The Triumph of Love Read online

  Out of all this, only one word made an impact on the Marquis and it was like the tolling of a bell.

  “Valet?” he echoed.

  “Don’t you think I’ll make a good valet? It’s lucky that I am tall and slender. This really is the ideal solution to our problem. Why, what’s the matter?”

  For the Marquis had begun to laugh.

  “What is it?” she demanded indignantly. “Don’t you think I can do it?”

  “My dear, I think you can do anything in the world that you set your mind to.”

  “Then why are you laughing?”

  “I was laughing at myself for being a fool. In fact, I am such a fool that I deserve everything I get!”

  “I don’t understand – ”

  “It’s probably just as well.” He sighed and smiled at her. “But at least I am clever enough to know that I am a fool!”

  “I wish you would stop talking in riddles,” she said, rather put out.

  “I’m so sorry. I promise not to do so any more. So you plan to dress up as a boy and become my valet?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a clever notion?”

  “I think it’s the maddest idea I’ve ever heard. But I’ll help you because if I don’t, you’ll only go and think of something even more hare-brained. But where are you going to find the clothes? And how? I really don’t think I can rise to the heights of buying boys’ clothes.”

  “I’ll have to ask Martha to help me. Do you think she will?”

  The Marquis grinned.

  “I think Martha will do anything you ask her!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  As the Marquis had predicted, Martha was only too willing to help one whom she regarded as her benefactor, and when she and Selina had both climbed into the chaise, Lovall drove them off to explore the shops of Picthaven.

  The Marquis remained with Simpkins to learn from him the various mysteries of valeting himself.

  Although small, Picthaven was prosperous and they soon located some excellent establishments.

  Selina had little experience of buying clothes as seamstresses had always made her gowns for her.

  She and Martha called on a tailor giving him their story about buying clothes for her brother, who was tall and slim, ‘just like the lady here’ as Martha expressed it.

  The tailor was most anxious to help, offering to run something up in ‘double-quick time’, but that turned out to mean the next day and Selina dared not wait.

  But then the friendly tailor had an inspiration. It seemed that a young gentleman who was local, liked to dress well, but did not always have the money to pay, had ordered a suit.

  The tailor had adamantly refused to part with the garments except for cash, which was not forthcoming and so the clothes languished in a cupboard.

  He brought them out and at once Selina knew that she had found what she was looking for. There was a pair of cream-coloured breeches and a dark blue coat with large gilt buttons worn over a gleaming white shirt.

  The absent customer was evidently a dandy as a waistcoat of dazzling design completed the ensemble. Made of embroidered satin it was red, blue and green with a hint of glitter.

  Selina eyed it ecstatically.

  “Will your brother be needing boots?” enquired the tailor. “If so, I can have some sent over from the boot shop just across the way.”

  They declared they would like to see some boots.

  “And the size?” asked the tailor.

  “Small,” answered Martha.

  “Medium,” came in Selina at once.

  When the tailor had departed, Martha murmured,

  “If they’re a man’s shoes, you’ll need small.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because I have big feet,” Selina retorted crossly.

  The tailor returned with a large selection of shining boots, only the largest of which was big enough for Selina’s far from dainty feet.

  When everything was chosen, the tailor enquired,

  “Now, you’re quite sure that the clothes will fit?”

  “Not really,” replied Selina. “I think I should try them on.”

  “What?”

  “I mean,” she amended hastily, “that my brother and I are the same size. If I can wear them, so can he.”

  “But the idea of a lady – ”

  “I know,” she added sorrowfully, “but it cannot be helped. Dearest Frederick would expect me to make the sacrifice for him.”

  The tailor gave her a strange look and led the way to a small room at the back of the shop. Martha joined her and he departed.

  “What’s the matter with him?” asked Selina. “He looked as if he had seen a ghost.”

  “I had already told him that your brother’s name is David.”

  Selina gave a gasp of laughter.

  “Oh dear! I’m sure he thinks we are quite mad.”

  “And he’s probably right. Let’s now hurry before he sends for the Constable.”

  Martha helped her undress and Selina pulled on the breeches. They were tight and she saw with dismay that they hugged her figure more closely than was compatible with modesty.

  Next came the shirt, followed by the waistcoat and frock coat and then finally the boots, which gleamed beautifully.

  She looked splendid and convincing, except for one thing.

  “Your hair,” groaned Martha. “You’ll not manage to keep it all up, my Lady. You need a wig.”

  “But where am I going to find one now?”

  “I saw a wig shop just up the road. We’ll go there next.”

  Selina donned her normal clothes before returning to the tailor and informing him that she would take everything.

  Fortune smiled on them again at the wig shop. There was a gentleman’s wig in Selina’s own hair colour, brushed and curled in the romantic style known as a la Titus.

  By chance the wig-maker sold hats as well and Selina discovered a lovely top hat of dark brown silk that made her almost weep with pleasure. It would have been a crime not to buy it – so she did.

  Finally they both piled into the chaise and returned to the inn in triumph.

  There they were informed that the Marquis was still talking to Simpkins.

  They immediately hurried up, Martha to join her husband and Selina to slip into her room and change into her new attire, chuckling to herself.

  After a few minutes she heard footsteps going past her door and down the stairs.

  Looking cautiously out she saw the retreating form of the Marquis, evidently going to the taproom to fortify himself with some ale.

  It took only a moment to complete her change. The wig fitted perfectly and, when the dashing cloak was over her shoulders, she rammed the top hat on at a rakish angle and regarded herself in the mirror.

  An elegant young gentleman with a look of impish amusement in his eyes looked out at her.

  She laughed at him and he laughed back.

  This was going to be fun.

  She could see the Marquis as she came downstairs, standing by himself in the taproom, evidently waiting for Brendan to bring his order.

  He was not looking in her direction and Selina had time to walk right down before making herself known.

  When she did, it was in a raucous belligerent tone.

  “Landlord! I say there, landlord!”

  “He has gone to fetch some wine from the cellar,” the Marquis observed, glancing over his shoulder.

  Selina stayed back in the shadows and lowered her voice as much as she could manage.

  “But I want to be served. I can’t stand delay. Got a devilish dry throat.”

  “Patience, fellow, please,” counselled the Marquis. “We must all wait our turn.”

  “Dash it man, I’ve no intention of waiting. That’s not my way. Hello there, landlord! Stir yourself.”

  The Marquis almost audibly ground his teeth.

  “You compel me to remind you, sir, that I was here first.”


  “Pooh! Who cares for that?”

  “Sir – ”

  Selina managed a neighing laugh, an exact copy of one she had heard from one of her stepfather’s friends who was trying to appear as quality and failing miserably.

  The Marquis, clearly exasperated but unwilling to quarrel, turned away from this rude intruder.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, sir,” hooted Selina. “Dash it all, man, do you know who I am?”

  The Marquis sighed and reluctantly turned back.

  “No sir, who are you?”

  Selina chuckled and spoke in her own voice.

  “Do you really not know who I am?”

  The Marquis stopped dead, feeling as though the air was singing around his ears. In the same moment Selina came closer so that he could see her properly.

  “Oh, Ian,” she exclaimed. “Your face!”

  “Selina?” he croaked in a low whisper. “Selina?”

  “That’s right and you didn’t know me. Admit it now, you didn’t.”

  “I thought I was going mad when your voice came out of nowhere. Selina!”

  Relief, astonishment and admiration, all swept him.

  The next moment he had swept her up into a giant hug, laughing as he did so.

  Selina clasped him back, giggling in triumph.

  “You wretch! What a start you gave me!”

  “But I fooled you, didn’t I?”

  He gave her a little shake.

  “Yes, you did.” he admitted, looking down into her face. “I ought to wring your neck.”

  He pulled her close again, hugging her tightly.

  For a moment Selina let herself nestle against him, enjoying the warmth and enthusiasm of his embrace. It was so good to be in his arms – so safe and so comforting.

  But then she felt him stiffen and push her gently away from him.

  “Yes,” he carried on and his voice sounded rather awkward. “Yes, well – you’re here now. You should have been back sooner. I was concerned.”

  “It’s not easy to buy clothes, you know.”

  “Let me look at you.”

  He stood back to gain a better view and a quizzical, slightly shocked expression came over his face.

  “My dear girl!”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked defensively.

  “You are supposed to be my valet. No valet ever looked like that – not if he wanted to keep his job.”

  He peered at her more closely.

  “And just what are you wearing under your coat?” he demanded suspiciously.

  Proudly she opened her coat wide to display the full glory of the waistcoat. The Marquis stared at it, stupefied, for a whole minute.

  “What on earth do you call that thing?” he asked at last in a dazed voice.

  “It’s a waistcoat.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Well, let me tell you this, my dear girl, among the hoi polloi it might well be known as a waistcoat, but among gentlemen of fashion it would be called pig fodder!”

  “You are very rude,” she exclaimed indignantly.

  “Not as rude as I feel. Am I seriously supposed to go out in your company with you wearing that object?”

  “I think it’s very smart.”

  “So I would have supposed. Why, it’s – it’s just – I don’t know how to describe it.”

  He covered his eyes in anguish.

  Selina looked down at her waistcoat.

  “I thought it very colourful – ”

  “Oh, yes,” he concurred faintly. “It’s colourful.”

  She explained about the young man who had not come to pay for his clothes.

  “He must have gambled the money away.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Because that particular waistcoat could only have been chosen by a man with more money than sense.”

  “I chose it.”

  “You, Selina, are not a man,” he growled through gritted teeth, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

  Then he sighed.

  “Oh well, it can’t be helped.”

  “It’s not really so bad, is it, Ian?”

  “Yes, it really is just that bad. If you must wear the thing, button up your coat and try to look as though we’re not together.”

  Selina chuckled.

  “All right, I’ll keep my distance and not embarrass you. But I didn’t really do so badly, did I?”

  As she was speaking, she tapped the top hat, which incredibly had stayed in place during their vigorous hug.

  The Marquis stared.

  “Take it off at once,” he ordered sharply.

  She removed the top hat with a flourish giving him a good view of her carefully arranged locks and made him an elegant little bow.

  “Oh, Selina, no!” he breathed.

  Startled by his horrified look, she enquired,

  “Whatever is the matter?”

  “Your hair! Your beautiful hair! How could you cut it all off?”

  “But – ”

  “There was no need for that. You could have piled it up somehow – ”

  “Not convincingly, that’s why I – ”

  “But you didn’t have to go to such lengths. It was so lovely.”

  Selina smiled at him.

  “It can be lovely again.”

  “Yes, when it’s grown, but that will take years.”

  “No. Just a few seconds, actually.”

  She pulled off the wig and her lovely long golden hair, which had been crammed beneath it, came loose and cascaded over her shoulders.

  She heard a sharp intake of his breath and saw the blinding delight that came over his face.

  “You – ” he grimaced, “you – ”

  She waited for what he would say next, feeling sure that his words would be as wonderful as the heartfelt joy in his eyes.

  But she was never to know.

  Before he could say a word they heard the sound of the landlord humming loudly as he returned with wine and the Marquis seemed to freeze.

  “You had better get out of sight,” he urged. “We’ll be leaving almost at once.”

  Selina nodded and hurried away upstairs. It was disappointing, but she told herself she had gained a small victory.

  The response she had seen in his eyes, the caressing way he had muttered, “your beautiful hair,” meant that she could hope for better things. She had only to be patient.

  In her room she hastily braided her hair and fitted it more securely beneath her wig.

  She said her goodbyes to Martha and Simpkins and noted with amusement that they were arguing again.

  Below, Lovall and Wilkins were loading the last of the bags onto the wagons. Wilkins would take the chaise to Castleton Hall, whilst Lovall would follow Selina and the Marquis to Portsmouth.

  The Marquis was already in the seat of the curricle. Selina looked up, expecting him to offer his hand to help her aboard, but he merely looked at her, grinning.

  “Hurry up, boy. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot.”

  She hopped nimbly up and he swung his horses out of the yard.

  “A man does not help another man into his chaise,” he lectured her as they sped out of the town. “Especially when that other man is supposed to be his valet.”

  “Then you had better instruct me in my duties, my Lord.”

  “There’s nothing for you to learn, except that you must remember you are no longer a lady.”

  “But aren’t I supposed to look after your things and advise you what to wear?”

  The Marquis visibly winced.

  “If you imagine that I am going to ask advice from someone capable of buying that dreadful monstrosity that is still, unfortunately, visible beneath your coat, then you have windmills in your head!”

  “Oh dear, and I was going to offer to tell you where you can buy one like it.”

  This time he just gave her a look.

  A
fter they had bowled along cheerfully for a few miles, he reflected,

  “I’ve been thinking that you cannot possibly pass as my valet.”

  “I’ll take the waistcoat off,” she offered unselfishly.

  “Thank you. I do appreciate your generosity. But, even without it, I fear you wouldn’t strike the right note of workaday decorum. Plainly you’re a devilish young blade, up to every lark – out on a spree.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I am your uncle, coming along to keep an eye on you. You dear mother begged me with tears in her eyes to protect her darling Cedric from the big bad world!”

  “Cedric?” she echoed in disgust. “You don’t really expect me to be called Cedric, do you?”

  “It’s a perfectly good name.”

  “It most certainly is not. When I was a child, we were visited by one of my Papa’s cousins, who brought her eight year old son, called Cedric.”

  “Did he bully you?”

  “No, according to his mother it was the other way round. He simply had no spirit. He couldn’t climb trees or hunt for frogs’ spawn, fly a kite or do anything of interest.”

  “And you could do all these things?”

  “Of course. Papa taught me.”

  “How old were you at the time?”

  “Six.”

  “And eight year old Cedric didn’t impress you?”

  “I feel quite certain,” she said firmly, “that nobody called Cedric could possibly be a devilish young blade. He is more likely to cry for his Mama when his feet get wet.”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “Is that what he did? Then I can only apologise, because I’ve quite decided that your name is to be Cedric. And no pleas or arguments will move me.”

  “You’re just wreaking revenge for my waistcoat!”

  “Well, revenge is very sweet.”

  “All right, I shall become the Honourable Cedric Ponsonby – out on a spree.”

  “Good. And I’ll address you as Ponsonby.”

  “That’s better than Cedric. What shall I call you?”

  “Castleton.”

  “I cannot do that,” she exclaimed, scandalised.

  “It’s just what you would do if you really were the Honourable Cedric Ponsonby.”

  Selina tried to assume the right manner.

  “I say, Castleton old boy,” she barked in a neighing voice, “what time shall we get to this place we’re heading for, eh? What? What?”