Evelyn Richardson (9 page)

Suspecting what was coming, Lord Mainwaring glanced to where Lady Frances was expertly performing the quadrille with the Comte de Vaudron, and remarked that the lady in question did not seem to be having any difficulty that evening.

“But, Julian, you could do her such a world of good just by waltzing with her. You know how everyone will ape your every move—though why they should is more than I can understand.” He grinned appreciatively. “And if it is seen you consider her a partner worthy of your notice, she will truly take.”

“Oh, very well. Lizzie,” he responded, no proof against the pleading in her eyes. “But I see Sally Jersey waving to me, and you know that one ignores 'Silence' at one's peril.” He strolled off in response to a coyly beckoning finger.

“My dear Julian, how perfectly delightful to see you in England again, but whatever are you doing here, my friend? This is hardly your usual fare.”

“True, alas. Sally,” he agreed.

“Come.'' She laid a jeweled hand on his shoulder.  “Dance with me and relieve this insufferable tedium.”

“Bored, are you. Sally?” He maneuvered her expertly around a panting red-faced gentleman and his equally red-faced partner.

She smiled mischievously at him. “Not anymore, Julian, not anymore.'' The mischief disappeared and the sparkle in her eyes became more pronounced as she asked, “What of Vanessa Welford? Are you still dancing attendance on her?” Her partner's dark eyebrows snapped together but she continued throatily, a wealth of meaning in her voice, “You can do much better than that, Julian, you know.”

“Ah, but. Sally, do I want to?” The words were spoken softly, but there was no mistaking the tone. Completely silenced, she allowed him to return her to her friends, where she once again became the center of a laughing group.

Julian had no wish to become one of Sally Jersey's gallants, and highly resented her calm assumption of her absolute power over all men. The idea of dancing with someone who did not like the world where Lady Jersey and her sort were queen was becoming more attractive to him by the minute as he sauntered toward the spot where Frances and Bertie were chatting gaily. “Hallo, Bertie, do you mind if I deprive you of your companion?”

“Not in the slightest, old fellow,” Bertie responded punctiliously, but the quizzing look in his eye was not lost on Julian. Mainwaring turned to his companion. “Lady Frances, may I make amends for my earlier conduct this evening by asking you to stand up for a waltz with me?” he invited. She raised her eyebrows at his calm assumption that a waltz with him was such a handsome means of rectifying his earlier attitude toward her, but she thanked him prettily enough and allowed him to lead her to the floor.

He was an excellent dancer, moving with the agility of a natural athlete. The strength in the arm circling her waist, the masterful guiding other steps, made this an entirely different experience from her friendly tête-à-tête with Bertie. She found it slightly disturbing, but told herself that it was doing her no end of good socially. Another glide and she admitted to herself that it was not only good for her reputation to waltz with Lord Mainwaring but also a delightful sensation. After several minutes of silence the marquess decided he had seen all of the top of Lady Frances' golden head he wanted to see. He had been slightly piqued at her unenthusiastic acceptance of an invitation that would have cast any other woman in the room into transports. “Am I forgiven for annoying you?” he asked, looking quizzically down at her.

Frances, who had been completely absorbed in the music and the motion, came to with a slight start. “Oh, certainly, sir. But naturally you could not expect anything but an argument when you disagreed with a 'bluestocking.“ This was spoken blandly enough, but there was a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

Looking at her more intently after what appeared to be a deliberately provocative remark, the marquess realized with a slight shock that she was laughing at him! No, he decided, she was laughing at both of them, and inviting him to laugh with her. This was a rather novel sensation for Lord Mainwaring. Ladies young and old, proper and improper, had smiled at him, simpered at him, looked at him with soulful intensity, but none of them had ever regarded him purely with amusement. He found it irresistible and smiled his own very attractive smile in return.

At least Frances thought it was attractive. It brought warmth to the dark blue eyes which were apt to look hard. The whiteness of his teeth gleamed in a face tanned by years in the tropics.

Rising to her bait, he could not resist teasing her in turn. “I had not thought that someone of your serious tastes would frequent such frivolous scenes as this.”

Frances, accustomed to the constant teasing of Cassie and Freddie, was not in the least disconcerted. “Judging from the surprised and delighted look on the faces of our hostess and several other ladies, I assume you don't frequent them much yourself.”

An appreciative gleam shone in Julian's eyes. “Touché, Lady Frances.” The marquess's enjoyment of this bantering was not lost on the assembled company, and his partner was subjected to careful scrutiny, some of it jealous, some of it intrigued, depending on the sex of the particular observer.

Intrigued himself, Julian continued, “And how do you like London? I gather it has been some time since you have been here.”

Ignoring the last part of the question, she replied rather archly, “I keep myself tolerably amused, for there are diversions to be found here that appeal to even the most serious of minds, sir. Why, just tomorrow I have planned an extremely edifying tour of the Tower and an evening at Astley's Amphitheater.”

“Astley's Amphitheater!” He was astounded.

“Cassie and Frederick,” she confided. “I'm afraid I've been accompanying Kitty about so much that except for giving them lessons, I have neglected them sadly.”

“Lessons? You don't mean you teach them,” he demanded incredulously.

“And why ever not? I know far more Greek, Latin, and history than the local curate, and I am a much more amusing teacher,” she added defiantly.

His smile flashed again. “No, don't get on your high ropes again, my girl. I merely meant that a London Season is considered more than sufficient occupation for any young girl, much less handling an estate, much less instructing two energetic youngsters.”.

“I'm not just any girl. Lord Mainwaring. “A corner of her mouth quivered in a half-smile as she added, “Nor am I young.”

“Now, that's doing it much too brown, my child. I'm more awake on all suits you know, and you look like a green girl to me.”

She retorted, “Well, I'm not. I've been attending to the management of the estate since a few years after Mama died so Papa could continue with his work.”

Lord Mainwaring looked down at the girl—for she really was little more than a girl—dancing with him and began to wonder just how many other surprising talents she had. Considering the weight of the responsibilities she bore, he thought that her whimsically uttered words were far truer than she appeared to think them. She certainly was not “just any girl,'' but what that did make her, he wasn't quite sure. She appeared to possess the intellectual confidence of a much older, more worldly woman, but if Lady Streatham was to be believed, her apprehension of the challenges of the Season and life in the ton was that of any unfledged young woman. That being true, he supposed he owed her the sanction of his social support. He could not say exactly why he felt the urge to assist Lady Frances, except that as someone who had complicated affairs of his own to deal with, he sympathized and felt compelled to help smooth over as many difficulties as he could.

Neither Lord Mainwaring nor Lady Frances had been looking forward to Lady Richardson's ball, but as they rolled home in their separate carriages, each one was occupied by more pleasant thoughts of the evening than either one had anticipated.

Chapter Ten

It would be too much to say that Frances was besieged by admirers after her appearance at the ball, but she did have several callers. The first was the Comte de Vaudron, whose exquisite manners were put to a severe test the minute Higgins ushered him into the drawing room. Here he encountered Aunt Harriet, whose stiff “How de do” and basilisk stare were hardly encouraging. Fortunately his quick eye and Gallic genius for conversation connected the collection of orchids blooming in the window with this dry, spare little woman, and through a combination of adroit questioning and some happy reminiscences on the horticultural wonders of Greece, the Mediterranean, and his French possessions in the Caribbean, he soon had her happily discussing the various soils of these locales and the exacting climatic requirements of her own blooms.

It was thus that Lady Frances, descending from a morning session of lessons in the nursery, was astonished to discover the two of them together in the window bending over one of Aunt Harriet's particular favorites. So intent were they in their discussion that they did not hear her enter, and were born quite startled to find her regarding them amusedly when they turned around to resume their seats.

“Ah, chérie, the belle of the ball,” began the comte, bowing over her hand.

“Don't be absurd,” Frances reproved, but she looked pleased all the same.

Aunt Harriet's attention was fairly caught. “Frances, the belle of a ball?” She gave her niece a sharp look.

“No, Aunt Harriet, though I did have a better time than I expected.”

“Mais non. Fanny, how can you say that you were not a belle when outside of Kitty, Lady Streatham, and Lady Jersey, you were the only one with whom Lord Mainwaring danced the entire evening? He enjoyed himself too.”

“Oh, Monsieur le Comte,” interrupted Frances.

He held up a graceful hand. “ 'Uncle Maurice,’ please, but Fannie, ma chère, you may not pay attention to what the ton thinks or says, but me, I know that it is no small triumph to partner Lord Julian Mainwaring and to amuse him while doing so.”

She sighed. “You may be correct, but that doesn't concern me. What does concern me is that I have spent so much of my time attending to dress and balls and my own affairs that I have neglected Cassie and Frederick dreadfully. So I have promised to take them on a surfeit of excursions this week. We're on our way to the Tower directly, I'm afraid. Would you care to join us, Uncle Maurice?” Frances invited him.

“Mais, certainement,” he accepted, rising to greet the twins as they burst into the room.

“Cassie! Freddie!” Frances brought the two of them to a screeching hah. “This is Uncle Maurice, a dear friend of Mother and Father's. He has agreed to accompany us to the Tower.”

The twins did not appear to be entirely gratified by this change in plans, but the comte speedily dispelled their doubts. “Mes enfants, please tell me if you do not wish me to join your outing, but I hope you will let me come because I do confess a wish to see the room where those two poor princes were so foully murdered.“  This very natural interest convinced them that Uncle Maurice was a “right one,” and they enthusiastically added their invitations to their sister's. There was a brief scurrying for bonnets and coats while the carnage was brought round to the door.

As they rolled along toward the Tower, with Wellington in his usual position on the box, Freddie turned to the comte. “Uncle Maurice, sir?”

“Mais oui, mon ami.”

“You are French, are you not?”

“Assurément.”

“And you are a count, aren't you?”

“That, mon ami, depends on who is ruling France. Sometimes I am Monsieur le Comte and sometimes plain citoyen, but I find 'Uncle’ a far more honorable and amusing title than all of these.”

“But what I mean, sir is: did you see anyone guillotined, or did you barely escape with your life?” Freddie asked in a hopeful tone.

The comte shook his head apologetically. “Non, Freddie, I regret to inform you that I was in Greece with your mother and father when the Bastille fell, and I have been traveling or in Great Britain the rest of the time, so I missed everything, even the Terror. I am afraid to say that my life has been extremely dull.”

Fortunately for the comte's reputation. Lady Frances interrupted. “That's not at all true. Tell them about the time when you were captured by Greek bandits.”

The twins' eyes widened expectantly. “Oh, please tell us, do,” they breathed.

“Let us save that for another day. Here we are at the Tower, and one can't have too much blood and adventure in one day, you know—bad for the digestion.'' The twins looked doubtful; both were possessed of stomachs that would have done a goat proud, and both had an insatiable appetite for exactly such stories of gore and daring, but it wouldn't do to press their new friend too much.

The myriad of attractions to be explored at the historic spot put an end to all further discussion. Cassie and Frederick gazed at the yeoman warders in their Tudor uniforms, listened to the croaking of the sinister ravens on the green, and pictured all those who had laid their heads on the block there: Anne Boleyn, Sir Thomas More, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lady Jane Grey. They followed an ancient woman who unlocked the vaults containing the crown jewels. Cassie was particularly captivated by the great golden orb reputed to contain, according to her elder sister, a piece of the true cross. Freddie, on the other hand, scoffed at the pile of useless jewels, preferring the golden spurs worn at coronations. They emerged from the gloom to peep at the lions in the Tower menagerie, but gave them scant attention in their haste to see the highlight of the visit—the room where the two little princes had been imprisoned before their mysterious and unfortunate end. They listened in fascinated horror as Frances recounted the tragic tale with all its grisly overtones. She was an excellent storyteller and her small listeners were spellbound. Even the comte was captivated. It would have been difficult to improve on the delights of the day, but when the comte treated them all to ices at Gunter's, their cups were filled to the brim. “I say, Fanny, London is a great place: Why've we never been here before?” Cassie asked. Freddie, his mouth too full of ice to say anything, nodded his head in fervent agreement.