Lord Sidley's Last Season (3 page)

“My pleasure, indeed, my lord”

“She must have all the time she might wish.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Sidley withdrew his cane and dismissed Pinxton with
a languid wave of one hand. But Marian was scarcely
aware of the clerk’s departure. Lord Sidley held her complete attention.

At once she understood Katie’s enchantment. He
was a tall man, splendidly built, and once again carefully and expensively dressed, without flamboyance or
ostentation. His coat was dark-not the black that Colonel Bassett had so heatedly disparaged but a depth of
midnight blue. And his hair was dark, and his brows
were dark, but his self-satisfied smile was very amused
and warm.

“We meet again,” he said to her.

The comment reminded Marian of their surroundings and the shop’s too-eager audience of patrons. She
glanced self-consciously at Sidley’s companions-both
strangers to her-one very young and fair, with an expression of almost comic affability; the other tall and gaunt, of sober demeanor and rather penetrating light
eyes. Marian’s gaze sought her maid, who hugged the
paint box, her mouth agape. The girl stood stupefied by
the steps into the store’s central aisle.

Sidley understood her dilemma. Glancing casually
about, he signaled young Lord Wilfred, one of Edgar’s
friends, and Wilfred, looking as though he had been
summoned to Olympus, moved with alacrity to the
table.

“My-my lord Sidley,” he stammered, “Er-Lord Benjamin” He bowed first to the fair young man at Sidley’s
side, then straightened before bowing to her. “Miss
Ware”

Marian had caught an expression on Sidley’s face
that she attributed to weariness or boredom. She did not
like him to look so-not in her presence-and determined to execute the civilities most speedily.

“Lord Wilfred, I should like to thank these gentlemen. If you would do the honors?”

“With pleasure, Miss Ware. Lord Benjamin, Lord Sidley, Lord Vaughn-may I present Miss Ware, cousin to
Lord Formsby and his sister, Lady Katherine.”

As she curtsied, Marian suspected that the bookseller’s shop had never before seen such an elegantly
synchronized salutation. She quickly proffered her
thanks before Sidley’s companions neatly drew Wilfred
away.

Sidley fixed his amused gaze upon her. “We meet
again,” he repeated. Though his look was warm, he did not quite smile. “And over”-he peered at the volume on
the table-“The Microcosm of London.” His instant,
backward identification impressed her. “‘Tis beautifully
rendered, but I would recommend touring the city’s treasures in person. You have not been here long, have you,
Miss Ware?”

“Just this fortnight,” she said, troubled by her breathlessness. “I am here to study.”

“And what do you study?”

“Painting-drawing …”

“You are an artist.”

Marian might only have imagined the faint query in
his voice, but her chin rose all the same. “I am learning,
my lord.”

Again she read the amusement in his gaze.

“We cannot all be Van Dycks, Miss Ware,” he conceded, and this time he did smile. “You must have your
family-you must have Lady Formsby take you to Ackermann’s on one of their open evenings.” Sidley gestured
to the book. “You might see these prints as originals.”

“I would enjoy that”

“And perhaps, since you are an expert, I might consult you with regard to my own choice of portraitist. ‘Tis
a pressing matter, I assure you. I am informed I must
commemorate myself and otherwise leave my mark.
Nollekens shall do my bust”-he made a point of yawning over the selection of such a celebrated, and expensive, sculptor-“but I am distracted by choice with regard
to my portrait.”

Marian regarded him closely, and with some skepticism. She wondered if he merely made polite conversation; it was beyond belief that he might truly desire her
opinion. Surely he had no end of people with whom he
could consult. And in her estimation no competent
artist could harm him, for aside from an unusual pallor
he looked superb.

She thought with some impatience that he no doubt
knew very well how he looked-and wished to look
more so.

“There is always Mr. Thomas Lawrence-” she began.

“I am not that vain, Miss Ware” His gaze, which she
noticed was vividly blue, laughed at her, such that she
could not prevent the pert thought that he seemed vain
enough.

His fine eyebrows arched. “D’you know, Miss Ware,
you have such a remarkably expressive face, I believe I
might guess at your thoughts” As her color rose, he
added, “Though perhaps not. In any event, I have decided
against Lawrence. I do not seek embellishment, merely
a record.”

“You are also a student of the arts, my lord?”

“Indeed, Miss Ware. Though my talent is, alas, simple
appreciation. But I am fortunate to possess a family collection of some quality. Perhaps one day you might
pardon me, Lord Formsby might allow me to introduce
you to it.” He seemed only then to become conscious
of the crowd around them. “How they do gawk,” he remarked flatly.

“You have just insured they have something at which
to gawk”

Again his laughing gaze turned to her. “You reprove
me?”

“My lord, I beg your pardon-”

“Do not apologize. It does not suit you-as it suits
Mr. Pinxton.” He surveyed the crowd again. “Society is
an ill-trained beast, Miss Ware, that must be tugged into
line now and then, like a hound upon a leash”

“And you would do the tugging, Lord Sidley?”

He laughed. “I decided some time ago ‘twas far better
to entertain than to crave entertainment.” He tapped his
cane lightly upon the floor. “Well, ‘tis only an interlude.
We are the miracle of the moment, to be supplanted, I
assure you, by supper time.” And while Marian was reflecting that he, at least, was most unlikely to be supplanted in so short a time, his gaze moved beyond her.
“Ah, fair Lady Katherine..

Marian heard the speculation in his voice, and wondered if Sidley had some particular interest in Katie.
Certainly his attention focused on her with a measuring
regard. For all her cousin’s beauty and liveliness, Marian
had never once felt envious of her. But, given Sidley’s
close scrutiny, she was uncomfortably aware that the
emotion now threatened. With that disturbing recognition, Marian watched Sidley bow to her cousin.

“I must take my leave, Miss Ware. Do not forget that
Pinxton awaits your orders. I suspect he will be most
eager to oblige you.”

“But”-Marian glanced in some confusion at the
open volume-“but what do you wish, my lord?”

“I wish what you wish, Miss Ware,” he said, smiling
as he held her gaze. Then he was strolling away-how
he managed that while hiding a limp, she could not
fathom-and was soon lost in the crowd.

“Oh, Marian!” Katie gushed, reaching her and taking her arm. “I could not believe it! You were speaking
with Sidley!”

“Yes.” Though what had passed seemed somewhat
more than speaking. “Yes,” she repeated without enthusiasm.

“If I did not know you very well, Marian,” Katie said
slyly, “I might think you very naughty!”

“Do not speak so, Katie. You never used to”

And Katie had the good grace to bite her lip. But she
still wanted to know what had been said, which Marian described as mere pleasantries. In all truthfulness,
though, she had to acknowledge that Lord Sidley had
distinguished Katie by describing her as “fair.”

“Really?” Katie asked archly, which Marian found
she could not quite like. She had to attribute her cousin’s
surprise to Sidley’s acknowledgment, because Katie had
always accepted the fact. Given her pale golden curls,
lovely green eyes, and engaging, vivacious manner, she
was well used to attention and praise.

Katie had come inside merely to collect Marian, as
Hatchards’s riches held little to distract her, the more so
once she realized that Lord Sidley and his company had left the premises. In any event, Lady Formsby awaited
them in the carriage. Marian did remember to let a relieved Mr. Pinxton know that the volume in question
would suit Lord Sidley admirably; she had determined
that such a book would grace any gentleman’s library,
and that Sidley should be made to pay for his folly in
charging her with a decision.

Katie relayed an enthusiastic report to her mother of
Marian’s encounter, concluding with the bold claim
that she had decided to invite Lord Sidley to her ball.

Lady Formsby ignored the comment and turned her
attention to Marian.

“What did you think of him, then, my dear?” she
asked. “Have his manners improved? ‘Tis unusual that
he should have spoken to you, much less tasked a stranger
in such a way”

“He is a most … curious gentleman.”

“‘Curious’?” Katie scoffed. “Surely you cannot
mean you find anything to disapprove in him?”

“I am hardly in a position to disapprove of Lord Sidley, Katie. But, no, I believe … that there is something
rather perplexing about him. And that perhaps … well,
I believe that perhaps he meant to be kind, Aunt,” Marian said, with sudden understanding, though she did not
explain.

“‘Kind’?” In the evening dimness inside the carriage
Marian could feel Edith’s frown. “Did you think he
looked well?”

“Well? Oh, yes. Very.” She blushed, remembering how very well he had looked in that fine coat. “He
looked very … well”

“But did you not notice his pallor, Marian?”

“Indeed, he did look very pale. But I assumed that
he must not be outdoors much yet, because of his-his
cane. His limp, ma’am.” In the resulting silence she
sensed something unwelcome. “Do you suggest more,
Edith?”

“Without question there is more, Marian, as I have it
from his aunt, Lady Adeline, that for the past month Sidley has been treating night as day and involving himself
in the most regrettable excesses of dissipation.”

“I do not care, Mama,” Katie inserted boldly. “I intend to marry him anyway”

“Then you are a gudgeon, Katherine, and must be
prepared to wear widow’s weeds. For you know as well
as I that Lord Sidley is said to be dying.”

ccI cannot help but believe, Sidley,” Lord Benjamin
said the next morning, “that what you are doing is rather
wicked.”

“You should never qualify `wicked,’ Benny”

“What? Oh-I see. Yes. Quite!”

Leland Erasmus Pell, eighth Earl of Sidley, turned
from his dressing mirror to smile at his friends. “There is
no question I am engaged in a deceit of outstandingly
evil proportion. Would you not agree, Vaughn?”

Viscount Vaughn sent him a pointed look. “Agree,”
he said, and returned to an examination of his immaculately buffed Hessian boots.

“Vaughn would have me claim numerous `deceits,’
Benny,” Sidley said as his man gave a final brush to his
coat. “My deceits multiply. In for a penny, in for a pound! But wicked as I may be, you must admit that none of this
was at my initiative.”

“Certainly not!” Lord Benjamin began to pace about
the room. “Your aunt is much to blame. Cutting up rough
like that! Carrying on as though you were already in
your grave! No one could convince her-But really,
Sidley-once having, having submitted to-having let
the notion-”

“Having let the lie stand, I might only redeem myself
by refuting it?”

“Yes!”

“I intend to do so, my Lord Benjamin. But the execution . . ” Sidley shrugged his shoulders, or as near as he
could shrug in the close-fitting coat. “I must play out this
hand in the most satisfactory manner.”

“You must leave town,” Vaughn said firmly. “To dieor recover”

“I think I should prefer to recover, Vaughn,” Sidley
said with a sidelong glance. “Though it does present the
greater difficulty.” He smiled. “But by good fortune, I
needn’t determine my fate just this minute.”

“It has gone on far too long,” Vaughn said. “You cannot fool everyone indefinitely. You must end it, Sidley.”
He glanced at the volume lying in its wrapping paper
on a side table. “I believe I saw a copy of the Microcosm
in your library last week.”

“So you did.”

“Then this one is … T’

“A gift, Vaughn. I shall send it on to Lady Formsby
with my compliments.”

“To Lady Formsby?”

“Lady Formsby is a very dear friend of my aunt’s.
And an enthusiast for the latest in printing techniques.
Did you not know?”

Vaughn returned to an examination of his boots, but
now he was frowning.

Lord Benjamin stopped pacing the floor. “Your aunt,
Lady Adeline, knows then, Sidley? That you have never
been that ill?”

“She knew within the first forty-eight hours, Benny.
But by then the damage had been done. And all her subsequent protests were ascribed to a fond relative’s wishful thinking.” Sidley smiled but shook his head. It still
amazed him, how remarkably the tale had spread. The
formidable Lady Adeline Pell, that model of composure, collapsing in hysterics. On seeing her nephew, pale
and still as a corpse, carried on a litter from the Lark at
Portsmouth, she had shrieked to all present that he was
dying, before succumbing herself to an astonishing fit
of the vapors.