacroix then threaded her hand through the crook of his arm and rested it on his sleeve.
“This is the way,” he said, following the lanterns. Hélène heard distant strains of music.
Soon they came upon a huge gathering in an area cordoned off into boxes filled with
“Oh, fustian!” she said. “You are just trying to ruin the evening for me. Why are you so disagreeable?”
Before he could answer, the duchess whisked her out the door. “For a prim schoolmistress, you are becoming quite a socialite,” she said. “I do not think Lord Shrewsbury likes it one bit. You are proving to be quite an enigma to the good baron.”
“Why is that?”
“He keeps trying to pigeonhole you, but you do not fit anywhere he puts you.”
“He pigeonholes people? What a rigid personality he must have!”
“Says the young woman who pigeonholes the entire male sex as ignorant and oppressive!”
Hélène considered this. “That is not very well-done of me. The duke certainly does not fit that description. But such men as the duke are rare, you must admit.”
“I freely admit it. He is a very enlightened gentleman.” The duchess smiled broadly. “And Lord Shrewsbury is very rigid, but I would not call him an ignorant man.”
They were near to Lady Clarice’s home now. Hélène said, “No, he is really quite well informed on a number of subjects. More so than most gentlemen of the ton, I fancy. And he is very generous and kind. We are simply a bad combination. I always push him to the edge of his temper. Sometimes, intentionally.”
“I am aware of that. Why is that, I wonder?”
She thought, but could not think of an answer. “I really do not know.”
*~*~*
Hélène took very great care with her appearance that evening. She wore a black evening gown with a square neck and short, puffed sleeves, trimmed in quantities of black sequins and shiny jet beads. It was made for dancing with its full skirt and suggestion of a train. Lady Clarice loaned her a hooded black velvet cloak to go over it. Looking at herself in the mirror she felt like a princess in a fairy tale. What a far cry from the schoolmistress she really was. This time next week, she would be wiping noses, teaching letters, and supervising bed times.
But tonight would be a night out of time. Like Cinderella’s. Without the glass slipper.
When the party arrived to whisk her away in the coach, she briefly wondered if they were going to a masquerade. Baron Delacroix seemed to be a parody of himself—dressed entirely in black, including his shirt and cravat.
He looks like the devil himself!
Once they were in the coach, Ginny chattered away like a magpie. “Oh, I am so excited! I have wanted to go to Vauxhall since I was a girl. Thank you so much, William, for taking us!”
Her mother, looking insignificant in an out-of-date purple frock, was scarcely less excited. “And thank you, dear, for including me! What you young things should want with an old woman is beyond me.”
“You are to lend us countenance, Mama,” her son said.
Hélène did think it kind that her children had included their mother in the outing, and could not help but wonder at it. Perhaps once there, the baron would wander off and leave Ginny and her to the baroness’s chaperonage.
The point came in their journey where they boarded a small boat and were rowed to the site of the gardens. As they came closer, Hélène saw the Chinese lanterns lighting the area, showing dense shrubbery and trees. They disembarked behind another party that appeared to be the worse for drink, laughing and staggering out of the boat, nearly landing themselves in the Thames.
Lord Delacroix leapt nimbly from the boat and reached for her gloved hand, which he held in a firm grip as she negotiated her way onto the shore. After assisting his mother and sister to alight, Delacroix then threaded her hand through the crook of his arm and rested it on his sleeve.
“This is the way,” he said, following the lanterns. Hélène heard distant strains of music.
Soon they came upon a huge gathering in an area cordoned off into boxes filled with
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