An Improper Suitor (7 page)

So, rather than escalate the hostilities, she launched into a
monologue
. She chose the first topic that sprung to mind.

‘It’s a pity,’ she said, ‘that they do not allow ladies into the
Four-Horse
Club.’ There were shocked gasps from the matrons, and one or two laughs from the gentlemen. Not a good choice of topic, perhaps. ‘You only have to look around Hyde Park. There are several skilled ladies who drive a barouche and four bays, and for as long as they’ve been doing it, they’ve never met with an accident.’ There were mutters and murmurs. ‘Though I’m not sure I’d like to drive a yellow barouche, which is a requirement of the club.’ Some more gasps. Half the
gentlemen
of the
ton
aspired to drive the yellow barouche that signalled their membership. Those gentlemen who didn’t, drove too badly to even
dream of it. ‘And the rosettes at the head of the horses seem insipid.’ She had not set out to shock anybody, but some perverse part of her was determined to do so. A great chasm yawned before her, and she was heading straight towards it. She was sure, before the evening ended, she would be labelled an Eccentric, like her grandmother.

‘Perhaps,’ said Thorwynn, who was himself a member of the club, ‘we can set up a test for those ladies who think themselves skilled enough,’ he said, amused. ‘And arrange a ladies’ branch of the club.’

She examined him suspiciously. Unable to determine whether he was mocking her or supporting her, she resorted to silence.

His statement generated some excitement among the younger bucks. Several of them turned to each other and began to wager on the possibility of any lady being skilled enough to pass.

Just then the orchestra struck its first discordant notes, indicating that they were tuning up and that the dancing would commence soon. Perhaps she would survive the night after all. Salvation was in sight. She peered at her card to see who had claimed her for the first dance, and found the space was empty.

‘Allow me to lead you to the dance floor,’ said Neave. ‘I believe this is my dance.’

She took his hand gratefully, wanting nothing more than to get away from Thorwynn’s dark presence.

He was waiting for her as the dance finished. In fact, everywhere she went, all she had to do was turn, and he would be there, waiting.

People were beginning to notice.

She
certainly noticed. It irritated her at first. Then it aggravated her. Then it infuriated her.

Finally, incensed, she was goaded into action. She stalked over to where he was standing, trying to appear calm and unconcerned, in case anyone was watching. He was leaning against a wall, pretending to be engrossed in watching a group of young ladies whispering together.

‘They’re going to bring their mamas over any moment if you persist in singling them out for attention this way,’ she said, trying not to sound as prickly as she felt.

He turned to her immediately;. ‘Heaven forbid,’ he said, lazily,
pushing himself away from the wall and standing straight. She expected him to be drinking, but there was no sign of a glass anywhere close. ‘But I’m glad you have decided to seek me out.’ He smiled, that slow swaggering smile of his that brought an immediate frown to her face.

‘I came to seek you out for one reason, and one reason only,’ she snapped. ‘I wanted to inform you’ – she paused, wondering how she could say this politely – ‘I would prefer you to keep your distance.’ It was very inadequate, considering how furious she felt, but she hoped it was clear enough, at any rate.

‘You came all the way across the ballroom to tell me I have to keep my distance?’ he said, tweaking an eyebrow.

Subtlety was clearly not his
forte
. She needed a more direct approach.

‘I came across the ballroom because I find gentlemen who stand and glower at young ladies in a ballroom very unpleasant. I am asking you to stop watching me. I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, I can take care of myself. I do not need a guardian, and I certainly don’t need an earl who is in his cups watching over me. So please stop, or I will be forced to speak to my grandmother, who is, incidentally, my real guardian.’

He stiffened, the smile sliding off his face. The muscles of his face tightened until they became a mask.

‘I’m sorry if I have offended you in any way,’ he said coldly. ‘It was not my intention. My intentions have been solely to make sure you do not come to any harm. You have made your feelings on the matter very clear.’ He bowed rigidly. ‘Please give my greetings to your
grandmother
. I hope you will excuse me. I have another engagement to attend.’

He walked off, leaving Julia to reconcile a range of conflicting
feelings
.

Her first impulse was to run after him and apologize. She should not have been so adamant. She should have waited until she was calmer to speak to him.

A moment later indignation replaced the guilt. How dare he walk off like that, making it appear to anyone observing them that he had snubbed her?

Then she felt pleased with herself. She wanted him to leave, and she had accomplished what she had set out to do. He had left.

Then as a young gentleman approached her to claim the next dance, a strong resolve gripped her.

She would not allow any man, whoever he may be, to control how she lived her life. 

An enormous bouquet of blue, white and yellow irises decorated the hallway.

‘These came for you earlier this morning, Miss Julia,’ said the butler, his face relaxing into a slight smile.

She smiled back affectionately. She had known him since she was three, when she used to beg him to give her rides on his back. ‘Thank you, Rumbert,’ she said.

Neave must have sent them. She buried her face among them, allowing their perfume to envelop her. It was just like him, to pick something that brought the bright spring weather indoors to her. She picked them up and gazed at the curling petals, at the wonderful contrast of colours.

A card emerged between the flowers. She plucked it out eagerly, wondering what he could have written.

He had chosen a simple card. The writing was strong, the letters clear and sharp.

Her heart missed a beat at the signature, then settled into rapid, angry pounding.

Did he really think a bunch of flowers was going to mollify her? The only thing that would mollify her was if he stopped interfering in her life.

To add insult to injury, he expects me to go riding with him
.

She ran up the stairs to the parlour. Grannie was there, reading
Confessions
by Rousseau.

‘Grannie,’ she said, interrupting. ‘you’re always consulting the
various
dictionaries of flowers. What do irises generally mean?’

Lady Bullfinch balanced her book carefully on her lap, keeping the pages open. ‘It can mean several things. The French monarchy, of course, but you’re not interested in that. The petals are supposed to stand for faith, valour, and wisdom. And it is named after the Greek goddess of the rainbow. Iris was the gods’ messenger, so it often means a message or even a warning.’

A warning. That was it. The flowers were a warning.
Again
.

‘Thank you.’

‘But sometimes,’ she called, as Julia left the room, ‘a flower is just that – a flower. Don’t go reading meanings into them that they don’t have. Anyway, look in the dictionary.’

Everyone knew that flowers had meanings. When everybody was poring over Mme de la Tour’s
Language of Flowers
, how could they not?

She strode upstairs to her chamber. There she headed for the mahogany escritoire and sat with a thump, striking her knee against it. The pain only fuelled her indignation. She dipped the quill into the ink pot.

No, that was too forward. Besides, it was unlikely he was
deliberately
trying to anger her. He was simply obtuse.  

She tore the page into tiny bits and threw it away.

Again, this would not do. It was extremely bad form to quarrel with a gentleman on paper. She crumpled it and tossed it in the basket.

She took a deep breath, calmed herseelfand started again.

She looked it over, dissatisfied. It conveyed nothing of her anger. But it would have to do. She could hardly send an incensed note to someone who had sent her flowers and invited her for a ride in the park. At least she had the satisfaction of turning him down.

To make sure she would not be home if he ignored her message and called, she sent a note round to Miss Amelia Neville, asking if she would like to join her for a ride in Hyde Park.

Since she arrived first, Julia had the chance to observe Miss Neville on her horse. She had a very good seat, her body straight and at ease in the side-saddle. She chided herself for making assumptions.
Just because her horse bolted, it doesn’t make her a clumsy rider
. Her groom followed closely behind her.

The girl’s face brightened when she spotted her.

‘It was really very
kind
of you to ask me to ride with you,’ she said, with emotion. ‘You didn’t have to. You
already
asked me to
accompany
you to Gunter’s, which was such a
treat
. I never
dreamed
ice cream could come in so many flavours.’

Julia wondered that such a common thing should affect her. ‘Don’t you have any friends in London you can ride with?’

Amelia shook her head. ‘I don’t know
anyone
in London. I’ve never been here before, and Mother hasn’t introduced me to anyone my age.’ A wistful expression settled over her features. ‘I would so like to go around London with some friends of my own. But Mother says I should focus my attention on finding a husband first, and that once I’m married I can explore London to my heart’s content. I
suppose she knows what’s best for me.’

Julia had no doubt the last remark was a quote from Lady Medlow, but refrained from saying so.

‘Perhaps. But I am a single lady, and I have explored every corner of London with friends.’

‘It’s different for you,’ she said. ‘There is some freedom to being an old maid.’ Realizing what she had said, Amelia raised her hand to her mouth, her skin flushing purple.

‘I didn’t mean – oh, I
didn’t
mean to say – don’t think—It’s just that Mother said—’

The remark jolted Julia. But she quickly realized that the idea did not originate from Amelia herself but from her mother. She smiled reassuringly at the flustered girl.

‘Don’t worry, I haven’t taken offence. It seems your mother has used me as an example of what happens to girls who break the rules.’

Amelia bowed her head. ‘I don’t wish to speak badly of Mother,’ she answered, her voice weak. ‘Only she really doesn’t
understand
what it’s like to be a young girl in her first Season. She has very strict notions, and she is determined I should make a good match. I
know
it’s very important, but still, I
wish
things were otherwise.’

Julia was not sure what to say. She did not want to encourage the young lady to defy her mother, but she could not encourage her to simply obey her mother blindly, either. ‘I’m surprised she allowed you to come riding with me,’ said Julia.

A small blush crept into Amelia’s cheeks. ‘She did not know you were meeting me here. She was away when your note arrived. She thinks I am merely exercising my horse.’

A show of spirit, at least. Perhaps there was more to Miss Neville than met the eye.

‘Well, in that case, let’s take advantage of your respite. Shall we leave the crowds behind, and have a little gallop?’

To her credit, Amelia only hesitated for the briefest moment. Then her eyes glittered with mischief, and she nodded breathlessly.

Julia revised her opinion.
She’s a mischievous imp, not a cherub at all.

Julia left Rotten Row, with Amelia by her side, and the groom following close. They rode at a sedate trot until they reached some
large oaks that would hide them from the main path. Immediately, Julia set Hamlet into a gallop. A quick glance behind told her Amelia followed. And behind her, the groom.

In the afternoon, at the fashionable hour, one did not expect to allow one’s horse free rein. But, with some care, one could gallop very fast indeed.

Lionel took a deep sip of his second glass of brandy. Lady Bullfinch and her daughter, Lady Talbrook, were charming, but their company was wearing thin. It was Miss Swifton he had come to visit, not them.

‘The Duke of Sherhold really liked your mother, you know,’ said Lady Bullfinch. ‘He almost proposed. But his father had other ideas for him.’ She paused, lost in reflection. ‘Too bad, she might have been a duchess.’

‘Not that it would have been desirable for Lord Thorwynn,’ said Lady Tolbrook, sending him an understanding glance.

He chuckled. ‘Definitely not desirable. I’m sorry my mother lost her chance to be a duchess, but with my very existence at stake, you can hardly expect me to be very sympathetic.’

Lady Bullfinch shrugged. ‘You would not have known of your loss.’ Her expression was grave, but her eyes twinkled. For a brief moment, she reminded him of Miss Swifton.

He wished she was Miss Swifton. He liked Lady Bullfinch’s direct ways, but he had not come to visit her, after all.

The door opened, and Miss Swifton stepped in. He stood. She wore a honey-coloured riding dress, cut in military style. She had clearly returned from a ride – in Hyde Park, undoubtedly. Her eyes sparkled with the exercise, her cheeks were ruddy, and long tendrils of hair toppled down on to her face. All in all she had the look of a woman who had experienced an exhilarating interlude. He wondered if she would look like that after he had bedded her.

He stifled the image as quickly as it popped up. He had called on her only because he was trying to rescue her from a villain’s
intentions
. What the devil was he doing thinking of her in his bed?

He distracted himself by speculating whether she rode alone or in company. It was unlikely that she had ridden alone at the fashionable hour. Most likely she had a companion. He felt a sudden twinge as he
thought of her riding with some young gentleman, one of her
admirers
. He restrained the impulse to ask her with whom she had been.

Then it occurred to him that she might have ridden with Neave. The image of them trotting through the park, conversing and
laughing
, threw him into a rage. While he sat and exchanged
on-dits
with her relations, she was blithely doing exactly what he was trying to prevent. He gritted his teeth.

He realized that she was standing in front of him, and he was
practically
growling at her.

‘Lord Thorwynn?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, not having heard a word she said. ‘I’m afraid I did not hear you.’ He sounded very brusque. That would not do at all.

‘I simply said that it was an unexpected pleasure.’

‘Hardly unexpected, since I sent you notice that I would call.’

Her eyebrows came together in a frown. ‘You did not receive my note? I sent a reply immediately.’

He had received it, of course, and ignored it, but she was offering him a way to explain his presence, so he took it.

‘I left home early this morning to take care of business, and I have not been back since.’

One auburn eyebrow flicked up, but she said nothing to contradict him. He had a distinct feeling that she did not believe him.

‘Pray take a seat, Lord Thorwynn,’ she said. ‘If you will give me just a minute, I will rejoin you. I don’t wish to sit in the parlour smelling of horses.’

‘You could never smell of horses,’ he said gallantly. He could have kicked himself in the next moment when she raised yet another eyebrow. Well, there was no rescuing the situation. Might as was well just grin and bear it.

He grinned. ‘I meant,’ he said, laying his cards on the table and hoping she would be willing to let it pass, ‘that a fresh outdoor horse smell never hurt anyone.’

Her mouth twitched, and a small spark lit up her eyes. ‘Indeed? Would you care to wager on my chances if I attended a ball smelling of horses?’

‘In my days,’ said Lady Bullfinch, intervening, ‘no one bothered
with baths. They were thought unhealthy. And they were, since it was nearly impossible to find clean water anywhere near London. I remember my parents telling me that when Queen Caroline decided to set aside a special room for a bath tub, and proceeded to bathe once a week, she was thought extremely odd. Of course, even she, daring as she was, bathed with the protection of a linen shift.’

The expression on Lady Talbrook’s face left no doubt as to her opinion on that matter.

Lady Bullfinch laughed. ‘We did use more perfumes than people do these days. I could say, in fact, that we washed ourselves in cologne,’ she said. ‘But I admit bathing is much more pleasant.’

‘Well, I would not give up my baths for anything,’ said Julia.

The vision of Miss Swifton naked in her bath intruded in his mind. He followed her every move as she soaped herself languidly.

They had all turned to him, waiting for an answer. To what? What had they asked?

‘I,’ he said, ‘I agree.’ What was happening to him? Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to the Golden Widow. It had been a while since their last frolic.

‘Since the general opinion seems to be that I need not change, I’ll remain downstairs.’ She settled down on a settee, as far away, Lionel noted, as she could possibly be from him.

Now that he had her attention, he realized, he did not know what to say to her. Confound it! He had only one thing to say. He wanted her to stay away from Neave. But that was the very thing he
couldn’t
tell her. It occurred to him that he should have appealed to her
grandmother
for help while he had the chance.

Meanwhile, while he waited for her, she had been out with Neave. Ridiculous was hardly the word. He had been on a fool’s errand, and he had accomplished nothing.

Irritation flared up and grabbed him by the throat.

He really had nothing to say, and he had stayed long past the time acceptable for a social call. Throwing a quick glance at the
dragon-footed
mantel clock, he came to his feet.

‘I hadn’t realized it was so late,’ he said, smiling smoothly at the elder ladies. ‘It was a pleasure talking to you.’ He turned to Miss Swifton. ‘I promised to meet Lord Benedict at Brooks’s.’
For the third time in just a few minutes, Miss Swifton raised her eyebrow. The gesture annoyed him. Even if it was a good sign. It showed that she was not easily deceived.