Evelyn Richardson (11 page)

The door at one end of the room opened to admit none other than the Comte de Vaudron. He was welcomed joyfully by the twins. “I thought it would not be long before you paid them a visit,” he remarked to Frances, including the entire collection with a graceful sweep of his hand. In answer to the questions with which Cassie and Frederick were besieging him, he continued, “One at a time, mes enfants. I am here because I originally helped Lord Elgin rescue these works of art, and now I am helping him to convince your government to buy them from him so that everyone will have a chance to admire them.” He led them off to look at some of his particular favorites, telling them as he did so about the careful crating and shipping of these priceless pieces and the difficulties in transporting them from Greece to London. The details of this saga were almost as interesting as Frances' stories, and the twins listened eagerly.

Meanwhile, Mainwaring had joined Frances as she examined the flowing draperies that had so captivated Cassie. “I agree with you,” he said, correctly interpreting her expression. “It is a pity the grace and simplicity of such artists should have been ignored for so long.”

“Yes, and their beautiful sense of architectural proportion, and the lightness of their interiors as well,” she added. Then, as she realized that he had voiced her own thoughts, she asked, “But however did you know what I was feeling?”

He replied with some amusement at her astonishment at what was merely a shrewd observation: “I could have guessed, knowing who your father was, that you would have shared this admiration for the culture. But having observed the elegance and simplicity of your own taste, I know it to be so.”

“But how, after such a brief acquaintance, can you know what my tastes are?” she pursued.

His amusement deepened. “My dear child, the design of the library at Cresswell, the Adam decorations in Brook Street, and the uncomplicated lines of your style of dress all show you to be an appreciator of classical simplicity. Besides, you are not a fussy person. Anyone who has spent the least amount of time with you would know that.”

She was surprised that a man reputed to pay so little attention to his fellowmen should be so perceptive, but remarked, “I see you are determined to make me a bluestocking, sir, and would have me making an intellectual feat out of something as mundane as decorating my house and my person.”

He answered with unwonted seriousness, “No, not in the slightest. It is the very consistency of it all that proves you are not a bluestocking. Bluestockings try to stun the world with their erudition, and they usually pay a good deal of attention to the current tastes of the ton when selecting an area in which to excel. You, on the other hand, have shaped your own tastes after your own reading and learning, else they wouldn't all contribute to what is more a style of living than an aesthetic preference.”

Frances was gratified and not a little touched by this sympathetic reading of her character. She remained thoughtfully silent for some time until the children and the count rejoined them. Remedying her earlier omission, she introduced Julian to the count, who recognized him with pleasure.  “Ah, Julian Mainwaring, I hear great things of you from my friend Charlton. I am delighted to know you, monsieur.'' Mainwaring, disclaiming any real political or diplomatic expertise, discovered that the comte's was more than the conventional flattery. “I agree with your opinions, my boy. The world may say that history is shaped by battles and the valor of its leaders, but I believe more and more it will become a question of economics. It is the businessman and not the generals who will shape history from now on. The countinghouses and the Exchange will be the true battlefields, and England will need men such as you, who are experienced in these things, to lead her.” This approbation was not lost on Lady Frances, and she wondered if she had not been a little foolish in taking on such an opponent at the Streathams' dinner.

They bade good-bye to the comte and headed home, this time with Cassie sitting proudly next to the marquess. She was less voluble than her brother, but by no means less enterprising, and by the time they reached Brook Street, had managed—Mainwaring was still not sure exactly how—to extract an invitation to Astley's Amphitheater. She had barely been lifted down from her perch before she was sharing this delightful prospect with her brother and sister.

Lady Frances was well aware of her small sister's cozening ways and strongly suspected that the marquess, clever though he was, had been skillfully maneuvered into this position. She sent the children inside, men turned to him, extending her hand. “Thank you, sir, for joining us. It was very kind in you, but you mustn't let Cassie inveigle you into what would be very poor entertainment for you.”

The marquess had just been wondering about this himself, but her words put him on his mettle. “By no means. It has been an age since I went. I enjoy good showmanship and beautiful horseflesh as much as anyone. I don't pretend to know a great deal about children, so I do hope you will accompany us. Actually, I suppose Cassie and Freddie would be happy to enlighten me if I didn't know how to go on, but I don't feel I have quite your talent for making an outing memorable.”

She smiled ruefully. “All you have to do is invite them. It is I, their sister, who must resort to stratagems to keep them amused and in line.” All the same, she found herself looking forward to the entertainment as much as Cassie and Freddie.

Chapter Twelve

The marquess was as good as his word, but having considered the claims of Ned and Nigel, decided it would be extremely impolitic of him to exclude them merely because Cassie had had the originality and temerity to instigate this amusement. Until now, he had paid scant attention to Ned, who was as quiet and studious as Kitty was gay, and he felt a trifle guilty for having overlooked the lad. This seemed an excellent opportunity to become better acquainted. Nigel, he knew, was a lively, friendly boy who could be counted on to enjoy anything and anyone. Besides, Mainwaring did owe Lady Streatham a debt of gratitude for taking the burden of Kitty's Season off his hands. So it was quite a large party that was ensconced several evenings later in a box at Astley's Royal Amphitheater. The mere spectacle of the theater itself, with its huge chandelier illuminating the largest stage in London, was enough to take the children's breath away. Even the irrepressible Frederick could not find words sufficient to the occasion. He gazed in awed silence as Philip Astley, resplendent on his white charger, led the circus parade. The children's eyes grew rounder and rounder as wonder succeeded wonder. It seemed impossible to believe that a horse could dance a hornpipe. That he could improve upon this exhibition by lifting a kettle from the fire to make a pot of tea was beyond all belief. They held their breaths as John Astley rode round and round the arena on two horses before dancing on their backs. There were conjurers and trapeze artists, but nothing could outshine the horses and the magnificent equestrian feats of the Astleys themselves.

Glancing at Frances, Lord Mainwaring could see she was enjoying it as much as the others. He found her unconscious enthusiasm refreshing after the boredom so assiduously cultivated by most Londoners. He still could not refrain from inquiring, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She turned to him, her face alight with pleasure, and exclaimed, “Oh, ever so much! I came with Mother and Father when we returned to England twelve years ago, and I have been wanting so to come back ever since. But the twins were born and Mother died the next year so I have not until now had the chance. But it is just as wonderful as I remembered it!”,

Mainwaring reflected that if her mother had died so soon after and that if even a few of the anecdotes concerning Lord Cresswell's legendary absentmindedness were true, she must have had very little time in her life for amusements of any kind. The thought of this, coupled with the very real pleasure he derived from witnessing her simple enjoyment, made him resolve to provide her with an amusing time in addition to smoothing her path socially. It had been a long time since he had been with people who were simply having a wonderful time, unconscious of everyone else around and wholly involved with what was happening onstage. Even Ned, ordinarily so quiet and reserved, was exclaiming pointing as excitedly as everyone else. The natural ebullience of Nigel and Freddie appeared to have done the lad some good.

“I can't wait to get home to practice. I bet I could stand on Prince's back like that. . . with a bit of practice, of course,” Freddie boasted.

“With practice, of course.” Nigel jeered. “You know you couldn't do it the way Mr. Astley does, without holding the reins.”

“I'm sure I—” began Freddie.

Frances interrupted him. “Well, it isn't as easy as it looks, I can tell you. I had John Coachman balancing me on top of my pony for hours on end after I first came here, but to no avail. I did well enough when he let go, until the pony moved, and then I slid off his back as if it had been greased. 1 landed with a crash, tore my dress, covered myself with dirt, was stiff and disgraced for weeks.'' The children were highly diverted at the idea of the immaculate Lady Frances covered with dirt.

But Freddie was not to be put off. “Thank you for your advice. Fanny, but you are a girl, you know,” he said with lofty superiority, “and girls aren't as expert with horseflesh as men are.” The marquess recognized echoes, though improved upon by the speaker, of his own conversation with the boy, and smiled to himself. He had no doubt at all that such an opinion would find little favor with Frances.

He was entirely correct in his suspicions. “Freddie, you insufferable prig!” Both Cassie and Frances rounded on him. “You know that both of us ride as well as you do.”

“And,” Cassie continued triumphantly, “Fanny can drive horses and a phaeton and you've only tried the pony cart once around the park at Cresswell.”

Freddie deemed it wise to withdraw from such an unequal contest and retired to the background with an air of injured dignity.

At this moment Frances became aware of their host, who was sitting back, arms crossed over his chest, regarding the scene with a great deal of amusement. “I do beg your pardon. I can't think how I came to be so ill-bred.”

“I can,” he replied, smiling. “Deliberate provocation.” He turned to Freddie. “Next time, my boy, you should be more subtle in your attack and take on your opponents only one at a time.”

Freddie grinned shamefacedly. “I'm sorry, sir, to act so childish.” He threw a challenging look in his elder sister's direction.

“Not at all,” replied his lordship. “It was a salutary lesson. I can see that I should have had sisters. With such treatment, a fellow could never come by a high enough opinion of himself to become 'arrogant.'“ He quizzed Frances wickedly as he made his last remark. Try as she would, she could not keep a becoming blush from suffusing her face. Whether this was a result of having her insulting reference to him thrown back in her face or her sudden realization that the marquess had a singularly attractive smile, Frances was not at all certain.

The schoolroom party labeled it a highly successful time, and the marquess was pleased to see that Nigel and Freddie were questioning Ned as to his collection of tin soldiers and that Frances looked relaxed and free of the slightly wary look she had worn at Lady Richardson's ball.

Chapter Thirteen

After spending so much time among the schoolroom set, Lord Mainwaring looked forward to a respite from such fatiguing company in the welcoming and flattering arms of Lady Vanessa Welford. She was far too clever to let her true feelings show, but she had been vexed by his absence. She knew that he had his niece to escort to Lady Richardson's ball, to which Lady Welford had not been invited. She schemed a great deal to maintain her air of respectability, and it was a source of constant irritation to her that some hostesses still refused to include her on their guest lists. Unfortunately, it was just those ladies who held the most influential positions in society. Though she had not been at the ball, Vanessa knew very well that Mainwaring had danced with his niece, Lady Sally Jersey, Lady Elizabeth Streatham, and Lady Frances Creswell. His niece and cousin were an obvious duty. Sally Jersey would equally obviously be unavoidable, and Lady Welford knew Mainwaring to be immune to that flirtatious lady's charms. But Lady Frances Cresswell was not so obvious. This roused her curiosity, and because she was attracted to Lord Mainwaring, her jealousy. It was not actually jealousy, but it was considerably stronger than mere curiosity. Had she been a less-fashionable creature, one whose existence extended beyond the ballroom, opera, theater, and Bond Street modistes, she might have been even more curious about his latest expeditions to Lord Elgin's or Astley's Amphitheater. It was fortunate for her peace of mind that she was not, that she did not move in such circles, or that she was not acquainted with anyone who did, or she might have been more alarmed than she was.

Lady Welford and Mainwaring were in his carriage en route to see Kean at Drury Lane when she began to question him subtly about the ball. She had heard it was a sad crush. Did Kitty enjoy herself? Was she a success? Had he even been able to dance with her amongst all the younger men aspiring to her hand? Had the rest of the company been very dull and respectable? They must have been if he had been forced to dance with Sally Jersey and some hitherto unknown young lady whose name escaped her.

“Lady Frances Cresswell, perhaps,” he hazarded with a dangerous glint in his eye. Lord Mainwaring did not relish anyone taking a proprietary interest in his affairs.

“Yes, that was it.” She nodded, the diamonds at her throat sparkling in the light of a passing streetlamp. “I have not ever heard her name. Who is she, Julian?”

His reply reassured her. “She is a neighbor of Kitty and Ned's who was kind enough to come to London during Kitty's first Season, as she knew Kitty to be a little apprehensive.”

“Oh, she is quite a bit older, then?” Lady Welford's sources had implied that the lady in question was young, but someone who was this much a mistress of her affairs and who lent support to a young girl must be a spinster of some years.