"Come, now, Ella. Pray don't. Wouldn't be the thing. Know what your father would say."

In spite of Cousin John's words, Ella hurried to the curb and knelt over a furry body. "I don't care a pin for Father's remonstrations. This one has a broken leg and needs me, oh, most particularly."

Cousin John groaned. "What you said about the last one. What you said about the one before that. Season ain't hardly begun."

Over her shoulder, Ella shot him an incredulous look. "As if that has anything to say to it. Besides, it being the beginning of the Season will give me all the time I need to restore the poor dear to health before we return to Shadehurst."

"As if there's room in the kennels for that one," John muttered.

"Never mind your scolds, John. You know I shan't be dissuaded in this."

He shuffled forth and, grimacing, collected the little bit of fur and cradled it in his arms.

"There, that's done," she said, dusting her gloved hands along her skirts. "Now, to bring that cur to justice!"

"I say! Poor doggy." John pulled his shoulders back in indignation. "Just had a most beastly encounter with that curricle. Almost ran him down."

"And it is precisely the man behind the reins of that curricle to whom I was referring."

"Oh, Ella, not that. Outside of enough, and all. If you expect me to hunt down a peer of the realm, bring him to the knowledge of his misdeeds . . well, I won't. See if I won't."

"It can't be so difficult." Ella laid her fingers on her cousin's arm and urged him to proceed down the street. "It is not often one sees a curricle of such an alarming shade of canary yellow."

John, allowing himself to be led down Bond Street with an injured puppy on one arm and an indignant young lady on the other, remonstrated. "Quite out, in that regard, don't you know. All the whipsters drive yellow curricles. S'all the rage."

"Well," Ella said with a sniff, "I collect I have shown my ignorance, but I am just out of the school room, remember." She dimpled up at him.

"Seventeen going on seven-and-forty. Someone should do somethin' about it."

Ella laughed. "Mama would do much if she could. She is forever swooning about, saying how abominable it is to present a daughter to the world when everyone knows she is only nine-and-twenty!"

"Beautiful woman, your mama. Indeed, often said . . . "

"Now, John, don't be trying to change the subject. If we hurry, we might just catch sight of that alarming vehicle outside some purveyor's shop."

"Ella, really. Wasn't the man's fault, anyway. Enormous bouquet of flowers in his lap . . . impeded his view."

"My thoughts exactly. Why, it should be against the law to tool about with such a dangerous bouquet when innocent animals are wandering about. And *such* flowers. Have you ever seen a more riduculous collection of blooms? Each one more enormous than the next. What ever happened to a sweet bouquet of violets or a simple corsage of roses?"

Her cousin drew breath to speak but was forced to expel it in a sigh.

"For you must know, John, a bouquet such as that can mean no good. Why, look at the damage it has done, already. And now the instrument of this poor pup's injuries, and possible death, though not if I have a thing to say to it, is on its way to some poor unsuspecting lady's door."

"Any lady would be delighted to receive such a . . . er . . . generous offering. Should think so, anyway."

"Not if she is one of breeding or refinement. Oh, John," she breathed, clutching at his arm, "do you think perhaps they are not meant for a lady at all?"

"Naturally meant for a lady. What! Take the man for a catamite?"

"Not at all. I was thinking of something much more ordinary, such as, say, a cyprian."

John was momentarily struck speechless.

"Not the man, silly. For whomever it was he bought the flowers. You know, his barque of frailty."

John drew up short. "Ella Ramsey! Talk like that--m'uncle pack you off to Shadehurst! Don't know that I shouldn't send you there m'self. Can't hope to make a match of it with talk like that."

"Pooh. As if I would say such a thing to a man."

John drew himself to his full height. "I'm a man, Ella. Have been most of my life. Daresay you just haven't noticed."

"Of course you are, dear. That is not precisely what I meant. Ah, here is my carriage. Do you come up?"

"Suppose I ought. Y'r father is bound to scold. Can't like to go with you but can't abandon you at such a time, either."

Ella gave him a grateful smile. "I shall have Simon for protection," she said, allowing John to hand her up into the carriage.

"Simon?" he asked when seated across from her. "Who the devil is Simon?"

"Why, my new little puppy." Ella dangled her fingers in Simon's face and was rewarded with a weak lick. "There, you see! He begins to feel better already."

"Won't when your father catches sight of him."

"Hmmm, perhaps you are right." Ella tapped a finger to her cheek. "I know. You shall help me smuggle him in!"

"Shall do nothing of--" John began. "I will enter by the front door as if nothing unusual has occurred . . . "

"Unusual occurrence! Should say not! That is, the house is already as near to Bedlam as can be what with every stray cur, cat, bird . . . " John sighed, allowing his voice to peter out with the strain of such an impassioned speech.

"There, there, dear," Ella said with a fond pat to her cousin's hand, "you exaggerate. Now! You shall go round back and entreat Cook to take Simon off your hands."

John snorted. "Know Cook. Won't do it. Too many animals licking her larder clean as it is."

"Oh, Cook won't mind," Ella said with a dimissive wave of her hand. She was once again contemplating how she could bring to brook the villian who struck Simon. It really was a crime how many animals were made to suffer at the hands of their supposed human benefactors!

"Ella," John was saying, "it won't do, know it won't. Never had the least influence with Cook. Not since the incident with the toad in the soup, and I don't relish . . . "

"That was when you were a boy. She has forotten all about it, I assure you. Now do be quiet and let me think."

By the time they reached the Ramsey town house in upper Half Moon Street, Ella still hadn't thought of a thing that would answer. She hadn't spotted a single yellow curricle along the way, despite their being all the crack. Even if she had, she couldn't possibly know to whom it belonged.

Supposing that ungodly stack of flowers yet remained to mark the offending vehicle, she could hardly strike up a conversation with an utter stranger. What if she should meet him socially in the coming weeks? Would she even recognize him? She had had only a fleeting impression of black curling hair and wide gray eyes momentarily staring into the street over the edge of an enormous lily.

In reflection, it seemed possible he could have felt a bit remorseful for what had happened. His eyes were so wide, but no! He was simply surprised and alarmed with the sudden pitching forth of his curricle. He might have stopped to see how poor Simon fared once he had brought his horses under control, after all. No, there was absolutely no redeeming the man for what he had done.

As the carriage drew to a halt, John seemed to shrink into the corner of the banqette. "Come now," Ella twitted him, "Cook won't eat you." With a last ruffle of her fingers through Simon's fur, she waved them off. "Go along, now. It will all come about splendidly, just see if it won't."

She stepped out of the coach, idly wondering which one of Mama's admirers would be hanging about today. Really, it was shameful how a woman of her age still held forth with such a court. Until Ella returned from Miss Muldoon's Seminary for Young Ladies in Bath a few short weeks ago, she had had no idea how very sought after was her pretty mama.

Would Ella look as young as Mama when she turned eight-and-thirty? They were both possessed of the same pale yellow curls, vivid blue eyes and cupid bow's mouth. Nevertheless, Mama had the most amazing cheekbones, sharp and shapely, while Ella's face was a soft oval.

"Hello, Travers," she said with a bright smile. Peeling off her gloves, she allowed the butler to divest her of her pelisse of pink sarcenet trimmed with lavendar swansdown, revealing a very smart walking dress of palest blue muslin. "Any letters for me?"

"Her ladyship is perusing today's correspondence in the morning room."

"Thank you, Travers. I shall go wish her a good afternoon." She loosened her bonnet to dangle round her neck and headed up the stairs. How to tell Mama about Simon? She was ruminating on this piece of business when she came to the top of the stairs and felt her eyes go wide.

On the occasional table in the center of the hall reposed the most enormous bouquet of flowers Ella had ever seen. No, not the most enormous. Only one bouquet of flowers could ever be so outrageous, so lacking in taste and refinement as to be purely ridiculous.

"Oh, Mama, no. He is never one of yours!" she exclaimed.

"Ella, is that you?" Lady Ramsey called from the morning room.

"Yes, Mama." Ella hoped her voice didn't sound as weak as it did in her own ears. Spying a card, Ella snatched it from adrift a sea of large lilies and great, ruffly, cabbage roses. Fingers trembling with anticipation, she drew the card from the envelope, most heavily perfumed, to be sure, with a most odious ostentatious scent, and read the inscription.

She could barely make out the one word scrawl. It appeared to be a first name. "Oh, how dreadfully disappointing." A second scrutiny revealed the name. "Simon," she read aloud. How very droll.

"What was that, darling?" her mother called.

"I'm coming, dearest." Ella returned the card to the table and walked through the door "Mama, who is this Simon . . . " But her words died in her throat for standing before her was the very man she sought. --©1997

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