of gratitude for the heroic and humane
service she has performed here today.”
The Beau, always quixotic (and in debt to the
tune of many hundreds of pounds to the Duke after one particularly
plaguey run of luck at White’s which the Duke had kindly overlooked
these past six weeks and more), sensed the crowd could go either
way concerning the chit and decided to have a little fun. The herd
would follow him, as it always did—mindless animals that they were,
he thought—for his opinion of his fellows’ brain power was not
high.
“What’s your cousin’s name, Avanoll?” the
Beau asked quietly, just as the Duke was really getting the bit
between his teeth. After Avanoll answered, he thanked him and told
him to hold his tongue and watch a master work.
“I concur with his grace,” he began in a
loud, clear voice. “With no concern for her safety, with strong
presence of mind and purity of purpose, Miss Tamerlane here, er,
plunged into the fray and rescued one of God’s sinless creatures.”
He puffed out his chest, postured himself elegantly with one hand
on his heart, and then boomed, “And a dog, no less! Man’s best
friend. Today, however, today man chose to callously destroy this
innocent creature of nature. It took a young woman, a lady I place
on a par with Boadicea, to see her duty and snatch this wretched
animal from the watery jaws of death while the gentlemen among us
did nothing.”
He stopped for breath and passed his eyes
over the crowd. Women wept openly into fine cambric handkerchiefs,
and even a smattering of the gentlemen present appeared a trifle
misty.
The Beau walked stage-left to where Tansy sat
gazing up at her extoller with a bemused look on her damp face. The
peacock feather drooped across her nose and she blew it upwards,
only to have it hit the Beau in the eye as he bowed low before
her.
Undaunted, he raised Tansy to her feet and
turned to face his awe-struck audience. “Ladies and gentlemen. May
I present to you all Miss Tansy Tamerlane, daughter of Sir Andrew
Tamerlane and cousin of the Duke of Avanoll, whose distinguished
guest she is to be for the Season.” He lifted her hand above her
head, much like the victor in a fistfight and exclaimed, “Let us
hear three cheers for our heroine of the lake, our very own
tenacious Miss Tamerlane!”
“Hear, hear!” rang out the crowd. “Good show.
Hip, hip, hooray!” And then, “Speech, speech!”
The Duke’s slightly lightened heart plummeted
to his soggy toes as his cousin made every sign of complying with
this last request. She bent down and scooped the shivering puppy
into her arms and held him above her head, where he yipped merrily
and lolled his pink tongue from side to side. “A cheer for Horatio,
who has scored a stunning victory at sea!” she shouted in a very
Boadicea-like way, endearing herself forever in the hearts of her
audience. Even Lady Stanley condescended to applaud softly, knowing
it the height of folly to buck the tide on this particular
issue.
And to the Duke’s amazement, the cheers rang
out again. Before they could die down and more notice be taken of
their heroine’s hoydenish appearance, Avanoll sidled up to the
Beau. “You have my everlasting gratitude, sir. Consider all debts
paid in full,” he said earnestly.
Without losing his handsome smile the Beau
returned, “We’re lucky to be away with our skins intact, but then
the hoi-polloi (included in this sweeping classification were, to
the Duke’s quick deduction, three earls, a viscount and a marquess)
is so lamentably gullible. Even gulling them becomes a bore. I
would advise you to beat a hasty retreat now, however, and please,
as soon as your clothes dry sufficiently, burn them. You and the
little rescuer, I must make bold to say, smell dreadfully like a
swamp. I myself already am reconciled to destroying every stitch
now upon my person and sitting in a bath for at least three hours.
Never before have I felt so entirely grubby. I shall be
service she has performed here today.”
The Beau, always quixotic (and in debt to the
tune of many hundreds of pounds to the Duke after one particularly
plaguey run of luck at White’s which the Duke had kindly overlooked
these past six weeks and more), sensed the crowd could go either
way concerning the chit and decided to have a little fun. The herd
would follow him, as it always did—mindless animals that they were,
he thought—for his opinion of his fellows’ brain power was not
high.
“What’s your cousin’s name, Avanoll?” the
Beau asked quietly, just as the Duke was really getting the bit
between his teeth. After Avanoll answered, he thanked him and told
him to hold his tongue and watch a master work.
“I concur with his grace,” he began in a
loud, clear voice. “With no concern for her safety, with strong
presence of mind and purity of purpose, Miss Tamerlane here, er,
plunged into the fray and rescued one of God’s sinless creatures.”
He puffed out his chest, postured himself elegantly with one hand
on his heart, and then boomed, “And a dog, no less! Man’s best
friend. Today, however, today man chose to callously destroy this
innocent creature of nature. It took a young woman, a lady I place
on a par with Boadicea, to see her duty and snatch this wretched
animal from the watery jaws of death while the gentlemen among us
did nothing.”
He stopped for breath and passed his eyes
over the crowd. Women wept openly into fine cambric handkerchiefs,
and even a smattering of the gentlemen present appeared a trifle
misty.
The Beau walked stage-left to where Tansy sat
gazing up at her extoller with a bemused look on her damp face. The
peacock feather drooped across her nose and she blew it upwards,
only to have it hit the Beau in the eye as he bowed low before
her.
Undaunted, he raised Tansy to her feet and
turned to face his awe-struck audience. “Ladies and gentlemen. May
I present to you all Miss Tansy Tamerlane, daughter of Sir Andrew
Tamerlane and cousin of the Duke of Avanoll, whose distinguished
guest she is to be for the Season.” He lifted her hand above her
head, much like the victor in a fistfight and exclaimed, “Let us
hear three cheers for our heroine of the lake, our very own
tenacious Miss Tamerlane!”
“Hear, hear!” rang out the crowd. “Good show.
Hip, hip, hooray!” And then, “Speech, speech!”
The Duke’s slightly lightened heart plummeted
to his soggy toes as his cousin made every sign of complying with
this last request. She bent down and scooped the shivering puppy
into her arms and held him above her head, where he yipped merrily
and lolled his pink tongue from side to side. “A cheer for Horatio,
who has scored a stunning victory at sea!” she shouted in a very
Boadicea-like way, endearing herself forever in the hearts of her
audience. Even Lady Stanley condescended to applaud softly, knowing
it the height of folly to buck the tide on this particular
issue.
And to the Duke’s amazement, the cheers rang
out again. Before they could die down and more notice be taken of
their heroine’s hoydenish appearance, Avanoll sidled up to the
Beau. “You have my everlasting gratitude, sir. Consider all debts
paid in full,” he said earnestly.
Without losing his handsome smile the Beau
returned, “We’re lucky to be away with our skins intact, but then
the hoi-polloi (included in this sweeping classification were, to
the Duke’s quick deduction, three earls, a viscount and a marquess)
is so lamentably gullible. Even gulling them becomes a bore. I
would advise you to beat a hasty retreat now, however, and please,
as soon as your clothes dry sufficiently, burn them. You and the
little rescuer, I must make bold to say, smell dreadfully like a
swamp. I myself already am reconciled to destroying every stitch
now upon my person and sitting in a bath for at least three hours.
Never before have I felt so entirely grubby. I shall be
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