Page 29 of The Trouble with a Dare

“I would not say it was singing exactly,” Grace replied, wrinkling her nose as the rather raucous sound bore down on them.

“Oh!” Arabella said with a sigh. “The wicked man, and he promised me faithfully he’d behave, the wretch.”

She got up and flew to the window as Grace and Florence hurried behind her.

“Oh, my!” Florence said, her hand flying to her mouth to smother a giggle.

“Good heavens,” Grace exclaimed, as she watched the three men weave an unsteady path to the front door. Bainbridge lurched off the edge of the paved pathway and would have landed face first in the shrubbery if Sterling had not grabbed hold of his arm and hauled him upright again. He seemed to be the soberest of the three, though that did not appear to be saying much.

Now upright once more, Bainbridge stood and carried on, bellowing the words to the bawdy song they’d been singing. He had a fine baritone, which must have carried for miles around.

Win her with fairings and sweetening treats,

Lasses are soonest o’ercome this way.

Ribbons and rings will work most strange feats

and bring you into favour and play.

“Oh dear,” Arabella said, staring out at the sight in front of her with obvious anxiety before turning back to Grace. “I do apologise. He doesn’t mean to cause trouble, only—”

“Oh, don’t worry so,” Grace said, too amused to be cross as she flung the window open to get a better look. She burst out laughing, smothering her amusement behind her hand as she watched Sterling give Bainbridge a shove to make him walk on and stop blocking the path. Bainbridge swayed violently but took a step forward and then saw them all gathered at the window. The marquess sank to his knees on the spot and flung out his hands.

“But, soft!” he cried, staring at Arabella. “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief....”

Quite oblivious to this romantic interlude, Henry and Sterling were still singing with gusto.

Walk with her out into the fields, merrily give her a grass-green gown.

Tickle her fancy until she yields, else she’ll esteem you a cowardly clown.

Kiss her and play with her snow-white breasts, tell her a thousand wanton new tales.

Such pretty sport no maiden molests for she knows well what her lover ails.

Tickle her knees and something that’s higher, kissing and feeling go hand in hand.

No flesh and blood, but what will take fire…

“Oi! Oi, you blasted cretins, I’m trying to be ro-romantic with my Lady Bainbridge,” Bainbridge yelled impatiently.

“Bainbridge, you are drunk as a wheelbarrow,” Arabella called from the open window, her expression reproving.

“No.” Bainbridge put his hand on his heart and shook his head with an expression of such gravity Grace could not keep her composure. “No, no, no, my dearest love. Promised to behave. Not drinked, drunked. I did not drank overly much, jus’n a sip, a soupçon. Not drunk only a… a tad beery.” He gave an enormous belch and with difficulty held his fingers a scant inch apart, squinting at them and swaying with concentration. “Jus’ a tad bit beery. Little tad bit, like this.”

“Oh, Bainbridge,” Arabella said, laughing helplessly, shaking her head. “Do get up, you silly devil.”

“Mmm… no,” Bainbridge said. “Tired now. G-night, Bella.”

And he fell headfirst into a lavender bush.

Henry took one look at this and gave a bark of laughter of such force he staggered backwards and would have landed on his arse if Sterling hadn’t caught him.

“Right you, are, Henry, in you go my fine fellow,” Sterling said, giving Henry a fond pat on the shoulder. “Let his lordship sleep it off and we’ll—ummm—get you some coffee.”

Grace hurried to the front door with Arabella and Florence at her heels.

“What on earth happened?” she asked Sterling.