Evelyn Richardson (16 page)

His face softened and he smiled at her enthusiasm. “An excellent idea.  If your book is half as enthralling as the two expeditions I was privileged to join, I predict an enormous success. You certainly have no competition.”

She turned pink with pleasure. “I had thought that if the author were identified as 'F. Cresswell, child of the noted classical scholar Lord Charles Cresswell and product of this excellent educational scheme,' it might win further approval.”

The bland tone of this suggestion did not deceive his lordship, who caught the wicked gleam in her eye and smiled appreciatively. “What a wily creature you are,” he teased.

“Oh, no, my lord, merely practical,” she assured him innocently.

“Eminently so, believe me.”

By this time they had arrived at the dowager's and the door was thrown open by her stately if aged butler. Lady Frances glanced apprehensively at her escort, but he smiled reassuringly and took her arm in a firm grasp to conduct her to the drawing room, where the dowager awaited them ensconced in an enormous chair by the fire and flanked by Kitty and Lady Streatham. “Come in, my child, come in. Excuse the fire on such a lovely day, but my bones are so old they need all the warmth they can get. Come, let me get a good look at you, my dear. Don't be shy. I was so fond of your mother—liked her more than my own brats. You have the look of her, but not quite so pretty, I think. Belinda Carstairs was one of the most beautiful girls I've seen in many a season—a real diamond she was—and gay as she was lovely. I missed her sorely when she married your papa and went off to those outlandish places. But who could help being happy for her? You rarely find such love as theirs except in literature. Those two adored each other. Once they met, the rest of the world didn't exist.” She sighed and patted a chair that Mainwaring had placed next to her. “Sit down and tell me about yourself. I hear you have charge of the estate now, as well as two rambunctious twins and that crazy Harriet Cresswell. She's a bright woman, Harriet, and she can be amusing, but tetchy—lord, she is tetchy, and always was.”

Frances, whose eyes were not a little misty at the mention of her beloved parents, smiled and sat down gratefully. “Yes, ma'am, I have managed Cresswell really ever since Mama died.”

The dowager interrupted, “Yes, I can imagine that Charles wasn't much good at it.  He was a brilliant man, but he never could manage the practicalities of life. Belinda took care of those, in addition to sharing his intellectual passions. She was truly a remarkable woman. I hear you're not unlike her. But continue.”

The others, completely ignored, were left to their own devices. Lady Streatham and Kitty were quite happy to devour the abundant supply of cakes while gloating over their purchases from a successful morning on Bond Street. Mainwaring leaned against the mantel, content to listen to Frances' recital of family affairs. As her musical voice described her taking over the household at the age of twelve under the aegis of an elderly housekeeper, gradual assumption of duties connected with the estate, and finally, with the death of her father, undertaking the education of Cassie and Freddie, he began to appreciate more fully the enormity of the burdens she bore. Such responsibilities often proved too much for men of his own age, much less a girl of twenty-two. No doubt, he thought wryly, she would object strongly to being labeled a “girl,” but that was in fact what she was. He had never been one to seek frivolous amusements for himself or encourage them in his friends, but he found himself longing to immerse her in a whirlwind of totally self-indulgent frivolity. She had probably done nothing solely for her own diversion since the age of twelve. As he examined her more closely, he could detect the marks these years had left. She had a charming smile, but it was gracious rather than gay. Her large hazel eyes fringed with long dark lashes were her most attractive feature, but there was a gravity in their expressive depths that was never completely banished even when she was most amused. And always she exhibited a certain awareness of her surroundings that belied a consciousness of what the children were doing, of things that needed her attention. Thinking of her in a variety of past situations, he realized that despite an excellent sense of humor, she was more often serious than not, and she never completely forgot herself. This seriousness he found oddly touching, and at the same time attractive. Her honesty and her openness made him trust her in a way he had never trusted a woman, and very few men. Her simple acceptance of responsibility for herself and her family, her down-to-earth approach to problems, kindled admiration—an emotion that was unusual in someone as capable as the Marquess of Camberly. And here he felt himself at a loss. Because he understood the reality of her responsibilities, because she accepted her duties as a matter of fact and without complaint, he wanted very much to relieve her of them while at the same time he realized that the best expression his respect for her capabilities could take would be to trust her to be as adept at solving her problems as he would be. After all, using Bertie's logic, he would look upon any assistance offered him as indicative of a friend's lack of confidence in his abilities, even if it stemmed from a purely generous impulse to ease the burden of a fellow man. He sighed ruefully and confessed to himself that he was at a standstill and could only hope for some chance to smooth her path without seeming to interfere.

A sharp “Ahem, Mainwaring, are you even in the same country with us, or at any rate the same room?” broke his train of reflection.

He grinned sheepishly. “Ah, yes. Were you addressing me, ma'am?”

“I most certainly was, young man. Don't you know it is excessively rude not to pay attention to your elders? I was wondering if you planned to grace your own ball for Kitty.”

He looked affronted. “But of course, ma'am. How can you think otherwise?”

“Well, knowing how independent you are, how little you care for social opinion, and how much you loathe such squeezes, I should be surprised if you did not contrive to be called away on some matter of urgent national business.”

This forced an answering grin from her grandson. “I assure you, I know the duties of a guardian very well, and I am not such a ramshackle fellow as to run off on the big day. I have even made sure that she opens the ball with me, and now shall take advantage of the opportunity you have provided to secure the first waltz with Lady Frances.” He turned to Frances with a quizzical gleam.

It was not for nothing. Lady Frances reflected a trifle bitterly, that Lord Mainwaring was in the diplomatic service. Even if she had wished to hesitate or refuse, she could not in such a public place and in front of someone who cared for him so dearly. It seemed that whether she wished to continue it or not, their misunderstanding was to be cleared up. With as good grace as she could muster when so obviously maneuvered into a situation that allowed no alternative, she smiled and thanked him.

“Lucky gel,” the dowager, who had watched the scene with great interest, commented enviously and not without a trace of self-satisfaction. “Not only will he be the most handsome man there, he is an excellent dancer. After all, he had plenty of practice in Vienna, where, according to some, that was about the extent of the activity.”

Julian's eyes twinkled wickedly. “If you weren't such a snob, Grandmama, forgoing all but the most rigidly select tea parties, I would ask you, but I know you detest these squeezes more than I.” The twinkle became a speculative gleam as he saw her begin to consider his invitation seriously.

After a moment's hesitation she thumped her stick on the floor. “Dashed if I don't accept you.”

Mainwaring bent over one frail beringed hand and said with real gratitude, “Thank you, Grandmama.”

Here they were interrupted by Lady Streatham. “Do my ears deceive me? Did I actually hear you convince her to come?” Mainwaring nodded, “I must confess, you are the most complete hand, Julian.” She turned to Kitty, exclaiming, “What a triumph, my love! Now I know you are assured of success.” Then, noticing how tired the dowager looked, “We must be going or my men will be sending out the Bow Street Runners.”

Lady Frances bade adieu to the dowager, promising to honor her request and provide her with intelligent conversation at the ball. Kitty curtsied and thanked her prettily, and the whole party left the old lady to some very interesting reflections of her own.

The drive home for Lady Frances and her companion was equally pleasant. Mainwaring retrieved his position by apologizing for asking her to dance in such a public situation. “It was rather high-handed, but you are so busy, I wasn't sure of having another opportunity before the big event.”

“That's of no account, my lord,” she replied, but he recognized from the slight constraint in her answer that she truly had felt manipulated.

“I am sorry,” he continued. “Tell me what I can do to show that I truly do apologize.”

He had offered this more as a matter of form, and was rather surprised when she tilted her head speculatively and began, “Well, I . . .”

“Yes, go on,” he encouraged, wondering what possible request could cause her such difficulty.

She brought it out in a rush. “I was just wondering if you would mind very much telling me what it was like at the Congress in Vienna.”

He burst out laughing. “No, don't poker up, my child. It was just that you looked so apprehensive, I made certain you were going to make some impossibly difficult demand. No, I don't have the slightest idea what I thought it was likely to be, but I felt sure that I would be traveling at least to the West Indies to accomplish it. No, of course I shouldn't mind in the least. It's just that most people are barely aware that it is going on, much less expose any interest or curiosity.” He began giving her a rather general account of the proceedings, but soon recognized from her questions that he was dealing with a very informed listener. As he warmed to his subject, he realized that she was helping him clarify his thoughts on some points that had remained muddy for him until now. In fact, so involved was he in trying to capture the exact scene, the precise atmosphere, every machination, and every insinuation, that he was unaware of the slackening pace of the horses until they came to a dead halt in the middle of the park. This brought him up short and he finished with a laugh. “So, you see, it really did not challenge my mental skills as much as my social ones.”

Lady Frances wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. “Hmm, yes, I can see it must be a little bit like running an estate—with more important consequences, of course. One thinks one will spend one's time evaluating and putting into practice agricultural principles and deciding how to make the wisest use of financial resources, when, in fact, all one's energies seem to go toward soothing ruffled tempers, exhorting the lazy or the uninspired, and listening to a steady stream of complaints that have more to do with neighbors' stupidity or carelessness than with estate management.” Her sigh was not lost on her companion.

“Exactly,” he responded dryly. “It is amazing how human vanity continually reduces the most lofty and inspiring situations to triviality.”

She twinkled up at him, “Well, then, the Prince de Ligne's comment, 'Le Congres ne marche pas, il danse,' was not too far wrong. And, Lady Mainwaring's prejudice aside, you have returned an excellent dancer.”

“Why, thank you, ma'am,” he replied meekly. “And if I thought you cared for that at all, I might be flattered.”

“Well, I should think you would be pleased,” she remarked candidly. “My opinion is not worth anything in particular as far as fashionable tastes go, but I do recognize grace and finesse, which are to be found in not only the social world. And since you, with your diplomatic duties, are constrained to be constantly in the most exclusive social circles, it is no small thing that you are so adroit. Even Princess Esterhazy and Madame de Lieven must be impressed. Right there you are assured of success in all that you attempt.”

He knew from the wicked sparkle in her eyes and the smile hovering around one corner of her mouth that she was quizzing him, but in spite of that and despite the triviality of the accomplishment, Julian felt a warm rush of gratification at her approval. I am becoming positively infantile, he told himself severely. Women have been flattering me more lavishly for years, to no effect, and this chit makes me feel grateful for a teasing remark. He smiled at her. “Enough of such world-shaking events. We must concentrate on the more important present, and I must get you home before Cassie and Frederick have completely torn the house apart.”

She agreed ruefully. “Yes, they are a precious pair, aren't they?”

The carriage drew up in front of her house, but he did not immediately alight, turning instead to say, “Thank you for the drive. And don't forget that I do mean to have that waltz, even if my methods annoyed you.”

It seemed odd to her that he should thank her for the drive, especially since he said it in such a way that made it more than a mechanical social response. Some of this puzzlement must have shown on her face, because he explained, “It's rare to find someone who can understand and share in my concerns. In fact, some of your questions have directed my thoughts toward other possibilities.”

The puzzled expression was replaced by one of astonishment at this, but she merely replied, “I suppose 'bluestockings' do have their uses.”

“Off with you, baggage. Since you never seem to forget an insult to your precious pride, don't forget that waltz I forced out of you.” He handed her down and escorted her to the door being held open by Higgins.

The look of long suffering on Higgins' face had not been merely the result of having to hold the door open while the marquess and his mistress chatted. He had more disturbing matters on his mind, but was at a loss how to begin. He could hardly remember a time when he'd seen such a glow on his mistress's face, and now it fell to him to banish it with the worry of yet another problem. He was rescued from his dilemma by the timely entrance of Aunt Harriet bearing a bowl of broth. While Frances had been gone, Frederick, who had thought of nothing but Astley's for weeks—so much so that his tin soldiers gathered dust—had at long last prevailed on a stableboy to let him try standing bareback on his pony. For several weeks the lad, who stood in awe of John Coachman, had resisted, but eventually Freddie's blandishments, supplemented by hefty offerings of sweetmeats, had had their inevitable effect and he had been won over into agreeing to stand in the stableyard holding the rein of Prince while his scapegrace young master did his best to imitate the famous equestrians. Freddie had been doing quite well and had managed several circles upright when a large fly was his undoing. For several seconds after his head hit the paving he lay motionless, but before the stableboy could decide whether to run away or run for John, he came to, grinning sheepishly. “Here, give me a hand. I shall be right as rain in a moment.” Gasping with relief, the lad leapt to help him up, but this was easier said than done. As Freddie slowly returned to a vertical position, he was overcome with faintness. His head buzzed uncomfortably and the world receded into a blur. At this crucial moment John came around the corner with one of the carriage horses he had been grooming. After one look at Freddie's white face, he turned fiercely on the unfortunate stable lad. “Oho, laddie, and what mischief have you been letting young Master Frederick get into?” The miserable boy stammered out the tale as best he could, but before he was half through, John had picked up Freddie and borne him into the house. Fortunately Cook and the housekeeper were women of sense and in no time at all had him in bed and, upon the advice of Aunt Harriet, had sent the stableboy posthaste to summon Dr. Baillie.