Evelyn Richardson (2 page)

“Oh, thank you ever so much, Frances. I do hate to burden you when you have so much to attend to, but Cousin Honoria, though she lends propriety, is too flighty to contribute much else, and I have had no one to advise me how to go on since dear Papa and Mama . . .” Here Kitty's voice was suspended by tears.

“It's no trouble at all, and I am happy to help,” Frances assured her, but refrained from commenting that advice from her was probably far more sensible than any Kitty would have gotten from two such hopelessly romantic and indulgent parents as the late Lord and Lady Mainwaring had been.

Chapter Two

At that moment the perpetrator of Kitty's dilemma sat staring into the library fire at a forbidding mansion in Grosvenor Square. A man of action who ordinarily avoided the social demands of life in the ton, the new Marquess of Camberly would have preferred to remain in his smaller, less imposing establishment in Mount Street, but on succeeding to the title he had recognized the foolishness of maintaining two London residences. Reluctantly he and Kilson, his valet, butler, and general factotum, had left the freedom of their former abode for the formality of Mainwaring House.

Lord Mainwaring frowned down at the letter just delivered to him. “Blast, there's nothing for it but to go down to Hampshire and straighten this out! Thank you, Kilson.” The flickering firelight revealed a dark, rather harsh-featured countenance rendered even more harsh by its owner's present expression. At thirty-five. Lord Julian Mainwaring, the new Marquess of Camberly, was a man more accustomed to the excitement of politics and the administration of business interests inherited from his uncle, a nabob of immense wealth and influence in the empire's financial circles, than he was to the more pedestrian concerns of estate management. These he had happily left to his brother, never dreaming that he would suddenly become responsible for the lands as well as the children of one who was only a few years older than he. Because of his far-flung financial concerns, constant attention to international politics had been a necessity and Mainwaring had rapidly become a man whose advice was often sought on the economic consequences of certain aspects of British foreign policy. It was for this expertise that he had been asked to join Castlereagh in Vienna. To a man of action, Castlereagh's policies had seemed hopelessly timid and tentative. Julian Mainwaring was more inclined to favor the economic sentiments of Castlereagh's opponent Canning, though when closely questioned by his intimates, he was known to criticize the insular nature of Canning's foreign statesmanship. To an independent thinker such as Mainwaring, political loyalties and party theory were less important than the practical economic questions posed by the issues raised at the Congress. For this reason he had consented to go to Vienna. There he had found his element in the dealing and intriguing, where the incredible collection of heads of state, ministers, and hangers-on of every description made it easy to communicate with a variety of states, principalities, and nations, all of whom were committed to the creation of a new Europe. He had found this sense of making history an exciting and heady atmosphere, and it was with extreme reluctance that he had returned to England at the notice of his brother and sister-in-law's deaths in a tragic coaching accident. The scenes of glittering soirees and heated conferences faded as he turned back to the humdrum problems of country estates: tenants' complaints, cottages to be repaired, fences to be mended, fields to be drained.

It was Kilson's second “Ahem,” preceded by a conspicuous opening of the library door, that broke his train of thought. “Lord Charton to see you, sir ... beg your pardon, milord.” Kilson was having difficulty adjusting to the new formalities of his situation. He had preferred the free-and-easy life traveling in the colonies and on the Continent, but realizing that the new responsibilities and settled existence were even more onerous to his master, he did his best to see they both remained aware of and accustomed themselves to the changes.

“Send him in and bring a bottle of port. I've a feeling I'll need it.”

“Julian, my boy, good to see you home!” The elderly statesman greeted him heartily as he came to warm his hands in front of the fire.

“Thank you. I wish I could share your sentiments, but I find it damnably dull to be here.” There was a distinctly sardonic note in Mainwaring's voice.

“Well, yes,” Lord Charlton agreed. “I expect anything would be sadly flat after rubbing shoulders with potentates and intriguers from every corner of Europe, but you know as well as I do that foreign policy begins at home. And at the moment we need you rather desperately right here, old boy.”

“Oh?” Mainwaring tried unsuccessfully to keep the interest out of his voice.

“Rather. You know that sentimental idealist Alexander has dreamed up this romantic twaddle of the Holy Alliance—the most ridiculous piece of tripe you can imagine! It will simply mean that he will be even more free to meddle in European affairs and pontificate to his heart's content. We must keep Prinny from agreeing to such a thing. You are as familiar as anyone with his theatrical bent, and sometimes Alexander's playacting as 'Savior of Europe' can be rather more attractive to him than is good for England. Prinny is inclined to dismiss all of us as a bunch of power-hungry politicians, but perhaps he'll listen to you, since your friendship has more to do with aesthetics than politics.”

“I'll try, George,” the marquess sighed. “But Just because Prinny consults my knowledge of Oriental architecture and admires some of the pieces I've collected here and there doesn't mean he'll pay the slightest attention to anything else I might say. He may have revolutionized artistic vision in this country, but politically the man is a complete fool. I only put up with him because he at least can offer an amusing conversation on something more stimulating than crop rotation. I'll put it to the touch, though.”

“Thank you, my boy. We'll be very grateful for anything you can do. Now I must go. I promised I'd attend this affair at Sally Jersey's with my wife. Can't think why women like these things. Can't stand them myself, but we're puffing off Caroline this Season and Maria wants to be sure that Sally gives her a voucher for Almack's—ridiculous place.”

“My sentiments exactly,” the marquess said sympathetically. “At least there will be two sane people there. You'll be someone I can look for. I must get rid of my niece as well this Season. Got my cousin, Lady Streatham, you know, to do the real work dragging her around, but no doubt I shall be dragooned into appearing at some of the most important of these functions.”

It was in a much cheerier frame of mind that Mainwaring returned to the fire. In fact, he felt invigorated enough later to look in at his club, where he was welcomed both for his own attributes as a talented pugilist and noted judge of horseflesh and for the news he brought from the Continent. This reception further inspired him to stroll to a certain house in Mount Street.

There he was certain of his welcome. “Julian, my dear, how charming to see you,” exclaimed the opulent brunette rising seductively from an exceedingly becoming pink couch. “It's been so long,'' she complained with a pout of full red lips and a sigh that called attention to beautifully rounded shoulders and bosom.

 “I know it has been a tediously long time.'' He bent his dark head to kiss a perfumed hand, continuing the caress up to a dimpled wrist and elbow. “But must we now waste our time dwelling on how long it's been?”

The beauty smiled a slow, confident smile. “Ah, you think to make me forget how you've neglected me.” She sighed voluptuously, leaning back against the satin pillows.

His gaze dwelt on her appreciatively. “No, I came here to make me forget.”

“Trifler! I must demand some forfeit for such shabby treatment.”

“Naturally, your generous nature will keep you from such rash behavior,” he murmured, kissing the nape of her neck, forcing her to abandon any further attempts at reprimanding him.

Unlike many of his cronies, Julian Mainwaring considered it a waste of time and money to pursue the numerous opera dancers and barks of frailty who constantly sought to attract his attention. The petty jealousies and competition for favor that were a necessary part of such a scene held no allure. He preferred the more mature charms of a sensible woman of his world. Lady Vanessa Welford was the perfect partner. Married at a very early age to a doddering peer who combined the advantages of immense wealth and an early demise, she had no intention of ending the freedom of her widowhood in another confining marriage. She juggled her many liaisons with such discretion that it was only the highest sticklers of the ton who could find the least objection of her. She had enjoyed her freedom immensely until she had met Julian at the Duchess of Marlborough's ball some months ago. Accustomed to manipulating her many and varied lovers without becoming emotionally involved in the least, she recognized, after being guided masterfully around the dance floor, that the new Marquess of Camberly was accustomed to dominating every situation—financial, political, or amorous. Gazing seductively into his dark blue eyes framed by fierce black brows and high cheekbones, she read a great deal of appreciation for her charming appearance but nothing of the blind adoration she was accustomed to inspiring. Intrigued, she had invited him to call the next day, and again found him completely charming and completely disinclined to become involved. Having thus set out in a spirit of pique to capture his attentions, Vanessa found that she rather than he was becoming captivated. An experienced woman of the world, she knew better than to make demands of him. She found his lovemaking, detached and infrequent though it was, more and more necessary to her existence. In fact, he was becoming an obsession with her—so much so that she had of late decided, against all her principles, to become Lady Mainwaring and had embarked on a discreet but intensive campaign to accomplish this.

For his part, Julian enjoyed the attentions of a clever, beautiful woman who exhibited an insatiable appetite and a thorough knowledge of the art of dalliance, but never having felt the need for female companionship or a family, he had not the least intention of going beyond a purely physical relationship. In fact, it was with rather a sense of relief that he left her house in the early-morning hours. After the cloying intimacy of her perfumed satin boudoir he found the prospect of a drive to Hampshire and a few days in the country a refreshing and welcome change.

Chapter Three

Unaware of the impending arrival of her “villainous guardian,” as Kitty with her love of the romantic was wont to call him. Kitty and Lady Frances were strolling together in the conservatory at Cresswell, hatching a scheme to render the former's visit to London as unintimidating as possible. Lady Frances had conceived the notion that some of the worry might be taken out of the approaching ordeal if Kitty had a friend such as Lady Frances there with her. “But you loathe London and the Season and all that entails,” Kitty protested.

“That was many years ago, when I was young and had entirely different expectations and aspirations. I might just enjoy it. For, you know, it would be a very good thing if I were to visit my publisher right now. I have done something slightly different in this latest book and I would wish to consult with him before I go farther. Besides, Cassie and Frederick have never been to London. I am sure they would find it extremely diverting, as well as fall of new opportunities for farther mischief. I also confess to a great desire to see the marbles Lord Elgin brought back from Greece. He was a great friend of Father's and Mother's, you know. We met him in Athens, and such a wonderful time we all had,” she said with a slight catch in her voice.

“Oh, that would be wonderful above all things,” her companion said with enthusiasm. “Ned could come too, and we could have a fine time. With Lady Streatham to take me about, we shan't need Cousin Honoria, who is the greatest bore imaginable. And she will be happy because she can go visit that insipid niece in Bath whose perfections she is forever throwing up in my face when she considers I've been the least bit gay or impertinent.”

“That's settled, then. I shall direct Higgins to have the staff open the house in Brook Street. It will be terrific work, I am sure, as no one has used it this age. But it should be ready within the month and it will certainly take me that long to convince Aunt Harriet to leave the country. We shall probably have to take all those orchids with us,” sighed Frances, looking with dismay at the large and varied collection around her.

Ordinarily she loved the conservatory, which was her aunt's chief interest in life. She often came there to sit in its peaceful tropical atmosphere to think or to soothe her nerves after a long day poring over accounts or dealing with tenants. But at the moment she could only view the exotic blooms as an encumbrance. She dearly loved her aunt, whose acerbic wit and down-to-earth attitude had bucked her up after her unhappy time in London, but her eccentricities did complicate the Cresswells' existence. It was Aunt Harriet who had convinced Frances that there were many other ways for a woman to enjoy herself and feel successful beyond making a brilliant marriage or winning a name for herself as a diamond of the first water. Lady Frances had certainly had her own mother as an example of a happy, successful woman, but then Lady Cresswell had been married to someone who encouraged her interest in scholarly pursuits. Such companionship in marriage was unusual, if not highly unlikely, judging from the scandalous on-dits Lady Frances had heard in London. Harriet Cresswell had been born with the same scholarly inclinations as her brother, except that her passion was horticulture rather than history. While Lord Frederick Cresswell and his family were traipsing around the classical world, she had remained at Cresswell Manor enjoying free rein with its gardens and constructing an elaborate conservatory to house her growing collection of orchids. Ever since she had encountered Captain James Cook at a friend's dinner party forty years ago, she had become passionately interested in tropical plants, especially orchids. She had managed, via a mysterious network of naval and seafaring connections, to convince captains of various vessels to seek out and bring back any samples of exotic flora they could find. Undoubtedly her generous remuneration of the least of these efforts encouraged the captains' loyalty and ensured the regularity of these botanical delivery services. By now the household and surrounding countryside had become accustomed to the sight of some swarthy seaman uncomfortably astride a horse riding up the drive carefully clutching an oddly shaped package from which emerged some strange-looking greenery covered with brilliant blossoms.