Miss Cresswell's London Triumph (9 page)

"La, Ned, your wits are wandering a thousand miles away, I do believe." Arabella's liquid laughter broke into his reverie.

He glanced down at the face whose mischievous, teasing look only added to its charm.

"People will certainly wonder that I am unable to keep the attention of my old playmate for even a short drive in the park. What a lowering thought. I shall very likely go into a decline if you don't tell me immediately all your adventures. They are certain to be vastly amusing and far more interesting than the same tired on-dits the tulips of the ton trot out again and again in an effort to keep us all entertained. It must have been all so very different from anything here that I hardly know where to ask you to begin. Where did you live? Did you have armies of servants to cater to your every whim? Do the Hindu wives truly throw themselves on their husbands' funeral pryes as we have heard? What a dreadful thought." She shuddered artistically.

"Stop, stop," Ned protested, somewhat taken aback by the barrage of questions. However, he reflected cynically, he ought to be enjoying this. Previously, Arabella had never shown the least sign of interest in any of the many more valuable topics of conversation he could have discussed at length, but now that he had something exotic to offer, some information which, if repeated, could set her apart from the ton and cause a stir, she was agog with interest. Still, Ned was not inhuman and the idea of a beautiful, sought-after woman demanding his attention and hanging on his every word would have won the heart of the most hardened of men, much less one who had spent more hot nights than he cared to remember recalling every feature of her lovely face, every charming little gesture, and dreaming of just such moments as this. So he began by recounting the voyage out, describing their slow progress around the cape with occasional stops at exotic ports, his eccentric shipmates, and his final arrival in Calcutta, where he had immediately been plunged into a world whose multitudinous, colorful population, bright hot sun, and pungent foreign smells had threatened to overwhelm him.

Arabella's eyes grew rounder and rounder as he painted a vivid picture of teeming bazaars crowded with vendors of every sort, and he found himself enjoying her rapt attention as he brought to life ponderous bullocks with their painted horns pulling rudely constructed carts, temple processions bearing flower-bedecked statues, and women dressed in flowing saris balancing unwieldy bundles on their heads.

"You must be exceedingly adventurous to visit such a place. How ever did you go on, surrounded as you were by so many strange people? No doubt they thought you some god," Arabella exclaimed.

Ned explained that the longer he remained, the better he understood their customs and the better he was able to function and accomplish what he had set himself to do. He could see that as soon as he began to discuss his research into the customs of the country and the mentality of its inhabitants with a view to comprehending them, her eyes glazed over and she lost interest.

"Oh, there is Sir Brian Brandon waving at us. We must stop, Ned. He is truly one of the leaders of the ton and I do so want you to meet him. He is a special friend of mine," she confided in an undertone as a handsome Corinthian on a powerful gray approached them.

Ned, who had his own ideas about whose social advancement would be furthered by such an encounter, allowed himself to be introduced. Nevertheless, if he, as the latest sensation, could make Arabella happy by dancing attendance on her and adding to her consequence, it amused him to do so.

"Arabella, my dear, you look more lovely every day," observed Sir Brian as he leaned down to kiss the dainty hand that was extended to him. "Lady Taylor," he acknowledged Arabella's mother briefly before returning his attention to her daughter who was urging Ned forward.

"Sir Brian, you may have heard of my very dear friend Ned Mainwaring, who was just returned from a sojourn in India where he conducted himself with great distinction." Arabella spoke as though entirely familiar with the events which had conferred fame and fortune upon Ned and Freddie and she presented him with the air of one solely responsible for the discovery and introduction of such an exciting person to society.

Not best pleased to be so quickly claimed as Arabella's exclusive property, Ned extended his hand with a distinct air of hauteur.

"Another of Arabella's famous proteges," Sir Brian inquired as he surveyed Ned with rueful sympathy. "I heard Crockford speaking of your exploits at the club last evening. It seems you and young Cresswell were involved in some extremely delicate negotiations. You must have had the upper hand in the affair, as I find it extremely difficult to picture old Rough-and-Tumble Cresswell in the role of peacemaker. I should be most interested in hearing the details," he invited, leading Ned a little apart from the others as he spoke.

Pleasantly surprised to find Arabella intimate with a man of obvious sense and interests beyond the petty concerns of the ton, Ned allowed himself to be drawn into conversation on the complexities of dealing with an Indian rajah.

Absorbed in their discussion, the two men rode on, oblivious to the person who had introduced them. Arabella, who had completely foiled in her object of becoming the focus of attention of two gentlemen instead of one and thus engendering a spirit of rivalry between them, leaned back in the carriage. A distinct pout obscured her dimples and wrinkled her brow in a most unattractive manner. However, she had not been a toast of London for nothing, and squaring her shoulders, she urged the coachman to catch up to the two men. With a tinkling laugh she turned to her mother, saying, "I am certain you are in the right of it. Mama. Times out of mind you have warned me that once men begin talking about affairs, they become deaf and dumb to the world around them. Such a glorious day should not be wasted in a discussion of the tedious machinations of some foreign potentate. Ned, here is all of England waiting to welcome you home and you can talk of nothing but the dirt, dust, and heat you left behind. And you. Sir Brian, are dreadfully provoking to force him to recall all those uncomfortable things when there are ever so many other
more cheerful topics to discuss, Arabella scolded the two men archly as she tapped Ned's hand playfully with the ivory point of her parasol.

Once she had succeeded in attracting their attention, she unfurled this concoction so as to soften the unforgiving glare of the sun and cast a flattering pink light on her delicate features. Satisfied that she was presenting as delightful a picture as possible, she prattled on, dividing her dimpled smiles and silvery laugh equally between the two men, contriving in her own inimitable way to make each one feel that he alone was the focus of her attention. Juggling admiring swains was an art to which Arabella had devoted a great deal of effort until she was able to bring it off perfectly just as she was doing now. Even her mother, who had spent years studying the evolution of such a technique, found herself constantly amazed at her daughter's ability to keep two men completely engrossed.

By this time the little party had reached the edge of the park and Sir Brian, who was being eagerly hailed by some young bucks mounted on prime bits of blood, took his leave after securing a waltz with Arabella at the Countess of Wakefield's upcoming ball.

"I am so delighted you were able to meet him, Ned. If he takes a liking to you, you are certain to move in the first circles of fashion," Arabella remarked eagerly as she placed a gloved hand on Ned's arm and rewarded him with her most enchanting smile.

He raised one dark brow, demanding in an amused tone, "And am I destined to move in the first circles of fashion? I am not at all sure that I wish to."

A delicious little frown appeared as she pouted at him. "Ned, you are quite dreadful. Of course you wish to. Don't you want everyone to see how important you have become? And surely you would want your childhood companions to be proud of you."

Ned laughed. "When you put it so charmingly, how can anyone resist you?"

Sure of herself now, the beauty spoke earnestly. "Ned, you know you are destined to do great things. I feel certain of it. But you must be seen as intimate with those who are the leaders of the ton in order to succeed. I could see that Sir Brian was most taken with you and he has the most exacting standards."

Ned smiled down at her. "He must have if he chooses you as an object of his attention." "Your travels have taught you to be a dreadful flatterer, protested Arabella happily as she blushed and did her best to look disconcerted.

She succeeded admirably. Ned had encountered coquettes of every description on his travels and recognized a mistress of the art of flirtation. He was under no illusions as to Arabella's character, but he was forced to admit to himself that despite what must have been a great deal of practice, she still managed to look adorable. He grinned appreciatively, reined in his horse, dismounted, and tossed the reins to an eager young lad who was loitering near Madame Celestine's establishment for just such a purpose. He held out his hand to help her alight from the carriage, remarking as he did so, "I can see you are determined to advance my career. Very well, then, I resign myself into those dainty, but capable hands." He then kissed each one of them before turning to assist her mother.

Arabella was somewhat taken aback. She had always been confident other ability to twist Ned Mainwaring around her thumb and had been delighted to discover that her former devoted admirer had acquired a delicious air of sophistication on his travels. But she had not expected him to be so accomplished in the art of dalliance. There was a disturbing glint in those dark blue eyes that made her less than certain of her ability to rule him, and the suspicion entered her mind, ever so briefly, that perhaps the tables had been turned.

The understanding that had sprung up between Cassie and Horace deepened in the following weeks and they were seen a great deal in each other's company, attending the more intellectual social events the metropolis had to offer. The visit to Mr. Glover's exhibition was a great success. Cassie would have enjoyed the exhibit anyway, as she preferred landscapes to portraits and thought the Ruins of Adrian's Villa, in the Campagna, Italy particularly fine, but it added to her pleasure immensely to be able to discuss it with Horace. He had spent some time in Italy on his Grand Tour and was able to add information and an expanded critical view, which increased her knowledge, and therefore her appreciation, of the artist's skill. In fact, Cassie had been so much taken by this exhibition that Horace, who insisted that these paintings closely resembled the celebrated Mr. Wilson's works, offered to take her to visit Lord Humphrey Wycombe, an old family friend who collected the works of Wilson, Constable, and other landscape painters. They made an outing of it, including Kitty and Frances in the expedition to their host's country seat, where they enjoyed a wonderful luncheon al fresco and a walk through his notable Italian gardens as well as viewing his truly magnificent collection of paintings.

Cassie was pleased to see Lord Wycombe's obvious enjoyment of Horace's conversation and the serious attention the old man gave to the younger's opinions. Later, strolling around the gardens with her host, she was highly gratified when he confided in her, "Horace is a very good lad. It is the greatest of pities that he receives no encouragement from his family. Why, if I had a son such as he, I should spare no effort or expense to help him pursue his studies. As it is now, he constantly meets with resistance from his parents and they allow him the merest pittance for his scholarly pursuits. If he were to become as enamored at faro or hazard as he is of Homer, he would have the family fortune, considerable as it is, at his disposal. What a waste."

His look of disgust brightened as he patted Cassie's hand, continuing, "Allow me the privilege of an old man who loves Horace more deeply than his own father does and let me say, my dear, that I am thoroughly delighted that he has found as fine and intelligent a companion as you. It does my heart good to see how much happier he is since he has had you as a friend." Noting Cassie's

confusion, he added, "That is all I shall ever say on the matter except for one more thing. I knew both of your parents well enough to know they would be infinitely proud of such a bright and charming daughter as you are."

Cassie was too overcome to do much more than stammer, "Thank you." It was so rare that someone outside her family circle recognized and appreciated her talents that she felt a little overwhelmed at his praise.

Horace also squired the ladies from Mainwaring house to the opera several times while Lord Mainwaring was out of Town tending to political concerns. Though she appreciated his escorting her. Lady Frances was a trifle dismayed by his constant attendance. She was delighted that her sister had discovered someone she enjoyed, but Frances, a high stickler where the happiness of her family was concerned, found herself wishing that Horace was not quite so prosy. Cassie had always been one whose high spirits and sense of fun could be counted on to enliven the dullest of surroundings. Now these seem to have disappeared. It was true that Freddie's absence had deprived her of her source of support for her escapades, but Frances had noticed that since the beginning of her friendship with Horace, Cassie had devoted herself even more earnestly to intellectual pursuits at the expense of the lighter side of her nature.

Accustomed to the brilliant political circles in which she and Lord Mainwaring moved. Lady Frances knew very well that a powerful intellect did not necessarily preclude a sense of fun or humor. In point of fact, she would have staunchly maintained that for all his vaunted scholarly interests, the Honorable Horace Wilbraham was far less intelligent than Lady Cassandra Cresswell. At the same time, he seemed to feel far more certain of his intellectual superiority than she did.