Evelyn Richardson (20 page)

They had just considered in great depth the relative merits of a free, relatively informal exchange in international politics so beloved by Castlereagh. Having thrashed out the pros and cons to their mutual satisfaction, they were driving along in companionable silence, enjoying the fineness of the day, when the marquess suddenly turned to her, remarking, “Freddie tells me that you are always having some set-to or other with Snythe.”

This was dangerous ground, and Frances considered for a moment before venturing mildly, “Well, he isn't the easiest person to rub along with.”

“Meaning . . . ?” he prompted, raising one dark brow.

She saw that he was not going to let her escape with generalities, but remembering the great exception he had taken to her previous criticism, she trod warily. “He doesn't know how to get along very well with your tenants or mine.”

“To be exact, he bullies those who stand most in need of his advice and makes unwelcome advances to their daughters, while behaving most obsequiously to the other, more respectable elements in the district.”

“He is the most odious toad of a man it has ever been my misfortune to meet!” she responded, her eyes kindling at some unfortunate memories. Yet she was impressed at his accurate reading of the man's character and his grasp of the situation.

“And what would you have me do with such a man? Turning him over to local justice will merely serve to exacerbate the situation. He will become a more intolerable bully and a more groveling toad than ever.”

She looked up in some surprise. His solicitation of her opinion, for which he had taken her to task a few months earlier, was unexpected. A man as accustomed to command and as sure of himself as Julian Mainwaring was not given to asking advice—especially from women who had only a particle of his experience and were much younger besides. She half-suspected him of mockery, but one surreptitious glance out of the corner of her eye assured her that he was serious.

In fact, she would have been even more astonished to learn that the man she had just labeled as self-assured was, at that moment, at a loss. He was trying to decide what it was about his companion that made him find her so charming. She was no more than pretty, and he was a man who could, and did, demand nothing less than overwhelming beauty in his mistresses.  In spite of her air of quiet elegance, she was not at all fashionable, nor did she care to be. She had not the least notion how to carry on a flirtation. In fact, she was for more likely to ask him about improving her stock than she was to admire the cut of his coat, the truly legendary quality of his horseflesh, his rig, or his skill in managing both. No, she had none of the standard qualities of the women he usually admired, but somehow she made him feel more appreciated for the qualities that were uniquely his than the most flattering of his mistresses. He liked the frank way she looked at him when talking to him. The questions she asked revealed how closely she listened to what he had to say and how much she respected his judgments. Only a very few of his closest and oldest friends recognized how carefully he considered before forming them. And none of them felt close enough to quiz him in quite the manner that she did. In a way, this teasing was complimentary because it showed that she believed him aware enough of her high opinion of him to recognize that her criticisms were purely ironic. It was an intimacy that no woman except his grandmother had shared with him. He found it endeared her to him and touched him at the same time. In spite of their early differences, she had come to value his opinion and to trust him as a friend. Oddly enough, he found this trust more gratifying than many greater honors he had achieved over the years.

Her thoughtful reply interrupted his speculations. “Yes, I know it is difficult, especially as he is someone who bitterly resents criticism and is so relentless in bearing a grudge. What if you were to send him to one of your establishments in India or the West Indies? You could allow him to think of it as an advancement, a chance to make his fortune, when in reality you would probably be throwing him among a group of people who are as conniving as he and would make short work of him. They certainly wouldn't allow him to bully them as the poor people around Camberly and Cresswell do.”

Mainwaring was much struck by her perspicacity and the soundness of her suggestion. “A very good idea. You have an excellent sense of people. I wish it were you I could send to oversee my affairs.”

“A fine mess I should make of them if I can't even keep an eleven-year-old from making a fool of himself.” Nevertheless, she flushed with pleasure at this unexpected praise.

They found themselves in such charity with each other that they were both surprised and sorry at how swiftly the time passed. It seemed they had been gone no time at all when they completed their tour of the park and returned to Brook Street. In fact, they had been out the better part of two hours. Higgins was the only member of the household to note this, but its significance was not lost on him. “I can't recall when Miss Fanny took such pleasure in anyone's company, excepting her dear father's, of course,” he confided to Cook. Though she had been in name, as well as fact, the head of Cresswell for some years now, and had been managing the household in a highly efficient and satisfactory manner, she was still “Miss Fanny” to her loyal servants.

Kilson and Higgins were not the only ones observing with interest the growing intimacy between Lady Frances Cresswell and Lord Julian Mainwaring, Marquess of Camberly. In the opulently decorated house in Mount Street, Lady Vanessa Welford was beginning to be seriously annoyed at the turn of events. She was aware of precisely the amount of time her lover was spending in Brook Street, exactly the number of drives during which Lady Frances was his companion, not to mention the dances when she had been his partner, and she was not the least bit pleased. She would never have stooped to ordering her servants to spy on him for her, but Polly, her abigail, soon discovered that the number of dresses thrown her way because her ladyship “couldn't bear to be seen another time in that old rag” increased in proportion to the number of reports she brought of the marquess's doings. And a certain footman noticed that Miss Polly acted far more interested in him if he were able to tell her precisely where Lord Mainwaring's equipage had seen that day.

The friendship between Mainwaring and Frances had even come to the attention of some sharp-eyed members of the ton, who were not behindhand in putting this intriguing tidbit to the best possible use. Thus at Lady Billingsford's card party, the marquess's mistress was forced to appear conveniently hard of hearing when Lady Stavely confided to her bosom friend Edwina Hamilton in tinkling tones clearly audible throughout the room, “I do believe Mainwaring must be looking for a wife. He seems to have changed his preference for older, ahem, 'sophisticated' women to those who have a number of childbearing years left. Lady Frances Cresswell is a delightful girl. I would be happy to see her so well-settled, and it does seem as though he's trying to fix his interest there. My dear, he's her constant companion, they say.”

Lady Welford, a determined smile pinned on her face, never stopped to consider that Lady Stavely's good opinion of the girl she would never have noticed two months ago had less to do with the delightfulness of Lady Frances than with the fact that until the advent of Lord Mainwaring, Lord Stavely had been Lady Welford's most devoted escort. Fuming inwardly, she managed to continue her hand, ignoring the knowing looks cast in her direction. She maintained her equanimity with aplomb, but took her leave as soon as it was possible to do so without occasioning further comment.

She spent a restless night pacing the floor, working on various ploys to heighten the marquess's dwindling interest. But no sooner had she conjured up one scheme than she discarded it as being too obvious or too desperate. Morning found her no closer to any plan of attack and a good deal more frustrated. Of course, the sleepless night had not improved her countenance, and it seemed to her, after nearly an hour spent contemplating her reflection in the mirror, that she had never looked more hag-ridden. Wrinkles and gray hairs, which had never dared show themselves before, now popped up all over. By the time her maid appeared with her morning chocolate, she was in a thoroughly bad humor, which she alleviated only slightly by giving the poor girl a regular tongue-lashing for having let it become lukewarm. The arrival of a new walking dress of a muslin so fine it made only the barest pretense of covering her limbs restored her humor somewhat, as did the arrival of a huge bouquet from a callow youth who had seen her at the opera the previous evening. She had no intention of allowing him to dangle after her, but the intensity of the infatuation was gratifying nevertheless.

Several hours later, a testimony to the art and artifice of her abigail and the expert hands of a wonderful new French hairdresser, she was at last able to face herself in the mirror again with satisfaction. The elegant visage looking back at her was encouraging enough to send her off to display her charms in the park. The flimsy walking dress, trimmed with deep flounces that made it cling even more, was further enhanced by a bonnet of straw-colored satin, matching parasol, green kid sandals, and a green sarcenet pelisse that she left open to reveal the full effect of the muslin dress. And she was able to console herself with the thought that though she lacked the youth of Lady Frances, she certainly was quite at the top of the mode, something which even the most enthusiastic of Frances' admirers could not say of that young lady.

Fortune, so noticeably absent the previous evening, was smiling on her today. She had not gone ten steps into the park when she encountered Mainwaring cutting through on his way to Mainwaring House. “Julian,” she trilled, shrugging the pelisse open further. “How delightful to run into you. I haven't seen you this age.”

The marquess did not look best pleased at this encounter. “Hello, Vanessa, you're looking exquisite as usual,” he greeted her, edging in the direction of Grosvenor Square.

Not about to let such a golden opportunity escape her. Lady Welford slipped her hand through his arm and leaned her ample charms tantalizingly close. “Do walk with me a little way,” she invited, gazing meltingly up at him and fluttering dark lashes.

He was fairly caught, but managed to stifle his annoyance with a semblance of good humor. “Very well, but I can't spend too long, as I am taking tea with my grandmother.”

Lady Welford knew very well what that old tartar thought of her grandson's latest flirt, and she also knew that she demanded punctuality. Sighing inwardly, she determined to make the most of the little time she had. Try as she would to win his lordship's attention with her most amusing stories and her most scandalous on-dits, she could see that his thoughts remained elsewhere. She eventually decided to abandon her verbal attempts to attract his interest in favor of a more physical approach. She had just draped herself more voluptuously along his arm and tilted her gaze even more seductively up at him when they rounded a bend and came face-to-face with Lady Frances in charge of a schoolroom party.

Freddie had adhered so scrupulously to Mainwaring's strictures that he had recovered rapidly and was soon pronounced well enough to venture out-of-doors. Cassie, in-spite of her drive with his lordship, had been frantic to get out and enjoy the beautiful weather. Thus at the soonest possible moment, Frances had taken them for a leisurely turn around the park. In addition to the twins, she had invited Ned, who was often left to his own devices while Kitty made her social rounds. He provided a quieting influence on the twins' high spirits that was especially useful at this stage in Freddie's recuperation. Naturally, Wellington was not about to allow any one of the Cresswells out without his valiant escort. Who knew what horrible mongrels might be lurking in the bushes? And even Nelson, his courage bolstered by the fineness of the day and the size of the expedition, overcame his fear of London traffic enough to join them. Frances had her hands full trying to convince Wellington not to chase after Mr. Poodle Byng's carriage to challenge the right of his canine companion, that supercilious cur, to respect from all other dogs. Cassie, Freddie, and Ned were in whoops at the absurdity of Mr. Byng's turnout. Thus they were a sizable, miscellaneous, and noisy group that approached Lady Welford and the marquess.

Confronted with the source of her ill temper, who was, furthermore, at a distinct disadvantage. Lady Welford seized the opportunity to eliminate the recipient of so much of the marquess's time and attention. As Lord Mainwaring helplessly ground his teeth and made the unavoidable introductions, she smiled indulgently at the younger woman and remarked with ill-concealed condescension, “Small wonder we see so little of you in society. Lady Frances, when you have all these claims on your attention. Of course, with these responsibilities and your bluestocking propensities, it is no wonder you haven't the time to be fashionable.”

For a moment Lady Frances was speechless at the unexpected intensity of the attack. She was simply astonished by the animosity she saw in the other woman's eyes, and totally at a loss to explain it. However, she was not about to be snubbed by one such as Lady Welford. Gazing limpidly up at her opponent, with the faintest of smiles she explained, “But you see, I would so much rather be respectable than fashionable.” Her deceptively mild tone was not lost on anyone as she continued, “I've heard so much about you, Lady Welford. I am glad I had the opportunity to meet you, but Freddie has not been well. I am sure you will forgive us for hurrying him home. Come, children. Good day to you, Lord Mainwaring, Lady Welford.” With that she turned her back on both of them and shepherded the group along in the opposite direction.

An unbecoming shade of red suffused Vanessa Welford's features. Eyes narrowed, she hissed furiously, “Why, that impudent little nobody! How dared she! How dreadfully ill-bred of her!”

“Quite the contrary, Vanessa,” an icy voice interrupted. “She showed considerable restraint in the face of one of the most vulgar and uncalled-for setdowns it has ever been my dubious privilege to witness.” If Lady Welford's eyes flashed, her companion's glittered like chips of ice. The set of his jaw and the line of his dark brows were truly alarming as he hurried her to the edge of the park. Catching the attention of a passing hackney, he hailed it and handed her in, instructing the coachman as he did so, “Take Lady, ahem. Madam Welford wherever she wishes to go.” With that, he handed the man a heavy purse, slammed the door, turned on his heel, and strode furiously back into the park, leaving Vanessa staring after him, prey to the most unpleasant reflections.