The Romantical Groom: Being a Satyre, Page 2

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  George returned to his home in considerable confusion of mind. Given that he was a carefully raised scion of a country gentlelady, his contact with members of the opposite gender had been limited; other than his mother, he was acquainted with the local parson and just a few young women from the surrounding estates. He had known Caro d'Arvon since he was small, and neither that lady, nor any of the other women of his circle, aroused the tumultuous feelings he now experienced. As he dismounted from Muffin in the courtyard of Longjohn House, he was grateful for the voluminous skirt of his riding habit, because it hid obvious evidence of his emotions.

  In the days that followed the meeting at the fair, George was unable to busy himself with his usual occupations. Needlework, watercolors, even riding lost their appeal; his sole concern became his attire for the upcoming dinner with Marlene of Maybegood.

  His father noted his distraction. Cricket entered George's room Thursday afternoon. George, for the fourth or fifth time, had emptied his wardrobe onto his bed and, with the assistance of his valet, was experimenting with various combinations of mantuas, shawls, bodices, stomachers, fichus, tuckers, belts, saques, and gowns. The contents of his closets, which in the past had been satisfactory, were now gravely inadequate. George was frantic.

  "My dear boy," Cricket addressed his son. "I am convinced you refine upon the question too much."

  "Wha-ha-at?" quavered George. Dressed in a pink lacy gown, he twirled 'round before the cheval mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of his back.

  "It is plain that you are concerned about Saturday evening." Cricket advanced into the room. "You have nothing to be worried about. From the way Maybegood was regarding you, you'd best think about protecting your virtue, not selecting a dress!"

  George squeaked with excitement. "Father! Do you truly think that there is any danger--"

  Cricket laughed. "No, my boy, I was just funning. I meant for you to understand that you could eat dinner in sackcloth and Marlene of Maybegood would still find you beautiful." He gave his son's shoulder a shake. "Now, put on your old blue saque and get you to the garden. 'Tis a lovely day and I'll not have you pining indoors over Maybegood. Don't forget your parasol!"

  Cricket gave his son another shake and exited. George did as he was bid, donning last season's dress, suitable now for strolls in the shrubbery.

  As he did so, Marlene and Caro lounged in the Arvon Towers drawing room, debating their afternoon's activities.

  "I tell you, Caro, I cannot wait for Saturday eve!" Marlene expostulated. "I've got to see the boy, to know if my regard is returned."

  Caro raised a brow. "Now, or Saturday, 'twill make no difference," she informed her friend. "His parents will have none of you until June at the earliest. George is to go to London in a fortnight for his come-out."

  "I've sworn to have him before his come-out," Marlene reminded her friend.

  Caro's brow raised even higher. "'Tis wrong to swear on a gentleboy's virtue," she stated. "I tell you, Maybegood, that the young lad in question has been my friend since I wore bobby socks. I am loath to encourage you in this mood."

  "Caro, I would never misuse or abuse the boy!" Marlene protested. "'Tis an honorable proposal I suggest."

  "Marriage?"

  "Aye, and why not? I am five-and-twenty years of age, time to put a bun in the oven."

  Caro was quite dumbfounded. Maybegood thinking of marriage? That would mean that she, Carolina d'Arvon, was likewise ready for the nuptial state. Caro was unprepared for this line of logic.

  Marlene noted her friend's agitation. "You have three younger sisters," she pointed out. "I do not have an heiress." Marlene returned to her prior topic. She mused, "Were I to ride this afternoon by Longjohn House, friendly-like, for a walk in the shrubbery--"

  "How do you know he'll want to walk in the shrubbery?"

  "Of course he will. All gentleboys take walks in the shrubbery. It is a Known Fact."

  "I'll not go!" Caro stomped out of the room. "I'll not help you make a fool of yourself over a gentleboy, even if it is Georgie!"

  Marlene then rode forth, and reined in at the open front gates of Longjohn House. She then noticed a pale lace parasol, sporting wisps of translucent gauze, poking over a boxwood hedge just inside and to the right of the gates. Curious, Marlene dismounted to investigate.

  Believing he was alone, George was indulging in a favorite fantasy. In it, he manfully overcame his fears. He boldly loosened Marlene's cravat and unbuttoned her shirt, glimpsing the wonders within. George could not remember ever actually seeing a woman's bosom (though he was sure he had nursed); his ideas about female anatomy were gleaned from glimpses of sculptures and paintings. His fantasies about Marlene were shaped by a certain painting of a mermaid, located in the library of his friend Caro's house. The naked breasts of the mermaid were round, high and pointed; he assumed happily that Marlene's were also.

  The sharp crack of a branch under Marlene's boot brought him back to reality. The object of his constant dreams stood before him, smelling of the stable as usual.

  "Oh, milady," he simpered. "I did not seek to see you today."

  Marlene grinned, her even white teeth gleaming against her tanned skin. George was again grateful for the ample skirts that Fashion required, but nervous due to their relative isolation in the shrubbery. He remembered his father's mirthful warning. He need not have worried. Marlene, though she envisioned ravaging George where he stood, was aware of their proximity to the gate and the public road.

  "My dear child, I could not resist riding by on the off-chance that I could see you. Please forgive my presumption."

  "There is naught to forgive. For myself, Saturday should come more quickly."

  "If there is naught to forgive, is there naught to regard?"

  George, somewhat confused, stammered, "B-b-ut of course, milady! Oh, but you do confound me with your fancy talk and your high-handed ways!"

  Marlene remarked, "You shall have to behave with more composure, my boy, in London. The Polite World is very critical of young country gentleboys. You are beautiful, to be sure, but not all faults are forgiven even if the transgressor possesses a lovely face."

  George burst forth, "My lady! I do not wish to go to London!" Ashamed of his unbecoming vehemence, he lowered his tone. "All I want I see before me."

  Marlene knelt, careless of the knees of her breeches. "Then we have an understanding?"

  George looked down into her upturned face, its arrogance transformed by yearning. "Yes, yes, oh yes, my lady!"

  Marlene rose, and stifled any further declarations of love with a hearty kiss. "Very good, my dear, so I will see you at dinner and in London also," she said. "It would not be fitting to defy your parents."

  George frowned prettily. "But I thought that you would be more Romantical," he protested. "Are you not going to elope with me to Gretna Green, or somewhere?"

  Marlene laughed. "My dear George, what do you suppose me for? Yes, I want you. Yes, I love you. No, I will not ruin you with an improper elopement or treat you like a doxy or a light o'love."

  George flinched at the gross terms, noticing for the first time how rough his Marlene could be. But he was steadfast, loyal and true…at least until he went to London.

  In the interim, there was dinner…Oh, and what a dinner it was! Cricket and her French chef surpassed themselves. Even Caro d'Arvon was satisfied. However, the food was secondary to two diners.

  For George and Marlene, dinner was delicious agony. Mindful of the conduct expected in their rigid society, they avoided flirting over the fish or sighing over the syllabub. They could not disguise their feelings; Cricket and Emmeline noticed their partiality for each other and packed George off to London within the week.