A Magnificent Match (24 page)

“Of course, Gwyneth.” She let Mrs. Tyler into the room and together they sat down on the settee that was in front of the fire. Megan studied her companion’s somber expression. “What is it that makes you look so anxious, Gwyneth?”

She was astonished when Mrs. Tyler rather hesitantly informed her that she had received an offer from Mr. Jeremy Bretton that evening and she had accepted. “Oh, Gwyneth! I am so happy for you!” exclaimed Megan, hugging her.

“Are you really, Megan?” asked Mrs. Tyler anxiously. “I could not be certain, for I feel almost as though I am abandoning you. I was afraid that you might be upset.”

“You goose, why should I be upset? Why, I have known for ages that you and Mr. Bretton were meant for one another,” said Megan. “Why do you think that I have been so willing to accept Lady Mansfield’s invitations of late? I wanted to be certain that you and Mr. Bretton were thrown together as often as possible!”

Mrs. Tyler blushed rosily. “Oh! How very scheming of you, Megan!”

“I was not the only one, for Lady Mansfield confided to me some time ago that you were the very one that she would choose for her nephew if she had been given the opportunity,” said Megan, with a twinkling laugh.

Mrs. Tyler was completely overcome. She went quite pink with pleasure, and did not know where to look. “I—I believe that I shall retire to my room now, my dear,” she stammered.

Megan let her go, promising to send word at once if Mr. Bretton should take it into his head to serenade his lady love. This sped Mrs. Tyler on her way in pretty confusion.

Megan gave a gurgling laugh. She sobered soon enough, however, with the thought that she would miss her good friend and mentor. It would be very different without Gwyneth to confide in and enter into all of her sentiments and aspirations.

* * * *

The following afternoon Prince Kirov’s party set out for the fairgrounds, where the balloon ascension was to be conducted. He rode beside the carriage conveying Megan and Mrs. Tyler. The prince’s companion Fedor came on horseback behind. Captain O’Connell and Miss Phoebe Stallcroft were accompanied by that lively young lady’s maid. Miss Phoebe announced that her sister was unexpectedly occupied that afternoon and sent her regrets. Mr. Bretton was riding his own hack. He was also the bearer of regrets, Sir Frederick having begged off due to an urgent engagement. Their defection was felt, but it did not dampen the high-spirited aspect of the rest of the party.

It was a simple matter to locate the balloon ascension. Crowds had flocked from miles around. The gaily colored silk balloon already towered overhead as it was filled with hot air heated by the burning of bundles of stubble. The heavy woven basket was tied to the ground by ropes and bobbed impatiently to be off. The balloon master was making grand claims on the advantages of flight and invited a few brave souls to enter the basket with him.

“What fun that would be!” exclaimed Megan, her head tilted back so that she could see the billowing sides of the balloon. “I have always wondered what it would be like to soar like a bird. One takes flight for only a second when jumping a horse. Or when riding an ice sled! Oh, I
should
like to try it!”

“I forbid you to even consider such a thing!” said Prince Kirov quickly.

“My sister was merely making an observation, your highness,” said Captain O’Connell lazily. “Of course she has no such intention. However, if she did I am certain that I would not stand in her way.”

“Would you not, indeed, Colin?” asked Megan, her eyes beginning to dance.

“Megan, what are you thinking of? Oh, no! Pray do not say it!” begged Mrs. Tyler.

“But what a wondrous adventure, Gwyneth. Can you not see?” said Megan with a laugh, alighting out of the carriage.

Mrs. Tyler resigned herself. “I must go with you, I suppose. It is my clear duty.” She followed Megan down out of the carriage.

“Madame! Miss O’Connell! What are you doing?” asked Prince Kirov sharply.

“Why, Mikhail, we are going to go sailing into the sky,” said Megan merrily.

Mr. Bretton at once came up beside Mrs. Tyler. He took her arm. “I shall go with you.” Mrs. Tyler looked up at him with gratitude and nodded.

Prince Kirov strode after Megan and caught her arm. “Megan! You cannot do this! I forbid it!”

“So you already said. However, my brother surely has more cause to question my decisions than have you, your highness, and he has already granted me his approval,” said Megan. She was smiling as she removed her elbow from his grasp. “Dear Misha,” she whispered, “when will you learn that you cannot command me?”

Prince Kirov stared at her, completely bereft of speech. He was left standing while Megan walked away to talk to the balloon master, with Mrs. Tyler and Mr. Bretton in her wake. He muttered an angry phrase in Russian, which made Fedor glance up into his face.

The balloon master bowed to the brave ladies and their escort. In short order, the four were standing in the basket and the balloon master shouted for his assistants to untie the ground ropes.

The balloon lifted slowly, majestically, and the crowds shouted wildly. Within minutes the occupants of the basket were floating high above the green. The balloon’s dark shadow passed over the upturned faces of those below.

Megan leaned over the side, laughing delightedly. The wind tugged at her bonnet. She waved to Prince Kirov and the others. “Isn’t it marvelous, Gwyneth?”

A sudden gust of wind surged under the balloon. The basket jerked violently. Megan lost her hold. She felt herself falling over the edge and screamed. She reached out, grabbing for anything. The ground rope whipped around her wrist. Her shoulder was nearly jerked from its socket, but Megan caught hold of the flapping rope with both hands.

“Megan!” screamed Mrs. Tyler, rushing to the side. The equipage tipped dangerously and she grabbed the corner rope before she, too, was toppled over the side. Mr. Bretton caught her around the waist.

Megan looked up. Her face was perfectly white. She gently swayed with the air currents. She held onto the guide rope tightly with both hands. She dared not look down. She knew that she did not have the strength to pull herself hand over hand back into the basket.

Mr. Bretton took charge. “You, there! Move to the opposite side of the basket. Mrs. Tyler, pray do the same! We must keep the basket level, while I endeavor to pull Miss O’Connell up!”

The balloon master and Mrs. Tyler wordlessly did as they had been told. Mr. Bretton carefully braced himself in the dangerously swaying basket, aware that one move too quick or too wide could tip them all into disaster. However, he was a seafaring man and he adjusted quickly to the sway. He bent over the side of the basket to grasp the guide rope in his strong hands. “Hang on tight. Miss O’Connell! I shall pull you up,” he shouted encouragingly.

Megan stared up at him, her eyes huge. Mutely, she nodded.

Hand over hand, inch by inch. Mr. Bretton pulled on the weighted rope. His hard muscles rippled smoothly under his coat. He breathed easily. The task was scarce different from drawing in an anchor or pulling in the heavy spray-drenched sheeting on a rig. But this time a young woman’s life depended upon his strength. He did not dare to allow the rope to slip through his fingers even one jot, for fear that Miss O’Connell’s precarious hold would be jarred loose and she would plunge to her death.

Sweat drenched him by the time his fingers closed at last over Miss O’Connell’s wrist. With a final effort, he caught hold of her other arm and lifted her over the side of the basket. They both tumbled to the floor.

Megan instantly burst into tears. Mrs. Tyler dropped beside her, her arms closing tight around Megan’s shoulders. “Oh, my dear! My very dear! I was so afraid for you!”

Megan returned the embrace fervently. “Oh, so was I, Gwyneth!”

Mr. Bretton got to his feet. Mrs. Tyler looked up at him, her eyes brimming. “Thank you, dear sir.” she said in a choked voice.

“I am happy to have been of service, ma’am,” said Mr. Bretton, managing a bow while holding onto a corner rope. He turned to the stupified balloon master, his eyes blazing. With a voice that cracked like a whip, he said, “Bring us down, you fool, and lightly! Or I swear that I will myself carve out your gizzard!”

The balloon master nodded several times, cringing from the gentleman’s threatening stance. He began to let air out of the balloon. Soon the equipage began its descent. Within a very short time, though it seemed like an eternity to those inside the basket, the balloon settled toward the ground. The basket bounced, skidding across the green as it was pulled along by the balloon, before it came up against a hedge.

Mr. Bretton helped the ladies climb over the side to the ground. Almost immediately spectators surrounded the adventurers.

Prince Kirov pushed his way through the crowd. “Out of my way! Out of my way, I say!” Fedor kept hold of his master’s coattails so that he was carried along. Captain O’Connell and Miss Phoebe Stallcroft crowded close behind, taking advantage of the Russian’s path.

Prince Kirov took hold of Megan’s shoulder. Urgently, he demanded, “You are unharmed? Speak to me, Megan!”

“Y-yes, I am quite all right,” said Megan hoarsely. Her throat was still dry from fright. “I am only a little shaken.”

“And so you should be! I could shake you myself for taking such a risk, Megan!” As soon as he had satisfied himself of her well-being, the prince’s anxiety turned to wrath.

“We are in agreement in that!” exclaimed Captain O’Connell. “Of all the idiotic, stupid stunts! You might have been killed, Megan. Did it never occur to you?”

“Oh yes, at least once,” said Megan. Her statement raised a laugh from the spectators.

“It was decidedly the most exciting thing that I ever witnessed,” declared Miss Phoebe. Prince Kirov and Captain O’Connell turned as one to stare at her as though she was mad. Miss Phoebe ignored them and turned to Mr. Bretton. “And you, sir, pulled Miss O’Connell to safety. Why, you are a hero!”

“Instead of berating poor Megan, might I suggest that you gentlemen properly thank Mr. Bretton?” said Mrs. Tyler icily. She could feel how Megan was still quivering. It certainly was not the time for recriminations and scoldings.

Prince Kirov and Captain O’Connell were taken aback by Mrs. Tyler’s anger. Flushing, Captain O’Connell offered his hand to Mr. Bretton. “Forgive me, sir. I know you will pardon my rude manners. I am somewhat distraught, as you will understand.”

Mr. Bretton smiled as he shook hands. “There is no apology required, Captain. I understand perfectly.”

Prince Kirov also expressed his fervent gratitude, before saying, “You have performed a service without price, Mr. Bretton. You will allow me to express my thanks with a token that is paltry by comparison.” He snapped his fingers. At once, Fedor presented a wallet to his master.

Mr. Bretton’s face darkened. “I will not accept payment, your highness,” he said stiffly with restrained anger. “It would be an insult to the honor of a gentleman.”

“Blimey, guv, take it! Honor be ‘anged!” exclaimed a voice out of the crowd and the rest laughed and agreed.

“Enough!” roared Prince Kirov. He glanced around, his blue eyes hard. When the crowd had quieted, he again addressed Mr. Bretton. “You mistake, sir. I do not offer you money. Pah! What is money? No, my friend, I offer you something more valuable.” He whipped a gold-edged card out of the wallet. “This is an invitation to a select private party at my residence. You will meet the world there, Mr. Bretton. I trust that I may rely on you to honor me with your presence.”

Mr. Bretton glanced at the invitation in his hand. “Yes, of course.” The flicker of a smile touched his face. “I shall be most happy to make one of your guests, your highness.”

The crowd murmured in disappointment. “ ‘e should have gone for a reward,” remarked someone. “Aye. Wot good is a party invite?”

“Good! Now, where is that idiot balloon master?” said Prince Kirov. “I have business to transact with him.” He flexed his hands suggestively, while a certain cold gleam entered his eyes.

“Yes, by Jove!” exclaimed Captain O’Connell, turning around and looking for the man. “I should like a word or two with him, too. The man should be horsewhipped for his negligence.”

“He’s gone.” said Miss Phoebe calmly. “He disappeared into the crowd a few minutes ago. I can’t say that I blame him, either, for it can scarcely be considered his fault that the wind took such a turn.”

Captain O’Connell scowled down at her. “What a bird-witted thing to say! The man is a fool and must be brought to book, as anyone with the least bit of sense would agree.”

Miss Phoebe drew herself to her full height. Her eyes snapped wrathfully. “How dare you address me in such periods, sir!” While Captain O’Connell was still gaping at her, she turned her shoulder on him. She said to Megan and Mrs. Tyler, “Let us go over to my carriage. Mama’s coachman has drawn up on the edge of this crowd. He is very trustworthy. I shall tell him particularly to go slowly so that you will not be jarred, Miss O’Connell. You are still so pale, poor thing! My maid always carries a smelling salt. I feel certain that you will benefit from it.”

“That is indeed most considerate of you, Phoebe,” began Mrs. Tyler.

“Miss O’Connell and Mrs. Tyler came with me. Naturally it is I who will see to their comfort,” said Prince Kirov quickly. “I shall have my coachman come up at once. Fedor, see to it at once!” The dwarf flitted away.

“You were the one who brought Megan to this dastardly balloon ascension,” said Captain O’Connell accusingly. “She will do better to return to town with me and Miss Stallcroft.”

“Bah! Is it my fault that she is a headstrong hoyden? No, a thousand times! I forbade her to get into the balloon. It was you who urged her to take her life in her hands,” exclaimed Prince Kirov, his expression darkening.

“Megan is my sister. I shall naturally uphold the stands she takes against impudent outsiders,” said Captain O’Connell loftily.

“Impudent! I? I am Kirov! You dare to insult me to your peril, sir!” roared Prince Kirov.

Captain O’Connell looked at his fingernails and yawned. “I am at your service, your highness.”