Evelyn Richardson (10 page)

The only member of the party not entirely satisfied with the day was Wellington. His winning expression and engaging manner, which never failed to win him friends and admirers wherever he went, had not done the least bit of good with the grim-faced yeoman at the Tower. “The Tower bain't be no place for dogs. Hit's han 'istoric monooment and that bain't no place for dogs,” he stated stubbornly. Wag his tail and smile though he would, Wellington could not get him to abandon this unreasonable position, so he waited rather glumly with John Coachman on his box, regretting that he would not be able to brag to Nelson about seeing such a bloody spot. Fortunately John was a friend, and his companionship lessened the indignity and boredom of it all to some extent.

They arrived back at Brook Street to discover that Bertie had called but had promised to return. He was ushered in not much later to find Aunt Harriet tending her orchids and Frances writing instructions to be delivered by John to the housekeeper back at Cresswell. Bidding him a barely civil “Good-Day,” Aunt Harriet made a swift exit, leaving him to gaze after her in a slightly bemused manner. “Lucky thing you ain't countin' on her to introduce you to the ton,” he observed.

“You are right, of course, but she never meddles, you know. And if I need to display the respectable nature of our establishment, she is always available to stare down the impertinent.”

Bertie was in total agreement there. He had come to say that thinking she might like to hear Catalani sing, he had procured a box and wondered if she would join him, Lady Streatham, and Kitty the next evening at the opera. Guessing that he had no real love for this type of amusement, she was touched by his generosity. “Bertie, it is too kind of you! I am assured you can't like to hear one of those 'dashed females screeching in Italian.'“  Bertie looked slightly conscious at this perspicacious observation, but remained silent. She continued, “I hope that you may be well-rewarded for your magnanimity and that the prettiest opera dancers will be onstage later in the evening.”

“Fanny!” He was scandalized. “You mustn't say such things!”             .

“I know, Bertie, but you're like a brother to me.”

He replied with some heat, “But dash it, Fan, a gently bred female ain't even supposed to know such things.” He continued, fixing her with a minatory stare, “And if she does, she certainly ain't supposed to let on—not to anyone!”

“I suppose you are right, Bertie,” she sighed. “But it would make so much more sense if gently bred ladies paid more attention to these opera dancers. If they did, their husbands wouldn't need the dancers in the first place.”

This piece of logic completely overset her companion. “I am not at all sure I dare escort you tomorrow,” he sputtered.

“No, Bertie,” she said soothingly, “I was just thinking aloud, and I promise not to do it again. I shall behave with the most rigid propriety, truly I shall.”

“Well, don't think aloud. Better yet, don't think at all,” he cautioned.

She laughed and held out her hand. “What a good friend you are. And I thank you kindly for arranging such a treat for us all.”

Frances enjoyed Catalani's singing immensely the next evening, though privately she wished the prima donna had demonstrated a little less histrionic and a little more dramatic talent. Catalani shared her attraction as a curiosity, at least for Kitty and Lady Frances, with someone else. Kitty had been begging Bertie to point out all the notables, a task for which he was admirably suited. He was happy to oblige, but seemed deliberately to ignore one astoundingly beautiful dark-haired woman in the box opposite. She was ablaze with diamonds and scantily attired in a dress of vivid green satin which clung to every curve other voluptuous figure. This she displayed to the delight of several gentlemen crowded around as she reclined seductively in her chair. “But, Bertie, who is that?” Kitty demanded, nodding behind her fan in the woman's direction.

“Don't look!'' Bertie almost upset his own chair in his frantic attempt to distract her. Kitty was taken aback-at such a reaction from the ordinarily phlegmatic Bertie. “Take no notice of her, Kitty. That's Lady Vanessa Welford.”

She was puzzled. “But if she's a lady, why shouldn't I notice her?”

Bertie ran his fingers rather desperately under his elegantly tied cravat, which suddenly seemed to be strangling him. “Well, she's a lady, but not much of a lady, if you see what I mean,'' he hazarded hopefully.

The familiar sound of the name which had been nagging her memory suddenly jogged it back to tea at the dowager Marchioness of Mainwaring's. “Oh.” she exclaimed as she leaned forward to get a better view. “That's Uncle Julian's mistress.”

Bertie was now certain that his valet had, in a fit of murderous rage at the number of cravats ruined that evening, tied this one too tightly on purpose to strangle him. It definitely seemed as though he had to gasp for breath, but at last he did manage to force out a good “Ssh!”

Though Kitty's remark had seemed to thunder in his ears, it had in fact gone no further than Lady Frances', but she was eager to discover just what type of woman did attract a man reputed to have such exacting standards for feminine attractiveness. Undoubtedly Lady Welford was magnificent. Her raven hair contrasted with seductive ivory shoulders and a tempting red mouth, but Frances took exception to her self-satisfied expression and guessed that she would not improve upon acquaintance, at least not acquaintance with another female. She told herself that it was far better to be appreciated for oneself and the less-tangible personal attractions of intelligence and character than to be admired for purely physical attributes. She had certainly educated herself on this premise, paying more attention to developing her mind and her values rather than a sense for fashion or the other feminine arts of attraction and dalliance. However, for one brief moment as she observed the magnetic woman across from her, so secure in her beauty, so confident of her power to win love and admiration, she questioned the wisdom of her choice. No matter that she told herself that a few years would prove her attractions to be the more durable ones. For once she would have preferred to have men love her beauty to distraction and women envy it to the same degree than to be respected for good sense. But such treacherous thoughts were gone in an instant as she again gave herself over to the pleasure of Catalani's rich voice and the fineness of the music.

Chapter Eleven

Bertie Montgomery was not the only one who took it upon himself to introduce Lady Frances to some of London's fashionable haunts. In keeping with his impulsively formed resolve to smooth her social path. Lord Mainwaring decided that a drive with him in Hyde Park would be just the thing to set her feet firmly on this path. His lordship was a man of decision. Having settled upon a course of action, he executed it immediately, and the next day saw him knocking on the Cresswell's door while his magnificent grays stamped impatiently. Higgins ushered him in at a slightly inauspicious moment as Aunt Harriet, in a black humor at the inexplicable dropping of blossoms from a particular favorite, came bustling out of the drawing room without the least looking where she was going and collided solidly with him. “Oh, do get out of the way, you beast.” It was a minute before Mainwaring, somewhat taken aback by this abrupt address, realized that as the collision and remark were simultaneous, she could not be referring to him; He looked down to see the culprit—Nelson-brushing affectionately against her skirts. “Oh!” Aunt Harriet recovered herself and directed a quelling stare at his lordship. “And who are you, sirrah, to come barging in like a great looby?”

Mainwaring took her measure instantly and replied meekly, “Mainwaring, at your service, ma'am. I do apologize. I had not realized you were quitting the room. I shall be more careful in the future.” Though he had introduced himself, Mainwaring had not the slightest idea of the identity of the tartar whose gaze had lost some of its ferocity at this graceful speech.

He was rescued by Lady Frances, who appeared just then in the doorway. Seeing her aunt and guest eyeing each other warily, she hastened to introduce them, mentioning to Aunt Harriet as she did so the great number of out-of-the-way places Lord Mainwaring had visited. Her aunt, never one to miss an opportunity to learn about or procure more specimens to add to her collection, looked speculatively at him, but before she could ask any useful questions. Lady Frances forestalled her.  “How nice to see you. Lord Mainwaring. I hope I haven't kept you. Higgins tells me you came in your curricle. I hope your horses have not been kept waiting too long.”

“No, ma'am, thank you. I drove here hoping I could convince you to come for a drive in the park.”

Lady Frances may not have agreed with the ton's unquestioning adulation of Lord Mainwaring, but she recognized an honor when it was offered, and was gratified. Regretfully she answered, ”It is too kind in you and I would love it of all things, but I promised Cassie, Freddie, and Ned that I would take them to see Lord Elgin's marbles. It is the most unfortunate thing, and I do truly appreciate your offer.”

“Don't refine upon it too much. Perhaps you will like to another day.” Mainwaring's words were gracious enough, but there was a hard light in his eyes and he looked to be a little put out. In point of fact, he was. People of any sort, especially young females, rarely received his invitations with anything but .excessive gratitude. The fact that he usually scorned such gratitude did nothing to lessen his pique at Frances for refusing him, and refusing him in favor of a parcel of brats at that!

Correctly interpreting these signs. Lady Frances experienced a tingle of satisfaction at having pierced his arrogance. She swiftly banished this ignoble thought, asking instead, “Would you like to go with us?”

Cassie and Frederick, who had now appeared and had seen from the expedition to the Tower that grown-ups could enhance an expedition, chimed in, “Oh, please do come along, sir.”

Julian couldn't remember when his mere presence, regardless of social position or fortune, had been of material importance to anyone. He was oddly touched by the genuine invitation he could read in three pairs of eyes. Before he knew what he was about, he was not only accepting a place in a schoolroom outing but also offering Freddie a ride next to him in his curricle, with a promise of the return trip to Cassie. His second surprise came when he realized that, in a reversal of the usual way of things, he was highly gratified at the approval he saw in Lady Frances' eyes. It was certainly all very odd.

During the ride to Lord Elgin's mansion in Park Lane, he had ample opportunity to become acquainted with the loquacious Freddie. The conversation centered chiefly around the various points and capabilities of the “prime bits of blood” drawing the carriage, but in the course of the discussion Mainwaring learned a great deal about the Cresswell household. Freddie artlessly confided that Lady Frances, though an excellent horsewoman, usually left the selection of her horseflesh to her groom, which Freddie thought was a great deal too bad. “I know she has a superior eye for a horse, and I've asked her times out of mind why she doesn't choose her own. After all, I could help her. But she says that horse fairs and Tattersall's are no place for a lady. Can you believe such sad stuff? Fanny doesn't say that running Cresswell or teaching in the schoolroom is no place for a lady, so I don't understand such a paltry attitude in this case.”

By describing some of the ugly customers who turned up at the fairs, and the purely masculine nature of the clientele at Tattersall's, the marquess was able to restore Lady Frances' credibility with her younger brother. “After all, Freddie, choosing a good horse is a tricky business. In addition to being able to recognize a thoroughbred from ear to hoof, it requires a good deal of discussion about the price.  There is not much time for social niceties and polite conversation in this sort of business, so it is best that men who are less likely to be offended by plain dealing take care of the entire business. Don't you agree?”

Freddie listened intently to this description of the male world. The idea of purely masculine society appealed mightily to him. Cassie and Fanny were great guns. They never fussed if one tore one's clothes or got them dirty. In fact, Cassie was as likely to do this as Freddie. But they couldn't share all his interests the way brothers would, he confided. This rather wistful comment brought back a fleeting memory of the marquess' own childhood and the scrapes and adventures he had shared with his brother. He felt the wish to see that Freddie was given an opportunity to enjoy male companionship. The thought developed no further than that because they had arrived at the building Lord Elgin had built next to his residence to house the marbles he had brought back from Greece.

The twins had not been at all sure they would find these  “old statues and stuff,” as Freddie scoffingly referred to them, nearly so interesting as the Tower, but they knew that their sister had been there with their parents when Lord Elgin first began to send them home, and that she was longing to see them. So they had gone with as good grace as possible in two eleven-year-olds dragged along to look at antiquities, and were agreeably surprised. Once again Frances’ talent for narration held them enthralled as she identified various figures on the friezes and described the battles and contests among the various gods and goddesses, who turned out to be no less bloodthirsty and conniving than the monarchs who had given such an infamous history to the Tower. Freddie was extremely taken with the war horses that charged with such strength and fury, while Cassie marveled that the delicately streaming draperies were carved out of marble and not the gauze they resembled. Even though she had been quite young, Frances was able to remember and describe the magnificent temples that Pericles had had built on the ruins of Persian buildings high on the Acropolis. She told of the magnificent columned porch of the Parthenon and explained where various pieces they were now observing would have been. Her pictures of life in Periclean Athens were so vivid and the recreation of the mythology so gripping that even Mainwaring, hearing snatches of her monologue from the other end of the room, moved slowly toward the little group to catch more. He was naturally familiar with most of what she was saying, but he was caught by the colorful language and animated delivery and found himself thinking rather wryly that it was a pity such histrionic talent would never appear onstage.