Evelyn Richardson (14 page)

 “That miserable dog needs a salutary dose of Wellington to wipe that supercilious sneer off his face. Why, Wellington could dispose of that fop of an animal in no time flat.” Frances laughed. “And he would certainly enjoy putting him in his place. He seems to have taken exception to every canine on Brook Street. With the mongrels, however, he has established fast friendships. The stable dog is his greatest crony, and the pug in the adjoining house was his bitterest enemy even before he scared Nelson up the tree. Ever since Wellington pulled Nelson from the pond, he has looked upon that cat as his personal responsibility, and he highly resents anyone or anything who upsets that miserable animal.”

They finished the drive in companionable silence—a new experience for both of them.

As he escorted her to the door, Mainwaring took Lady Frances' hand in his and smiled down at her. “I feel certain that you won't believe me when I tell you I enjoyed myself.”

“No, I do not,” she replied forthrightly. “I saw the shock on your face when I told you about the bull. It is not exactly the topic of a fashionable conversation. But you seem to be such a friend, and I cannot dissemble with my friends.”

He looked at her intently, an unreadable expression in his dark blue eyes. “That is precisely why I enjoyed the drive.”

She thanked him for the outing and the conversation. Then, as she entered the door Higgins had held patiently during this interchange, she remembered yet another debt of gratitude she owed him. “I saw you coaching Freddie today. I do so appreciate that. I truly do try to give him all that a father and mother could, but I am afraid I do have my limits. I did help him with his cricket, but with his batting only. I can only pitch, you see. I have no affinity for batting,” she apologized.

A swift smile illuminated his features and warmed his eyes. “I can see that you are in need of some coaching as well, then. I shall be happy to oblige,” he offered.

“Thank you again.” She smiled shyly and, at last, to Higgins' intense relief, entered her elegant hallway.

Chapter Sixteen

Higgins brought tea, and for some time Lady Frances sat stroking a subdued Nelson and reflecting on the outing. She was at a loss to explain the marquess's attentiveness when she was neither a relative to whom duty owed such consideration, nor was she the sort of ripe beauty to whom his own personal tastes would attract him. It was a puzzle in which she suspected Lady Elizabeth Streatham played a major role. She recognized that that amiable and energetic lady felt herself honor-bound to give Lady Frances an enjoyable Season. Having observed at first hand that redoubtable female's forthright but effective methods, she felt reasonably certain that it was she who had coerced Mainwaring into partnering her at Lady Richardson's ball and inviting her to drive with him in the park. Both of these activities were implemented in the most public places of the ton and thus served to attract a maximum amount of fashionable attention, thereby ensuring the rapid establishment of a favorable social reputation. On the other hand, the two other times he had honored them with his company had had nothing to do with Lady Streatham. In each case, his escort had been demanded by her irrepressible brother and sister. Frances had no illusions about the difficulty of resisting the blandishments of either one of the cozening pair, but then, she was fond of the children. If Kitty's impression of Mainwaring was to be trusted, his lordship was not. Still, no one had asked him to help Freddie and Nigel with their cricket. Whatever his motives, he had provided her with no little enjoyment and a feeling of easiness, even pleasure, in his company. It was not surprising that a man as attractive as the marquess would have developed a charming manner, but it was more than charm that made her look upon him as a friend. After their unfortunate initial encounter, he had treated her as he would have treated any one of his friends, discussing politics and estate matters with her as if she were another man, instead of a young woman whose mind should have been filled with fashionable on-dits and social repartee. Beyond teasing her the tiniest bit, he never indicated by tone or gesture that he considered it unusual for her to have the interests she did. Heretofore she had encountered either criticism of a woman's participating in traditionally male preserves or condescension. Above all, he shared her sense of humor. Even those such as Sir Lucius Taylor, who did take her seriously, rarely saw the humorous aspects of life that she saw. She was grateful for Julian Mainwaring's attention, but she certainly expected no more of it now that he had danced with her and driven her in the park. Why, for most women in the ton that could have been considered the apex of existence.

Mainwaring's attitude not only perplexed Frances but also agreeably surprised two veteran Mainwaring watchers—the dowager Marchioness of Camberly and Lady Elizabeth Streatham—who discussed this interesting situation one day over tea. Though Lady Elizabeth had visited her at the dowager's “kind request,” she recognized a command when it was given and knew that her role would be to share all her privileged information in return for the honor of drinking tea with her formidable relative and agreeing totally with that lady's interpretation of the information Lady Elizabeth divulged. In truth, Lady Elizabeth was longing to speak with the dowager, who, whatever she might lack in firsthand knowledge of the goings-on in the ballrooms, promenades, and drawing rooms of the ton, made up for it with a natural sharpness of perception and a wealth of experience that had refined this into a nearly infallible ability to predict the outcome of almost any social encounter.

Lady Streatham had barely untied the bow of her bonnet when, tapping her ubiquitous walking stick, her hostess demanded sharply, “Now, Elizabeth, what's all this I hear about Mainwaring and the Cresswell chit?”

“Well ...” Lady Elizabeth stripped off pale lemon kid gloves. “He has danced with her at a ball where Sally Jersey and Kitty were his only other partners.”

“That would have been Belinda Richardson's squeeze.” The dowager nodded sagely. “Very well done of you, Elizabeth.”

“But I did not force him by asking him to do so. You know Julian. That is the quickest way to make him do what you least wish him to.”

The dowager nodded again. “But he enjoyed it, didn't he? He laughed with her and conversed with her later. It's a rare person, least of all a female, who makes Mainwaring smile as he apparently did.”

Lady Elizabeth was not a little put out that the dowager, who had only her social spies to rely on, seemed to be so well-informed and so perfectly capable of arriving at her own conclusions without her guest's assistance. “I certainly can add nothing to what you have already discovered,” she replied with some asperity.

“Now, Elizabeth, don't fly up into the boughs. I didn't ask you to tea to find out about the ball. Anyone could tell me about that and the drive in the park, but my observers do not ordinarily visit Lord Elgin's marbles, nor do they habituate Astley's Amphitheater. Now, what on earth possessed Mainwaring to go to either of those places, and with a pack of children besides? You know both Lady Frances and Mainwaring. What do you think? Is he caught at last? From all accounts, she isn't his type, but why ever else would he allow himself to be dragged along on nursery outings when he don't even like children? Do tell me, Elizabeth, what is Lady Frances Cresswell like?”

Mollified, Lady Elizabeth tried to express Frances' style as best she could, but found herself at a loss to put that young woman's unique charm into words. Concluding that physical description was the easiest, though the least informative for Lady Frances in particular, she began. “Decidedly, she is extremely elegant. She has style, but because she is reserved and does not put herself forward, one doesn't recognize it immediately. She's of average height, with features that give a sense of character despite their delicacy. She is reserved, but not at all shy, meaning that she converses elegantly and easily without revealing anything about herself. Her hair is dark blond and her eyes, which are definitely her best feature, are large and hazel, but often take on the color she is wearing.”

“Humph!” The dowager was unimpressed. “She don't sound like Mainwaring's style in the slightest. He has always chosen well-endowed women of the world—ripe' uns, every one of 'em.”

Lady Elizabeth was miffed at this brusque dismissal of the portrait of her friend. “That's as may be, but I haven't heard that he ever wanted to marry one of them, or even to be seen very much with them.”

“Aye, you have a point there,” conceded the dowager. “But I have heard that she manages her own estate or some such nonsense. If she's Cresswell's daughter, I don't know as I would believe that. He had a lot in his brain box, but practicality wasn't his long suit. I can't picture any daughter of his being able to take care of herself, much less an entire estate and two lively twins besides.”

“Not at all,” her informant assured her. “Frances is the most unusual girl. Without one's precisely knowing how she does it, she contrives to get the children and the staff to do exactly as she wishes, with the minimum amount of fuss. She doesn't look to be the 'managing' sort of female at all, but she must be. I gather from Kitty that she did call Mainwaring to task about the agent at Camberly, and there was a rare set-to over that.” Lady Elizabeth paused, contemplating the scene with relish. “I only wish I had been there,” she commented regretfully. “To continue: when I forced him to call for Kitty at the Cresswells' and he could not avoid saying how-de-do to her, he looked as black as a thundercloud, but I made the two of them act like civilized human beings to one another.”

“That I can well believe,” her hostess remarked dryly. “Mainwaring was always strong-willed. What with his father dead and no one but that flighty mother around, there was never anyone to oppose his least little wish. Do him good to be sent the right-about now and then. I like a girl with backbone. How about her mind? Mainwaring may have mistresses that are beautiful dull-wits, but he won't tolerate that in his friends.”

Lady Elizabeth lowered her voice confidentially. “You couldn't guess it for the world, because she is so charming, but Lady Frances is excessively well-educated. I believe her father taught her not only French and Italian but also Greek, Latin, and mathematics besides. At first, something Julian said made me think he considered her a bluestocking, but John says that didn't stop him from bluntly interrupting the quiet discussion he and Frances were sharing at the dinner party before Lady Richardson's ball. John reports that Julian monopolized her from then on, arguing about the economy, of all things! Julian, of course, because of his uncle's affairs, knows a great deal of such matters, but John says Frances is remarkably well-informed, and she gave as good as she got.”

A speculative gleam appeared in the dowager's sharp black eyes as she absorbed this revealing bit of information. “You may have something there, Elizabeth. Julian has never really had a friend. That silly brother of his was certainly no match for him, and by the time he went to Eton he had developed a tough, self-reliant streak that made everyone a little uneasy with him. Of course there's Bertie, but how can one have a friendship with someone who reserves his most serious conversations for his tailor? Julian can be perfectly charming when he wishes, but he usually doesn't come across people who interest him enough to win his attention or his friendship. Maybe an intelligent woman who cannot be brushed off as nothing but an attractive appendage, a mere titillation of the senses, is precisely what he needs. It certainly is time he settled down. And now that he has inherited the title, he must do so and get himself an heir with all speed.” Her eyes softened, and she continued almost as though to herself, “But above all, he needs a friend. He is the sort of man who prefers to go it alone, but even such a man as that needs one very special friend. For a man like that it takes a special woman. Once he has found her, though, he will never need anyone else. He will be to her what Alistair was for me—everything: friend, lover, protector, critic, and admirer. And she will be very lucky indeed,” the dowager concluded, looking reminiscently into the fire. For a moment she seemed to have forgotten Lady Streatham's existence, but the sound of a passing carriage recalled her and she looked up sharply. “Bring the gel to visit me someday, Elizabeth. I want to meet her. And now I am tired and I must rest. Please ring for Minter and tell her I want another shawl and some pillows.”

Lady Elizabeth bade the old lady adieu and rode back to Bruton Street in a most thoughtful mood indeed. She agreed wholeheartedly with the dowager as far as it went, but the dowager had been solely concerned with the marquess. Much as she liked and admired Julian, Lady Elizabeth was now more interested in Lady Frances' happiness. The girl had moved her somehow. Perhaps it was because she herself was so happy with John and wondered how she could have lived had she not met and married him. Perhaps it was because she felt that she alone understood and appreciated Lady Frances' excellent qualities--knew and appreciated their fineness and uniqueness—even better than Lady Frances herself did. And, unlike anyone else, she had been able to see the kind and impulsively generous, loving nature beneath the reserved exterior. She wanted this loving nature to be awakened and made to flourish. It would take a special man to appeal to Frances' keen intelligence, her integrity, and her sense of humor, but such a man would be able to arouse the passion and enjoyment of life that Lady Elizabeth knew existed, even though it lay dormant, unaroused by the beefy squires and dissipated macaronis that seemed to populate Lady Frances' world. She needed someone who was man enough to enjoy and challenge her. Lady Elizabeth had decided long ago that Lord Julian Mainwaring was such a man. And having decided this, she was wasting no time in fostering the acquaintance—an acquaintance that she fully intended to develop into the first true love affair for either Lady Frances Cresswell or Lord Julian Mainwaring.

Chapter Seventeen