Joan Wolf (3 page)

   “I’m Winburton.” The young man held out his hand. “Where did she come from?” he asked dazedly. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful girl.”

It was a refrain Douglas was to hear all that night and throughout the following weeks. At every ball Frances went to, she was surrounded by a throng of men. Her admirers included all of the most eligible bachelors in London: a duke, a duke’s heir, a marquis, two viscounts, an earl, and an earl’s heir, to name the most prominent. Frances’s religion was obviously more than made up for by her beauty, her charm, and her modestly respectable inheritance. In fact the atmosphere among those vying for her attention rapidly became extremely tense, with each one jealously looking for a special sign that would show where her favor really lay.

 Young as she was, however, Frances was quite experienced in fending off overly enthusiastic admirers. She was friendly to everyone and sentimental with no one.

   Douglas watched her play this dangerous game with growing alarm. She had a purpose in this elaborate London debut. He could see it in the dense green of her eyes and in the defiant tilt of her perfect jaw. The marriage proposals poured in and all Frances would ever say was “I’m not sure I wish to marry anyone. I need to see a little more of the world before I make such a difficult decision. Please don’t speak of it yet.” And she would smile her enchanting smile and leave them waiting. And hoping.

   Douglas was almost certain that this effortless collection of would-be husbands was for Ian’s benefit. He was a younger son, poor enough to need a profession to increase his income, and only twenty years of age. The contrast between his status and her London admirers would be enough to give anyone pause. She seemed to be at pains to demonstrate that if he didn’t want to marry her, there were plenty of others who did. It was the only reason Douglas could find to account for her behavior; Frances did not ordinarily try to exploit her beauty. He was certain she had no real interest in any of the men who dogged her footsteps. Until Robert Sedburgh entered the picture.

It was Charlie who introduced them. Lord Robert was in Alan’s regiment, and had sought Charlie out to offer his regrets over Alan’s death. Lord Robert was himself on leave in order to recuperate from a shoulder wound. He had been staying with his parents, the Earl and Countess of Aysgarth, and had come up to London now that he was recovered. He looked up Charlie and Charlie brought him along to the Eversly Ball. It was there he met Frances for the first time.

Robert Sedburgh was one of the most likable men of his time. His thoughtfulness in seeking out Charlie to speak of Alan was typical of his character. He was tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed, with a warmly attractive smile. He would one day inherit immense wealth and large estates. He served as an aide to Lord Wellington and was due to return to the Peninsula as soon as he had completely regained his health. Then he met Frances.

   He had more success than the rest of her followers. Frances really liked him. It would be hard not to. He was witty, charming, handsome, and twenty-six years of age. He was a man who would occupy a position of great responsibility, great opportunity, great wealth, and great power. His wife would be a woman of great consideration. A girl might do much worse than trust herself to such a man. It seemed to Douglas that Frances was tempted.

“When shall I wish you happy?” he said to her one day in the sunny back room of her aunt’s house where he was painting her portrait.

   She was normally a good subject, sitting quietly upright in the pose he had suggested, but now she turned her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when are you going to accept Robert Sedburgh?”

Her eyebrows raised a trifle. “He hasn’t asked me,” she said. Then, as he continued to look at her, the comers of her mouth deepened. “He hasn’t had the chance,” she admitted.

“He will find one.”

“I suppose so.”

He put his brush down. “Frances,” he said gently, “if you don’t want Lord Robert, what do you want?”

Her hands moved restlessly and then were still again. She raised her chin and looked at him. Her eyes were somber. “You know me too well, Douglas.”

“My question still stands.”

She got up and walked to the window. With her back to him she said, “I want Ian of course. But I want him here, with me, not off in some other country fighting somebody else’s war.”

“You said yourself he won’t go to the Peninsula.”

   She turned around to face him. “Not while his mother keeps him to his promise. But how long, Douglas, do you think she’ll hold out against him? You know what Ian is like when he wants something. Determined. Ruthless even. He succeeded in getting himself thrown out of Cambridge. Now that he’s out of school he’ll raise more hell than Scotland’s seen since the ‘45. She’ll give in. Ian’s her favorite. She could never stand up against him.”

He looked at her suddenly bleak face. “The very qualities you love Ian for are the ones you’re trying to smash, Frances,” he said gently. “If you want a kind, gentle, calm, considerate man, who will unfailingly put your wishes and your welfare before his own, marry Robert Sedburgh. He will cherish and guard you all his life. You’ll be safe with him.”

Her face was closed and aloof. “I don’t care about being safe.”

“Yes, you do,” he contradicted her. “You want to keep Ian safe, at any rate. But you would smother him, Frances. Ian doesn’t want to feel safe. He wants to feel alive.”

“He doesn’t need to go to war to feel alive,” she said bitterly.

“No, but he needs to feel he is using his brains, his courage, his determination. He needs to feel
extended,
Frances.” He leaned forward, doing his best for Ian, trying to make her understand. “He loves you, you know that. But it isn’t enough, Frances. It would be for Robert Sedburgh. But not for Ian.”

He looked at her pale set face. She knew that, he thought. It was what she could not forgive.

Chapter Four

We twa hae run about the braes

And pou’d the gowans fine,

But we’ve wander’d monie a weary fit

Sin’ auld lang syne.

—
ROBERT
BURNS

The Countess of Pemberly gave a ball in early July that was one of the highlights of that year’s season. By this time betting in the clubs was heavily in favor of Robert Sedburgh’s being accepted by the reigning belle, Frances Stewart. Lord Robert himself was only waiting for the appropriate opportunity to speak to Frances. He had already declared himself to her uncle.

“I wish you luck, Sedburgh,” Alexander Graham had said with amusement. “If I had a pound for every man in this town who wants to marry Frances, I’d be a rich man.”

“I know,” Lord Robert had replied ruefully. “I can only say she won’t find a man who loves her more than I do.”               ‘

   Alexander had clapped him on the shoulder. “If she has any sense she’ll take you, boy. But I’m afraid Frances is like her mother. You can’t count on her doing the sensible thing when it comes to marriage. And her father will let her do as she pleases. Within reason, of course.”

Lord Robert had some reason to believe that he pleased Frances, and it was with a mixture of hope and apprehension that he asked her to walk out into the garden with him about halfway through the Pemberly ball.

Frances was feeling restless and unsettled and was not as careful as she usually was. Her refusal to give Lord Robert an opening was not part of a calculated game; it came, rather, from a certain fear. He was not a man one could take lightly. But tonight she was feeling oppressed by the crush of people, and the heat, and she agreed to step outside with him.

They walked to the small fountain that stood in the center of the garden, and Frances took a deep breath. “It is lovely out here,” she said, delicately touching a rose that bloomed on a bush close beside her.

“It’s enchanting,” he replied sincerely, looking at her.

“You’re easily enchanted, my lord,” Frances said smiling.

“No, I’m not easily enchanted.” He paused a minute. “But you’ve enchanted me, Miss Stewart.” He reached out and took her hand. “My feelings can’t be unknown to you,” he continued quietly. “It would give me enormous happiness if you would consent to be my wife.”

   Imperceptibly she had stiffened. “I would never marry a soldier,” said Frances.

   He smiled in relief. “Is that all? But of course I wouldn’t expect you to many a man who was going off to war. I should resign my commission. We would live at Aysgarth; my mother and father would love you. But if you decided you didn’t want to live with them, we could live wherever you chose. I have a great number of houses. Or I could buy another one. It shall all be just as you wish.”

Frances looked at him with inscrutable eyes. “You would give up the army for me?”

“I would do anything for you, Miss Stewart,” said Robert Sedburgh, in the kindest, tenderest voice Frances had ever heard. “I love you.”

She dropped her eyes. “I thank you more than I can say for your offer,” she replied at last. “It does me great honor.”

“Don’t say that,” he begged. “Just say yes.” The moonlight turned his fair hair to silver. His eyes as he looked at her were very blue. “You do like me, rather, don’t you?” he said.

“I like you very much. Lord Robert. But marriage . . .” She looked up at him, eyes dark in her moon-bleached face. “I don’t know. It is a very difficult question.”

“You don’t have to answer it right away. Think it over for as long as may be necessary. If I can profit by waiting I’ll gladly wait. Only remember that in the end my dearest happiness depends on your answer.”

Frances bowed her head. “I will remember, my lord. Only, don’t think me unkind if I ask you to say no more about this for awhile.”

“I wouldn’t distress you for the world,” he said. “Shall we go in now? The next set is starting, I believe.”

  She smiled at him gratefully and walked with him back through the tall French doors and into the ballroom. There were a number of speculative glances turned on the two fair heads as they came in; but neither Frances’s nor Lord Robert’s expression gave anything away. Shewas claimed by her next partner, and Lord Robert went to get himself a glass of champagne.

It was half an hour later, the music had just stopped, and Frances was still standing on the floor with the Marquis of Bermington when there was a little stir by the door of the ballroom. Lady Pemberly, Frances’s hostess, was standing beside her. “Goodness, who is that?” the countess said. “I’m quite sure he wasn’t on my invitation list.” Frances turned to look.

The boy in the doorway was very tall, and dark as a gypsy, with untamed eyes and a sensual, proud mouth. His dark eyes were searching the room methodically, and when they reached Frances Stewart they stopped. Lady Pemberly, watching, saw the almost physical impact made by those locking gazes. Then the tall youngster came directly across the floor, with long, arrogant steps, his head up, his brows drawn together in an angry line. He appeared to be totally unconscious of any watching eyes. When he reached Frances he put a none-too-gentle hand on her arm. “I have to talk to you,” he said without preamble. “Come along. There’s a room off the upper landing.”

“Miss Stewart.” It was Lord Bermington. “Shall I send this fellow on his way?”

“No. Ian!” As he pressed forward Frances put a restraining hand on his forearm, feeling the hard muscle underneath the correct black evening coat. “It’s all right, Lord Bermington,” she said. “I know him. It’s Ian Macdonald, Lochaber’s brother.”

Ian’s eyes went from the marquis’s face back to Frances. His hand tightened on her arm. The watching circle was aware of the intense feeling, part hostile, part something else, that vibrated between the girl and boy. “I’m coming,” she said, and went back across the polished floor with him, her slender body straight as a lance.

Neither of them spoke until Ian had closed the door of the small anteroom behind them. Then Frances said, “You do choose your moments, don’t you?”

The face she looked at was set and stern and the dark eyes held a glitter in their depths that caused her breath to quicken. “I got a letter from Douglas,” he said. “I came immediately. What the bloody hell are you up to, Frances?”

Her eyes widened innocently. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I am making a come-out. Plenty of other girls do that.”

“You are not plenty of other girls,” he said grimly. “You’re my girl. Douglas told me you’ve been collecting suitors faster than Penelope. What are you trying to do? Teach me a lesson?”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing that, Ian,” she said sweetly. “Anyone clever enough to get himself sent down from Cambridge doesn’t need lessons from me.”

His eyes narrowed in comprehension. “Ah. I had a feeling that was what the problem was.”

“Problem?” She was annoyed to hear her voice was shaking. “What problem? The fact that you are making a mess of your life? The fact that you have thrown away your best chance for the future? The fact that you obviously don’t care about my feelings? I don’t see any problem.”

He looked at her once more and then turned and prowled up and down the room. “I couldn’t take it any more,” he said finally, coming to stand before her. “I was so bloody bored.”

“And just what is it you won’t find equally boring, Ian?” she asked steadily.

His smile transformed his face. “You,” he said. “What are you doing in London, Frances? If you want to marry someone, marry me. There’s no point in our waiting another year now that I’m not going back to school.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I must admit I had that thought in mind when I—er—parted from Cambridge.”

 For a long moment she stood still, feeling the warmth of his fingers on her bare flesh, the sudden tumult of her heart. Ian could always do this to her. “Have you given up trying to get your mother to buy you a commission?” she said breathlessly.

His face hardened. “No.” He slid his hands down her arms. “But you could come out to Lisbon with me. A number of officers’ wives are living there. I’d get back on leave to see you.”

“Or maybe you’d come back like Alan. Permanently. In a coffin.”