Ice Angel (3 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Hanbury
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General, #Regency
Shrugging his broad shoulders, his companion muttered a little defensively, ‘I only ask so that I may call and pay my respects. My mother would also be displeased if I did not pass on her regards to Lady Bramwell, who is her oldest and dearest friend.’
‘But of course that is the reason, Freddy,’ replied Lord Bramwell with perfect gravity. ‘I’m sure my mother and sister will be pleased to see you. However, I should warn you that Julia’s beauty has increased considerably since last year – you will have to work hard to obtain even a country dance.’
‘How can you talk about Julia in that manner, Hal?’ said Mr Isherwood, colouring. ‘You treat everything as a joke.’
‘My dear fellow, life has taught me to do just that.’ Hal stood up and moved to the window. After observing the scene below for a moment or two, he added in a more serious voice, ‘Don’t worry, Freddy, your admiration for my sister will remain secret. Indeed, if that’s the way of things, I wish you well – you’ll have my blessing – but Julia will take some convincing. She’s fond of you, but London can go to a young girl’s head and the attention she’ll receive will do likewise. You will recall I speak from
experience
in these matters, although Julia’s nature cannot be compared to that of the lady I am referring to.’
‘Since you mention it, I have heard that Lady Portland and her husband have returned – they have come over from the Continent, so I understand, and taken a house in Half Moon Street.’ Freddy looked uncomfortable as he imparted this piece of information which had come his way just that morning.
Hal turned abruptly to scan his friend’s features with a keen gaze. ‘What the deuce has Felicity come back to London for?’
Freddy gave another shrug. ‘I have no idea but I suppose she is entitled to if she wishes: the scandal died down years ago. They have lived mainly in Italy because of Portland’s health. No doubt their return is due in part to that monster Napoleon escaping from Elba. Matters are becoming a mite uncomfortable across the water so perhaps they were minded to return to the relative safety of London.’
‘I see,’ mused Lord Bramwell, in a non-committal voice.
After a pause, Mr Isherwood ventured, ‘Do you mind that she has returned?’
‘No,’ said Hal. ‘Eight years as Lady Portland will not have stemmed Felicity’s malicious tongue, but that is no concern of mine, thank God. I hope Portland still thinks he had a good bargain with his marriage. I know now I had a lucky escape, although I will allow that I did not think so at the time and thought my life had been blighted for ever.’
‘I hear she is still considered very beautiful,’ said Freddy, with an interested glance at his companion’s expression. However, there was no sign of disquiet there at the return of the woman who had caused a major scandal years earlier by breaking off her engagement to Hal and eloping with the older, but
exceptionally
wealthy Lord Portland.
Freddy had witnessed his friend’s despair following this rejection: Hal had turned briefly to drink and to gambling until his steady nature and sense of humour had reasserted
themselves
, and he had continued with his life. In the years that followed, Hal had proved himself to be a steadfast friend, a source of good advice for his widowed mother and younger siblings, and a forward-thinking custodian of his estates.
However, Freddy recognized the marks that the events of eight years ago had left upon his friend. Despite being one of the most eligible bachelors in society and, as a result, laid siege to by mothers of hopeful daughters and ladies of marriageable age alike, there had been no room in Hal’s life for serious love affairs. Very little of what engaged the
ton
’s interest seemed to hold, or indeed even arouse, Hal’s attention. The escapades he indulged in from time to time arose from boredom and the resolution, made in the depths of his despair, not to take life too seriously again. But Hal was never reckless or inconsiderate, in spite of appearing so to those who did not know him well. His devil-may-care reputation was belied by the more sober man beneath, but that man was known only to his family and close friends. Society knew nothing of Hal’s wider interests and he wanted it to remain that way.
‘Indeed?’ replied Hal, his grim voice interrupting Freddy’s musings. ‘Such information cuts no ice with me. However, I am sure Felicity is inordinately pleased: beauty was her only asset and when that departs, she, too, will become a vicious old tabby.’
Freddy gave a wry smile. ‘Which brings us back in a
somewhat
convoluted manner to this evening. Will you oblige me by attending? My aunt has implored me to go and to bring you along – she is terrified of having too many ladies and not enough gentlemen. We need stay just for an hour or two and then depart.’
‘Oh, very well,’ replied Hal with an exasperated sigh, ‘but only to oblige you and your aunt.’
His friend, eager to offer some encouragement, winked and said with a smile, ‘There may be a pretty face or two among the old tabbies.’
‘If there are, I will not lose my head over any of them.’
S
EVERAL
hours later, Isabella was regretting her decision to attend Lady Partgeter’s soirée. She was unable to view the evening ahead with any enthusiasm and when Dominic had awoken from a nightmare and insisted on seeing his mother, she had suggested to Harriet that she should go alone. Harriet, however, had refused to countenance this. Her entreaties did lead eventually to Isabella climbing into the carriage, but her demeanour was that of someone stepping into a tumbrel rather than embarking on an evening of pleasure.
Despite Harriet’s protestations that her niece would enjoy herself once she was there, Isabella was unconvinced and determined to return to Curzon Street as soon as possible. Her character was not naturally dour, but a joyless marriage had suppressed her lively, enquiring nature. She was aware of this and knew also that as a consequence she might be considered remote, but that did not concern her. Indeed, it suited Isabella to cultivate an aloof air because it helped to avoid questions about her past.
However, she was agreeably surprised at their reception in Green Street. There were a few murmurings when they arrived, but soon it was obvious they were no longer the main topic of conversation. At least eighty people were crowded into the elegant reception rooms and it seemed that many of the fashionable London elite were present. The card tables set up in the side rooms were well attended and while there was no dancing, a group of musicians played at the end of the drawing-room. Most people, while politely interested, seemed disinclined to enquire beyond the details that Harriet imparted, so Isabella relaxed and even began to enjoy herself, a circumstance which her aunt noted.
‘I said there was no need for concern,’ Harriet whispered, as they entered the saloon where the refreshments were laid out. ‘Everyone is most obliging, and not odiously curious. And in spite of your reluctance to come this evening, I have received a great many compliments about you, Isabella.’ She gave a little smile of satisfaction, adding, ‘Naturally, I expected that to happen once you could be enticed into society again.’
‘I am glad to please you, but I have no desire to impress the
ton
,’ replied Isabella.
‘Your modesty does you credit, but you are very lovely, my dear – it is almost criminal to keep such beauty hidden away.’
Isabella smiled at Harriet’s obvious bias but by now her attention had been claimed by the gentleman talking to Lady Pargeter. He was dressed in the most extraordinarily flamboyant style, the like of which Isabella had never seen before. She tried not to stare and observed him from under her lashes, but just at that moment, he raised his quizzing glass in her direction and whispered a comment to his hostess. Isabella hid her amusement and turned her attention back to Harriet.
In fact, Harriet’s sentiments regarding Isabella’s beauty were shared by many present, particularly the gentlemen, for whom Lady Vane’s ethereal features, slim figure and graceful carriage had cast every other young woman present into the shade. Among these was Sir Seymour Dinniscombe, the extraordinary figure already noted by Isabella. Sir Seymour, commonly known as ‘Dinny’ among London society, was a good-natured, valetudinarian bachelor whose obsession with his health and with visits to his tailor was well known.
Although his immense wealth of £60,000 a year had made him an attractive proposition for many ladies, an offer of marriage had always failed to materialize from Sir Seymour. He had concluded that none of the young women who had excited his attentions could be relied upon to pay due regard to his constitution. Consequently, he had remained unmarried, for which situation he felt not one pang of regret since it allowed him to spend more time upon his wardrobe and visit whichever physician was enjoying his patronage.
His mode of dress, which he himself thought of as the height of fashion, was generally regarded by the
ton
as dandyish; most young men arriving in London considered Lord Bramwell and Mr Isherwood, with their more reserved but elegant sartorial style, the mode to copy. However, Sir Seymour was oblivious to other people’s opinions on this matter and was rich enough to indulge whatever tastes he and his tailor thought appropriate. These were many and varied as that wily purveyor was always ready to suggest a new way to relieve Sir Seymour of his money. This evening Sir Seymour was attired in the normal evening dress of long tailed coat and satin knee-breeches, but he had added his trademark extravagant accessories. He was
resplendent
in a yellow and white spotted waistcoat, black shoes with silver buckles and sported a huge nosegay in his coat. Fobs and seals adorned his waist and highly starched collar points meant that he could only turn his head with difficulty. His hair had been carefully brushed à la Brutus, while his cravat was
astonishing
in its intricacy: it had taken an hour and several discarded neckcloths for Sir Seymour and his valet to achieve the desired Waterfall arrangement, embellished with a sparkling diamond pin. This picture of magnificence now stood discussing the merits of hot milk possets with his hostess.
‘… Indeed, Lady Pargeter, the excellent Doctor Hammond said that the benefits for a delicate constitution of taking a posset before retiring outweigh port or Madeira. It is apparently more beneficial to the digestion and, having endured a disturbed night following a glass of port at White’s yesterday evening, I can vouch for the truth of this. Hammond also advised me that adding a drop of laudanum to the posset will ensure a restful sleep, and do no harm—’ Sir Seymour halted mid-sentence, staring while he groped absently for his quizzing glass. ‘Pray tell me, who is that exquisite young woman?’ he asked faintly.
Lady Pargeter followed the direction of his gaze. ‘Ah, that is Lady Vane; her aunt, Mrs Harriet Forster, is to her left. Isabella Vane is a beautiful creature, is she not, Sir Seymour? All of London is curious about her, but she seems disinclined to reveal any personal details. Indeed, society has already given Lady Vane the title of the Ice Angel because of her marked reserve.’
‘Is she married?’ queried Sir Seymour bluntly, still studying Isabella through his glass.
‘Why, no. I understand that she has been a widow for over a year now and recently arrived in London with her aunt, who is also a widow. Apart from this, no one knows anything about her.’
Sir Seymour gave an audible sigh. ‘For a moment I thought I had fallen asleep here, in this very room, and awakened in the presence of Aphrodite or Helen of Troy. Never before have I seen such a ravishing lady!’ he admitted in an awed whisper. ‘Lady Pargeter, will you please introduce me at once.’
His hostess, surprised by his sudden distraction with Lady Vane, did as she was bid. Once the formal introductions had been completed, Lady Pargeter moved away to greet some late arrivals and Sir Seymour sat down with care next to Isabella, straightening his waistcoat afterwards in case it had become creased during this manoeuvre.
Isabella was then subjected to blatant but admiring scrutiny from Sir Seymour while Harriet raised her brows at her niece in amusement. Sir Seymour, meanwhile, chatted easily, confining his conversation to general topics; he had no intention of being intrusive in his questioning from the outset and thereby
upsetting
the young woman before him.
‘Do you intend to stay long in town, Lady Vane?’ he asked eventually.
‘Our plans are not yet fixed; we shall remain here for some weeks at least,’ she replied.
‘It will be a little uncomfortable, however – the house is full of Dominic’s pets and they are always under one’s feet,’ admitted Harriet.
‘Dominic?’ queried Sir Seymour, puzzled. ‘Is that your brother, Mrs Forster?’
Harriet laughed. ‘No, Sir Seymour – Dominic is Isabella’s son. He is only six years old and a delightful child.’
The change in Sir Seymour’s expression was so sudden as to be comical; his mouth twisted in a parody of a smile as he tried to disguise his chagrin. ‘I did not know you have a son, Lady Vane. How – how charming, to be sure! I am afraid that children are quite outside my experience.’ He cleared his throat
nervously
, anxious not to give offence. ‘That is to say, I like them well enough at a distance, but I consider them unpredictable which is particularly worrying when one is wearing a new coat or pair of boots.’
‘Dominic is harmless although I agree that he has a propensity, like most small boys, to become remarkably grubby in a short time,’ said Isabella, smiling.
‘Exactly so!’ he agreed, with feeling. ‘A nephew of mine once almost ruined a pair of my Hessians. It took my valet a fortnight to remove the mud and polish them back to perfection. Most upsetting thing to happen! It was all over in a trice too – the little fellow ran straight over my feet when he came in from the garden. Complained bitterly to my brother at the time, but he just laughed and said “Dinny, stop talking nonsense over a pair of boots”. Nonsense, indeed,’ said Sir Seymour with a wounded expression, ‘I am particularly attached to my Hessians.’
Isabella, who had struggled to keep her countenance during this speech, bit her lip to prevent her amusement from bubbling over. Observing this, Harriet came to her rescue and it was she who smoothed Sir Seymour’s ruffled feelings back to serenity.
‘Your discomfort was understandable – a shocking thing for a gentleman to endure,’ agreed Harriet. ‘My husband was most careful about his boots and always insisted that champagne be added to the blacking in order to achieve the desired effect.’
‘My valet does the same,’ he acknowledged, feeling on safer ground now the conversation had moved away from children. ‘It is a pity that the fellow cannot make the same excellent job of pressing my linen, but he tries his best.’
‘But your style is very individual,’ observed Isabella. ‘Your valet must therefore find great satisfaction in his work.’
‘Why, thank you Lady Vane! I shall take your comment as a compliment.’ Sir Seymour, glowing with pleasure, turned his head as much as his starched collar would allow to smile warmly at her.
‘Are you well acquainted with London society?’ asked Harriet as she looked about the room.
‘I can claim expertise in that area,’ said Sir Seymour, puffing out his chest. ‘Most of my time is spent in London among the
haut ton.
’
‘Then pray tell me, who is that gentleman watching us so earnestly? I do not know him at all and yet he has been staring for some time. Is he perhaps an acquaintance of yours?’
In response to Harriet’s query, Sir Seymour raised his quizzing glass.
Isabella, whose eyes had followed the direction of Sir Seymour’s gaze, saw a tall, broad-shouldered man who was indeed staring at them, but most particularly at her. He, too, was dressed in the normal evening attire of longtailed coat, waistcoat and satin knee breeches. However, he wore them with a nonchalant grace completely at odds with Sir Seymour’s extravagant style. Dark hair fell across his brow, giving him a rakish appearance and his eyes scanned Isabella’s features intently. Under his scrutiny, Isabella felt strangely breathless and colour began to warm her cheeks. The more he stared, the more her anger rose; if he were rude enough to study her like a specimen under a magnifying glass, he would only succeed in earning her contempt. However, she evinced no outward signs of annoyance, having become skilled at concealing her feelings during her marriage.
‘That is the Earl of Bramwell, who is at this moment being joined by Mr Frederick Isherwood,’ explained Sir Seymour, observing the second gentleman who had come to stand next to Lord Bramwell. ‘It is unusual to see either at an event like this, but Mr Isherwood is Lady Pargeter’s nephew so that must be the reason for their attendance this evening.’
‘Lord Bramwell cuts a very handsome figure,’ said Harriet in a low voice.
‘He is considered a Corinthian, a man who excels in every sporting pursuit, but I think him a little reckless,’ remarked Sir Seymour. ‘He has a devil-may-care approach to life which seems attractive to ladies. However, it would be injurious to my health to indulge in the ill-advised escapades which appeal to Lord Bramwell.’
‘Ill-advised escapades?’ echoed Harriet, intrigued.
‘Oh, nothing too serious, you understand – he is a leader of the
ton
, after all – but Lord Bramwell is usually to be found at the centre of some harebrained scheme or sporting bet,’ explained Sir Seymour. ‘I hear he intends to drive down to Brighton tomorrow in his curricle in less than four and a half hours, simply to answer a wager. Madness! I should be confined to bed for a week if I attempted such a feat.’
‘Any reasonable person would not attempt it,’ agreed Isabella vehemently. She was aware of Harriet’s look of surprise – this was severe criticism for an activity which most young men of the day took part in and was generally considered harmless – but as far as Isabella was concerned, Lord Bramwell had already earned her scorn. She had endured enough reckless and inconsiderate behaviour to last a lifetime and had no desire to become acquainted with anyone who followed that path.
However, this stern resolution was destined to be quickly broken: Isabella, alone for a few moments some time later, found Lord Bramwell’s tall figure had suddenly appeared at her side.
‘I have appealed to Lady Pargeter for the last hour to introduce me, but either you are engaged, or her attention is diverted before she can do so, and I can wait no longer,’ he said. ‘May I introduce myself and hope that you will excuse my abominable lack of manners? It is only because I am impatient to meet you.’ He bowed and smiled engagingly. ‘Lord Bramwell, at your service, Lady Vane.’
Forced to acknowledge him, Isabella turned to look up into his face. Lord Bramwell was undeniably handsome; his features were well defined and attractive, there was no dandyish
affectation
in his courteous manner and his physique was clearly that of a sportsman. A smile lurked in the grey eyes which gazed down into hers and he was close enough for Isabella to have momentarily felt his warm breath on her cheek as he spoke. The smooth rich timbre of his voice washed over her and, unbidden, the thought flashed into her mind that Lord Bramwell was the embodiment of her ideal. She pushed it away ruthlessly; having already been introduced to Sir Seymour and the amiable Mr Isherwood, who was quite as handsome as Lord Bramwell, with no similar effects, Isabella felt annoyed at her reaction.
