Chapter 8 The Garden Party Disaster #2
“Not here,” she hissed, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She guided them behind a towering arrangement of hydrangeas, where they wouldn’t be overheard. “I need you to help me prevent a catastrophe.”
“What sort of catastrophe?” Miss Thornton asked, pointedly keeping the flower arrangement between herself and Hereford.
Charlotte wrung her hands. “I don’t care what it takes,” she declared. “Something must be done before my baby raccoons destroy Lady Jersey’s new bonnet and Andrew finds out! He was vehemently opposed to bringing the creatures, but I snuck them in.”
“Baby what?” Hereford asked at the same moment Miss Thornton said, “Oh, Charlotte.”
As if on cue, two masked faces peered out from beneath a refreshment table, their little hands already sticky with stolen treats. Hereford couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, earning himself a withering look from the hostess.
“Now, I must return to the party and pretend to be completely at peace while you and Lord Hereford capture the beasts.”
“Me? Why me?” Miss Thornton looked around, clearly hoping to nominate someone else for the task.
“You have a soothing way about you, Amelia. The kits will believe you to be their mama and follow you. Don’t worry.
You won’t be alone in this. Lord Hereford will gladly help.
Won’t you, my lord?” With a pat on Amelia’s shoulder and a meaningful smile at Hereford, Charlotte disappeared to maintain the facade of a normal garden party.
Hereford watched Miss Thornton as she studied the raccoons, noting the slight furrow in her brow as she no doubt calculated the logistics of chasing after them with her injured leg.
Something uncomfortable stirred in his chest again.
Before he could examine the feeling too closely, he forced himself to adopt a tone of casual amusement.
“I could assist, but I admit I’m not keen on the idea.” He deliberately avoided looking at her. “I find them quite entertaining and wouldn’t mind a bit if they gnawed on every bonnet in this room.”
The lady shot poison darts at his face.
*
Amelia noticed how handsome the marquess looked with the sunlight drenching his face in a warm glow, the top of his head forming a golden halo, even while she glared at him.
“Do you believe they would end there, my lord?” she asked evenly to the man who was avoiding her gaze. “Once they’ve finished with bonnets, they shall come after the shiny buttons on your coat. Charlotte has entertained me with the ways the kits can wreak havoc.”
“Is that so?” he said, still not looking in her direction. “That sounds like a nightmare. Where did they come from anyway?”
“Charlotte rescued the orphans in America but couldn’t find anyone to look after them during their time away. So, she brought them here, but they’re far cleverer than anyone had anticipated.”
A shriek from the garden drew their attention. The Duchess of Rutland was standing on a chair, brandishing her parasol at a third raccoon that had apparently developed a fascination with her silk shoes.
Amelia was startled by Hereford’s sudden movement, deftly stripping a nearby table of its tablecloth.
“Right then,” Hereford turned to Amelia while tying the two ends of the tablecloth around his neck. “I assume you have a plan?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because you always have a plan, Miss Thornton, usually one involving my public humiliation.”
She ignored the jab. “The raccoons are attracted to shiny objects and sweets. If we could lure them away from the guests…”
“We’d need something particularly enticing, but I don’t think Lady Carlisle would appreciate me brandishing her tureen for the creatures.” His gaze fell on her hair pins, glinting copper in the sunlight. “Those would do nicely.”
“I’m not sacrificing my hair pins to rescue the Duchess of Rutland’s shoes.”
“No? What about to free the Countess of Carlisle’s new Wedgwood tea service?”
They both turned to see one of the raccoons investigating the delicate china with dangerous curiosity.
“Charlotte will murder me,” Amelia muttered, already reaching for her pins.
Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders as she pressed them into Hereford’s hand.
She was startled to see him frozen, his usual quick wit and easy smile nowhere to be seen.
Instead, his blue eyes traced the cascade of her chestnut hair, following one particular curl that had fallen across her collarbone.
The intensity of his gaze made her skin prickle with an awareness she’d never felt before.
“Don’t lose them,” she said, clearing her throat.
For a moment, he seemed to forget about the chaos around them, his attention wholly fixed on where her hair spilled over her shoulders.
The look in his eyes… it wasn’t the admiration he bestowed on Society beauties, or the amused condescension she was accustomed to receiving.
This was something else entirely, something raw and unguarded that made her heart race.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said finally, his voice rougher than a moment ago.
She ignored the heat spreading from her neck and the slight tremor in her voice. “Now, I’ll create a distraction so you can attempt to coax our furry friends to a more appropriate venue.”
“What sort of distraction?” he asked.
“Something scandalous, I should think.”
Hereford stared at her once again with his lips parted slightly. “Do I, um, perhaps you could give me a sample of this distraction you speak of.”
“My lord! Please go before the wild beasts destroy all the china!”
As color crept up his face, Hereford mumbled an apology and was gone. Amelia watched him weaving through the crowd with her pins glinting in his hands. She took a deep breath, conscious of her loose hair.
“Lord Carlisle!” she called out, pitching her voice to carry. “Is it true that in America, ladies and gentlemen dance together without gloves?”
A collective gasp rose from the assembled guests. Charlotte’s husband, clearly confused but good-natured, smiled. “Among other things, Miss Thornton. Would you care for a demonstration?”
As all eyes turned to watch this potential scandal unfold with Carlisle reaching for his wife.
Amelia caught glimpses of Hereford darting between the hedges, her hairpins creating tempting flashes of light while the tablecloth flapped from his neck in the breeze.
One by one, the raccoons abandoned their prizes to follow the new attraction.
Amelia watched the marquess disappear around a hedge. The raccoons were following him but not closely enough to catch.
“Silly man,” she muttered, gathering her skirts and moving as quickly as her leg would allow. She could already feel the ache in her leg building. She cut across the lawn, taking the shortcut to intercept Hereford’s path.
She emerged from behind a flowering shrub just as he passed, reaching out to catch his arm.
“Wait,” she said, slightly breathless. Before he could protest, she’d stepped close, perhaps closer than propriety allowed, and untied the tablecloth from his neck.
She ignored the feeling of humiliation when he drew back and stiffened upon her gloved fingers brushing his throat.
Apparently, he found even her touch unpleasant.
No doubt he had noticed the impact his proximity had on her just like every other woman in Society. It is likely the man had never had a commoner touch his bare skin… Wake up, Amelia. Of course, he must have bedded the servants and Lord knows who else.
“A better plan, Miss Thornton?” His voice was low and strained, presumably from discomfort.
“Always.” She slapped the loose tablecloth against his chest and snatched her pins from his hands.
“I shall lure them to me. You grab two. I’ll try to grab the last one and hand it to you.”
She then plopped down on the ground, holding out one of her pins. The smallest raccoon crept forward, whiskers twitching with interest.
“Be ready,” she whispered to Hereford.
He moved behind her, cloth held ready, as two more baby raccoons ventured closer.
“Now!”
Hereford swooped down with the tablecloth as Amelia not so much rolled as she had planned but tipped to the side, her movement less graceful than she’d have liked.
The maneuver was effective nonetheless. Hereford somehow managed to capture all three small bundles of fur, who then found themselves neatly wrapped in fine linen, their surprised squeaks muffled by the fabric.
Amelia fixed her dress and hair without seeing herself and hesitated when Hereford extended a gloved hand, holding the bundle like a purse in his other hand.
She didn’t want his help but had no choice given the significant pain she was in.
As she gripped his hand, the strength of his body became obvious with how solid his arm felt as he easily pulled her up.
“Are you well? You seem to be in discomfort,” he observed.
“I’m perfectly well, my lord,” she said with a lift of her chin, noticing how the wind was playing with a strand of his loose hair.
“Allow me to assist.” He presented his shoulder to lean on while he carried the bundle of moving linen.
“Thank you, but I’ll manage,” she said before disappearing behind the hedges onto the shortcut.
Once alone, Amelia took the weight off her injured leg with a wince. More difficult than fighting the pain was her treacherous thought that Lord Hereford was far more dangerous when he was being helpful than when he was being scandalous.
*
Hereford traced his steps back through the garden maze, ostensibly searching for his missing cufflink, though he couldn’t quite explain why such a trivial trinket suddenly seemed so urgent. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the hedges, and that’s when he saw her.