London was not half as impressive as Miss Caroline Davis had thought it to be.

While the Metropolis certainly offered her entertainments quite unlike the banal ones in the country, she found it excessively bustling, and the people prissy and remarkably exacting. It stood to reason that, for a young lady reared in the comfort of countryside for seventeen odd years, and hardly traveled away from home, she found London equally fascinating and unnerving.

But as a girl just out of schoolroom, her naivete had, for more than one occasion, made her the object of Aunt Emilia’s disquietude, and the amusement of Cousin Sophie. In one instance, she had sauntered the length of Bruton Street alone, blissfully unaware of the consequence for a Young Lady who ventured outdoors with no Abigail in tow. Mrs Winscott was horrified when, upon returning home from an engagement, she was met with intelligence that her errant niece was nowhere in the premise, and gave the poor maid an earful dressing-down for the negligence of her duty.

This slip on Miss Davis’ part wouldn’t be the last.

For the weeks that had followed though, the likelihood of her committing a solecism had only became unwarranted fears of Mrs. Winscott. Perhaps it was due to the influence of a few decorous young ladies whom she had constantly met at soirees and balls, and had eventually befriended her. To be sure, Caroline had never met so many people in her life! There was the adorable Miss Lorrington, and the painfully shy Julie Sutherton (with whom she became fast-friends), and the elegant though slightly haughty Miss Leticia Debery, and the silly Mr. Melton who was head over heels for dear Sophie, and more that she could hardly remember their names and titles in one night!

Although the company seemed agreeable enough, there were times when she found them less appealing. Miss Davis had a fair share of gossips, but it did somewhat astonish her that behind the demure, why, ton ladies were certainly a coven of magpies!

And there were these gentlemen with whom she’d developed an acute dislike for all their pontificating and flaunting airs. “Regular coxcombs, m’dear,” one of Aunt Amelia’s friends had confided to her. “London’s overgrown with them! It may be fashionable to appear like that, but I strongly abhor dandyism, and so I deem it an eye sore! And several might appear decent and—well, gentlemanly, but don’t be deceived! Sly creatures, the lot them!” The old lady added warningly that some of ‘em were in the habit of taking liberties with ladies hailed from the country. Miss Davis only nodded her assent and expressed her appreciation for the kind warning, but had dismissed the thought as soon as a more interesting topic was introduced.

But she should’ve been more heedful to the whispers of the worldly and wise! As it happened, Miss Davis found herself presently in a situation where Lord Anthony Randwick was trying to enfold her between his bony arms, while she was fighting against his every attempt these several minutes past.

“Let me go!” Miss Davis squirmed violently until the top of her head hit the repulsive gentleman’s jaw with a soft cluck.

“But Miss Davis!” pursued Lord Randwick fervently, injured jaw notwithstanding, “You already have my heart! Please accept my love!”

“No!” For the first time in the entire evening, Caroline finally took the liberty to roll her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, sir! I daresay you barely know the meaning of the word! Oblige me to stop this nonsense at once, and let. Me. Go!” Flattening her gloved palms on his chest and gathering some strength on her arms, she finally shoved him away. This feat resulted to only a few paces away; he might be as thin as an unfed crow, but he was overwhelmingly strong.

Miss Davis managed to draw back a few inches, but her tenacious suitor seized her once more.

“But I do! Indeed I do!” Lord Anthony exclaimed, and gave the object of his affection a little shake. “Dash it, Miss Davis, I’m not shamming it at all! Lord, don’t you see how smitten I am with you?”

“No, I don’t!” came the crushing reply. “The only thing I see, my lord, is that you are three parts drunk!” No desired effect was made by this discouraging response. The persistent young man groped Miss Davis’ arms with such force that she gasped, and began to feel very alarmed indeed.

She said, this time in an imploring tone, “Sir, please, let me go because I don’t love you! And you behave so abominably that I’ve just decided to detest you! Will you listen to reason and—”

Her supplication broke off; a tall figure suddenly crept behind her suitor and roughly grabbed him on the shoulder. The assaulted arms were freed the next moment, for Lord Randwick had turned around to confront the intruder. Apparently not one to put further delay on the task, the newcomer lodged a fist at the vulnerable spot under his eye before his lordship could even utter a protest. It was a straight victory; the shock of the attack, and chiefly the force in which it was delivered, rendered Lord Randwick unconscious in a trice, falling flat on his back to the ground with a sickening thud.

Miss Davis and her emerging champion stood in silence while staring down on the sprawled figure of the hapless young man. Hardly recovering from the little spectacle herself, she declared, rather dazedly, “Well, that was rather remarkably neat, I should say!”

Her champion looked momentarily nonplussed, but grimaced at her afterwards. He was unmistakably a Young Gentleman (though not quite like Lord Randwick, who was nothing if not next to a stripling), and regardless of the sullen countenance, she acknowledged—rather reluctantly— that the chiseled face was a handsome one. Barely recognizing the color of his eyes, Miss Davis contented herself instead with the notion that it was distractingly piercing under the arched brows; he had long, straight nose, thin lips and a strong square chin. And although he dressed in the first stare of fashion, his dark locks fell slightly outmoded. Not the kind of which Miss Davis would have conjured up for a hero, though the gentleman was altogether an imposing personage.

Mentally chastising herself for gawking far too long than propriety permitted, she squatted beside the motionless Lord Randwick and poked a rib with a gloved finger to see any sign of consciousness in him. When he did not stir, she poked him a couple of times more, but to no avail.

Giving up the pursuit, she leaped on her feet, saying, “Oh, dear! I’m afraid you’ve outdone yourself, sir!” Her emerald eyes widened at the man across her, who was nudging Lord Randwick’s leg with his right toe.

“Well, you don’t need to sound like I’ve killed him,” retorted the gentleman dourly. “He’ll come around soon enough.”

Miss Davis was brimming with doubts, but nonetheless said: “Oh, if you say so! May I ask what brings you here, sir?”

“I was about to ask the same thing of you.”

“Well, I was only taking a stroll earlier, but then Lord Ran—”

“Alone?” He interjected, looking incredulous.

“Why, yes! I wasn’t with someone else, don’t you see? Though I’m sure Aunt Emilia would be very appalled indeed—”

“Very true.”

“Of course! And she a high—oh, stop interrupting me, if you please!” exclaimed Miss Davis, a little vexed. Surprisingly enough, he meekly complied and held his peace for the next part to finish. “Then Lord Randwick followed me without my knowing it, and imagine my shock, sir, when he emerged from the shadows and started to declare himself like it was the most natural thing in the world, and then made advances to me!”

The gentleman’s brows creased further at this tale. Miss Davis continued, “Well, don’t you think he is a little bit fast? And we’ve only introduced a week ago! It was very silly, because he said I already have his heart, though how it came to that, it is beyond me to know!”

“I think,” declared the gentleman at last, “that he’s a precocious lecher to a fault, besides being a besotted fool.”

She giggled. “My thoughts exactly! And he is besotted!” When he fell silent again, she politely asked, “Now that I’ve explained my plight, sir, may I ask again what brings you here?”

He was hesitant for a moment, but reticently answered, “For the same reason as yours—taking some air.”

“Oh!” Miss Davis appeared dubious. She wasn’t an obtuse young lady; indeed, she saw instantly that her champion was a little troubled. Perhaps he was escaping from an unpleasant encounter himself? Well, that must be why he was so ill-humored. Or it might be on the account that he did really inflict a more serious damage than a darkening bruise on Lord Randwick, though he refused to admit it!

“Are you troubled that Lord Randwick might… Well, be seriously injured?” she enquired anxiously. “Not but it served him right, though. Still, you did not need to make such a blow on him!”

“Lord, no,” rejoined her champion. “He could go to the devil for all I care.”

A bubble of mirth almost broke from Miss Davis, but bit her lower lip to suppress it. “I daresay, we are in a pickle, sir!”

“Yes,” reflected the gentleman, “and a devilish one, too.”

They fixed their irresolute gazes again at the immobile Lord Randwick. The imminent bruising on his cheek would undoubtedly pass unremarked over the tables of White’s, or any clubs he frequented, and the poor man would have to suffer the indignity of it for the weeks to follow!

After a fleeting silence, the gentleman announced with a marked callousness, “We should leave him here.”

Caroline let out a soft gasp at this unfeeling decision. The blow might very well serve him right, but he did not deserve to be left in the middle of hedge maze at night, and most certainly not when he was unconscious. “We can’t!” she objected, “Poor Lord Randwick!”

He looked over her irritably. “Oh, it’s poor Randwick now, is it? When hardly ten minutes ago you were in a most compromising situation that would have eventually resulted to your ruin had I not been fortunately passing!”

“Yes, yes I know!” Miss Davis placatingly replied. “And I thank you for that sir! Truly! Although we just can’t leave him here: it’s the most inhuman thing to do!”

“Then what do you suggest? Drag him all the way back to the ballroom?” he countered snappishly.

“Let me remind you, sir, that this is your fault in the first place!” r

“And why is that?”

“Well, if you hadn’t knocked him down like that—!”

The gentleman shook his head and threw his hands up as if in resignation. “Fine! Stay here then: I’m leaving!” Without so much as a bow, he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Miss Davis in a depressing quandary. Biting her lip, she watched his retreating back, and then to the unconscious man at her feet.

Left with no other alternative, she sighed, and called after the gentleman. “Sir! Wait for me, if you please!” Clutching a handful of her skirt, she made a rather unladylike sprint until a good few paces were reached behind the gentleman.

He turned to Miss Davis and drawled, not without a little triumph,“Well?”

“Well, I could see that you have a point, sir. And I’m sorry if I blamed you earlier,” she softly said while searching his hard face. “But I do still think you have a share for this inconvenience—mind that!”

“Incorrigible brat,” the gentleman muttered under his breath. “Do you know the way out?”

Caroline looked up and vouchsafed a confident smile. “Why, certainly! I know the way!”

* * * * * * * * *

It was borne in on Lord Stokeford several minutes later that his misgivings on the wisdom of letting his companion to lead the way was gradually realized. His patience was wearing thin, and the invectives hovering on his tongue were ready to lash any moment now, particularly at this chit who was probably steering them farther and farther away from the portals of the curst labyrinth.

“Well, brat?” he demanded imperiously.

“Well what, sir?” Looking briefly over her shoulder, she saw the Earl’s black look and reproached him boldly: “Do stop scowling like that! You could even scare a specter, you know!”

Considerably taken aback with this admonishment, he decided wisely to bit back a retort and returned to his brooding. They continued to wend on their way, with only the flicker of the burning torches as their guide. On the course of this journey, the Earl took the liberty to study his young companion through stolen glimpses. She was a petite creature, barely reaching his shoulders (as he was exceptionally tall), with luminous black hair pinned in a fashionable coiffure and short ringlets dangled on the sides of a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were definitely green — it didn’t take long for him to discern it, for hers were quite vibrant, wide and smiling, and oddly candid whenever they bore on him, as though they could pierce right through his inner thoughts. But what queered him the most was her affable manner towards him: unlike the other flimsy society missies, she didn’t fidget nor cower in his presence. Instead, she’d smiled and talked to him, and never in the least disheartened whenever he’d answered in monosyllables.

“I gather, sir, that you find the ball quite dull?” she enquired politely, glancing back at him.

He nodded.

“Well, I daresay it is, but my Aunt Emilia believes Lady Mortimer’s balls are one of the best in town,” the young lady disclosed. “Being a debutante, wouldn’t you agree that I am the best judge of it?”

“Indeed.”

“I rather think so, too! Why, my aunt would just sit there and chat with the crowding dowagers and chaperones, while I and my cousin are obliged to dance till small hours! It’s a relief that the supper was excellent: we certainly need some nourishment after all!”

Lord Stokeford mentally acquiesced with this sensible notion, but vouchsafed no answer.

Turning back at him, the young lady suddenly asked, “Have you tasted the lobster, sir?”

The elegant brows creased at this unexpected question. Since the Earl had little interest in gastronomy and the food he’d eaten, he shrugged, and said no, he haven’t.

“A pity, then! Perhaps you’ve not eaten much, though to be sure Lady Mortimer is a generous soul, and has prepared food enough to feed the whole Parliament!”

As she giggled, Lord Stokeford felt his own lips twitched. It was a good thing that he was walking behind; he would not definitely give her the satisfaction of seeing his countenance wreathe into a poor resemblance of a smile.

“Why do I have this feeling that we are lost?” He remarked dryly. “Do you really know the way?”

Upon hearing this sarcastic inquiry, she stopped on her tracks, saying, “The truth is…,” she turned to him with a guilt-stricken countenance and solemnly confessed, “I couldn’t quite remember it, sir!”

That had finally snapped a limb on Stefan’s temper.

“Good God!” he practically roared, making his little companion winced and instinctively covered her delicate ears. “Am I to understand,” he started menacingly, “that we are only straying these past ten minutes all because you’re doing some little guesswork about which curst way to take?”

“But I am not guessing! Only that I am thinking this is the right path, but it turns out that it isn’t! Indeed, it is very confusing.”

“And you said you know the way!”

“Well, I know the way! I just couldn’t remember!” she pointed out defensively.

Lord Stokeford looked utterly confounded. For the life of him, he’d never encountered a female (not that he had often, anyway) that could reason out as ludicrously as her. “I can’t believe you’re excessively ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I beg your pardon?” She snapped, finally flaring up.

“Never mind.” Stefan waved his hand. “Damn it, we’re lost,” he muttered, not minding his language.

“Well, I suggest you have to pick your brains, sir, and get us out of here, if you please!” she countered.

Stefan threw her a withering glare, and bold as she was, she returned it with her own, and for a splitting moment there seemed to be an electrical spark flying between them.

He concurred surly, and walked ahead of her. Under his own lead, it wasn’t too long before they finally found the entrance, and their circuitous journey in that uncanny hedge maze was put to an end. When they steered themselves out, his companion let out a glee of triumph and flailed her arms like a babe receiving a new toy. Stefan, whose humor became blacker than ever, did not in the least share these raptures. Why, the little imp had definitely plagued him with idle talks and silly banters and retorts—yes, retorts, for they had a good round of putting blames on each other, wherefore he’d eventually gave up refuting his part, acknowledging that her wayward reasoning was an opponent unworthy of his time and breath.

“What a relief to be out here again! It seemed ages that I’d been trapped in that horrid place!”

“Yes, and thanks to me that you’re breathing fresh air again!” retorted the Earl ungraciously.

The young lady giggled. “Of course! Thank you, sir! I’m very much obliged to you,” she curtsied, her green eyes twinkling. “But it must be very late! My cousin would be in fidgets if I don’t put an appearance for another minute, and my Aunt Emilia would surely scold me for this!”

“You deserve it, brat!”

“I daresay!” she replied, unperturbed. “Well, I must bid you good night, sir!” she smiled and turned on her heels.

The moonlight brightened its white glow, completely casting out the shadows that lurked in the garden. Lord Stokeford remained where he was, idly watching the small figure walked rather frantically until it disappeared from his sight. He shook his head while thinking how extraordinary the night had been: he’d been challenged to a duel by a fool, knocked another one down, and found himself copped up in a bloody hedge maze for nearly an hour with a young lady who’d vexed him at every opportunity.

Come to think of it, he didn’t even know her name.