The Wallflower Trap (REVENGE OF THE WALLFLOWERS #17) by B.W. Haggart EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: B.W. Haggart
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
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An Invitation by Stealth
“Presumption gains more than doubt.”
–A Spanish Proverb.
Mayfair, London, June 11, 1814
“Jack, why in the blue blazes are we stopping here?”
“Where else?” The Jack in question shook his head at his friend. The
yellow painted hackney had deposited him and his two friends in the middle
of Audley Street across from Grosvenor Square. “As you can plainly see, it
proved necessary with the crush of carriages filling both Brook and Audley
Streets.” Each elegant vehicle, hub-to-tub, jockeyed for a position near the
Cosingwell mansion’s huge front portico.
His friends, Charles and Duncan glanced apprehensively about, like
two mice in cat territory. The hordes of the Upper Crust were abandoning
their transportation, a number streaming past them, all bent on storming the
Cosingwell’s receiving line. The grounds and gardens were ablaze with
hundreds of torches, lights shining from every window, silhouetting the
revelers inside.
Jack slapped his gloved hands together, his smile alight with
anticipation. This promised to be a grand night. Breathing in the warm
summer evening Jack wrinkled his nose at the stringent scent of fireworks
smoke and horse manure. Both smells reminded him too much of Spanish
battlefields, which he found unsettling for such a spectacular night.
All agog, Charles grabbed Jack’s arm, interrupting his reverie. With an
anxious squeak, he demanded, “What are we doing here?”
Jack shot a grin at his companions, “Why, we are attending Lady
Cosingwell’s Victory Gala,” and having made the declaration, he marched
across Audley Street up to the mansion’s side doors.
Flustered, Charles caught up with Jack at the steps. “W-What? We
don’t have invitations—do we?”
Jack just laughed. “Trust me. I keep my promises.”
Duncan, the third member of this band of cavaliers agreed in a Scots
brogue. “Yer mad, Jack. This is the haut ton pinnacle of all the Victory
Celebrations. I hear the Russian Emperor will make an appearance. There’ll
be a gaggle of Breetish generals and beg wigs in tow, for sure and for
certain.” He stepped between Jack and the side doors which were flanked
by two footmen in red livery. “Horse Guards will have our feathers if they
discover us attempting such a stunt.” He pointed to their boots. “Besides
laddie, we’re shy dancing pumps.”
Jack eyed his comrade in a chiding manner. “The lack of proper
clothing never stopped you before, Captain McTodd.” Jack pretended to
dust off Duncan’s tailored in Paris blue hussar uniform, his dolman and furlined pelisse. Stepping around him, he said over his shoulder, “If I
remember rightly, you charged with the 15th
at Vittoria in nothing but your
undershirt and outsized Spanish pantaloons.”
“Well,” Duncan said with a sardonic half-smile, “You, sir, forced me
and my squadron to form up just as I was finding common ground with a
stunning señorita.”
“Did you ever retrieve your uniform?” Jack asked as he reached the
double doors. “And you Charles. Is this the same brave caballero who, at
Morales, led his squadron against twice their number of French dragoons?
Now he shrinks from the charge?”
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