The Gallant Guardian (12 page)

Now, however, it was time for bed. A glance at his ward in the dwindling firelight showed that her eyelids were growing heavy, and Max chided himself for keeping her up so late when she had had a long day in the fresh air looking over fences with her agent, Mr. Sotherton. “I beg your pardon,” the marquess apologized as Charlotte tried, not very successfully, to stifle a yawn. “I have selfishly kept you up amusing me. It is high time you were off to bed, my girl.”

Charlotte blinked ruefully. “And I should beg yours, my lord, for being so obvious. I am not accustomed to dissembling, you see, and I fear that I make a poor hostess.”

“On the contrary, you are the best of all possible hostesses, for you are genuine enough that I feel completely comfortable and at ease with you.”
It was
, Max thought,
a far cry from the way he usually felt with his latest mistress
. Isabella was nothing if not exciting, but there was such a thing as too much stimulation. He thoroughly enjoyed her seductive ways and her skilled dalliance, but there were times that he wondered if he was ever allowed to see the real Isabella.

“Good night then.” Charlotte rose gratefully and headed toward the door. She was loathe to put an end to such an enjoyable evening, but in truth, she was very tired. Having a stranger in the house, pleasant though it was, did take extra effort on her part, and though her days were more interesting by far, they were also more tiring.

Chapter Thirteen

Maximilian, on the other hand, felt more rested than he had been in some time, accustomed as he was to keeping much later hours than he was keeping here. At this time most evenings he was usually making his way from one hostess’s ball to another’s rout or to Isabella’s perfumed boudoir. In truth, he was finding it rather relaxing to be free from these social obligations and from Isabella’s expectations. Lady Hillyard was as beautiful and as skilled a mistress as he had enjoyed in quite some time, but she was becoming rather too possessive.

What had begun as a purely physical liaison was starting to feel as constraining as any formally recognized relationship and Max was beginning to be held as accountable as any husband. As the son of an acknowledged beauty, Lord Lydon had had his fill of demanding women at a very tender age. He was not about to threaten the peacefulness of his existence by allowing another one into it.

Settling himself luxuriously in the comfortable chair in front of the fire in his bedchamber with the latest copy of
The Edinburgh Review,
the marquess decided to give Lady Hillyard her
conge
the moment he returned to town. It would be inconvenient to look for a new mistress, and undoubtedly there would be tears and reproaches, but these would not last long, if he were generous, and that would be infinitely preferable to the trapped feeling he had begun to experience since he had discovered just how many evenings Isabella expected him to devote to her.

Yes, it was definitely time to remove himself from the seductive but ever-tightening clutches of Isabella. The sense of liberation that accompanied this resolution was a fair indication to Maximilian of the danger that he had been in and he was almost grateful to his friend the Earl of Harcourt for having left him in a position that allowed him to escape the widow’s company long enough to put things in perspective.

Lord Lydon would have been a great deal less pleased with himself if he had known that not two miles on the other side of the village from Harcourt Lady Hillyard was regarding her image in the looking glass with considerable satisfaction while Marie brushed her hair, and congratulating herself on having accomplished the first part of her plan.

Lady Marling, though somewhat bewildered by the sudden appearance of her long-lost relative, had nevertheless been delighted to welcome her. Knowing Isabella’s propensity for gaiety and brilliant company, especially company of the male sex, Lady Marling had expressed some misgivings, but these were quickly dismissed by her guest, who assured her that she longed for nothing so much as the peace and quiet of the Sussex countryside after the exhausting round of the fashionable world.

If Lady Marling thought it exceedingly odd that such a devotee of fashion was escaping the metropolis before the gaieties of the Season were entirely over, she kept such observations entirely to herself and set about making Lady Hillyard as comfortable as possible.

The second half of Isabella’s plan required only patience and an inordinate amount of loitering in the village’s meager shop, where she was treated with exquisite deference by the shop’s proprietor. Mr. Mapplethorne, entirely swept away by the beauty and sophistication of his newest customer, was soon sending to London for luxurious trifles for her, and he was so diligent in his attentions to her that Mrs. Mapplethorne was beginning to be quite cross with the bemused expression he wore most of the time now as well as with his absentmindedness. “Really, George,” she scolded him after one particularly irritating lapse, “you are behaving like a schoolboy. One would think you had never seen a pretty woman before.”

“Now Martha, you know that is not true; I see you every day.” George tried to retrieve some of his dignity. “She is most gracious, and I am learning a great deal from her about London styles, which can only benefit our business.”

“She is up to something, I tell you. Women like her do not frequent country shops if they do not have to.”

“Of course they do not, but she is visiting Lady Marling.”

“And women like her do not visit ancient ladies in the country by choice.”

“But Lady Marling is a relative of her mother’s and a very close friend besides.”

“Then why have we not seen or heard of her before? No, she is up to something, I tell you.”

“But Martha, if it makes us richer, what does it matter what she is up to?”

“Humph.” Mrs. Mapplethorne was not to be placated, at least not where a woman of such stunning beauty and captivating ways was concerned.

The shopkeeper was not the only one enjoying Lady Hillyard’s presence. Many the farmer working in his fields took pleasure in watching her as she and her hostess drove about the countryside. Lady Marling was rather surprised at her guest’s passion for fresh air, but she was delighted to indulge her for the weather was very fine and the scenery, if not particularly noteworthy, was serenely beautiful with its rich green pastures and tidy cottages.

But for all her attempts to engineer a chance encounter with the Marquess of Lydon, Lady Hillyard was forced to endure a week of killing boredom before she spotted her quarry one afternoon strolling down the high street in the village.

The marquess had taken Ajax to the local blacksmith where he had personally overseen the tightening of a shoe on his right foreleg. After assuring himself that Ajax was taken care of to his entire satisfaction, he had dropped in to the Green Dragon to sample some of the landlord’s home brew and enjoy a bit of masculine company.

It was not that he had been bored by Charlotte and William, quite the contrary, in fact. Charlotte’s mind was as quick and inquisitive as his own, so much so that there was no fobbing her off with vague references or fuzzy thinking. Sometimes, when she had triumphantly pointed out some fallacy, he even found himself thinking wistfully of the
ton’s
marriage-mad young misses who, in their constant efforts to please, agreed with everything he said. And though William did not challenge the marquess intellectually the way his sister did, his inexhaustible enthusiasm and his unbounded admiration for anything that Lord Lydon did were demanding in another way. Maximilian, who had never tried to please anybody in his entire life, found that trying to live up to William’s high opinion of him could be quite fatiguing. Thus, the opportunity to share a tankard of ale in the uncritical atmosphere of the Green Dragon’s taproom was too alluring to be passed up.

He had emerged feeling oddly rested and much like his former self when the silvery accents of Lady Hillyard’s salutation had reminded him of the drawbacks of his former existence. “Why Lord Lydon, how delightful to come across you in this out-of-the-way corner of England.”

For a moment, the marquess felt like nothing so much as some fox run to ground—a wily, clever fox, but a hunted animal, nevertheless. His resolution to give the lady her
conge
grew even stronger than ever. However, the carefully bland expression he adopted as he turned to acknowledge her greeting revealed none of his thoughts.

If Isabella had hoped for a warmer reception than Lord Lydon’s expression of polite recognition, she was disappointed. Beyond agreeing to the amazing coincidence of their both appearing in the same small village in Sussex at the same time and allowing himself to be introduced to Lady Marling, the marquess evinced not the slightest interest in Lady Hillyard’s presence in the neighborhood; nor did he offer any explanation for his.

Stifling her frustration at this patent lack of curiosity, Isabella smiled sweetly and expounded upon the beauties of the local scenery and the healthfulness of the country air until the incredulity of Lord Lydon’s expression forced her to break off in some confusion and invite him to accompany them on their drive.

“Thank you, Lady Hillyard. Another time, perhaps, I should be honored to join you and Lady Marling, but at the moment I have pressing business to attend to back at Harcourt.” It was a mistake, and Max knew it the moment he let his local direction slip.

Isabella was nothing if not determined, and when she had a definite goal in mind, she could be extremely clever. “Ah, your wards. I am longing to meet them—charming children, I am sure. My mother used to be dearest friends with the Countess of Harcourt when she was alive, poor thing. I should have called upon them earlier to tell them how fond she was of their mama, but my devoted hostess here has kept me so busy. Why do we not join you and you can make us known to them. Poor things, to have lived without a mother all these years.” Isabella sighed sympathetically and would have dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief had not the sardonic glint in the marquess’s own eyes warned her that this was carrying it much too far.

Maximilian knew when he was caught. There was nothing to do but admit to his mistake and cope with it as best he could. “I am sure they will appreciate your, er,
sudden
interest, Lady Hillyard. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall just stop in and fetch my horse.”

And thus it was that half an hour later, William, who was preparing for his lessons, and had been looking longingly out of the window instead of at the corrections Dr. Moreland had marked in his grammar that needed further study, was the first to catch sight of the visitors. Without a thought for his tutor, he tore out of the schoolroom, down several flights of stairs, and burst into the library where his sister was perusing tradesmen’s bills.

“Charlie, Charlie, it is Lord Lydon and some visitors.”

“Visitors?” Charlotte’s heart sank. “It is not Cousin Cecil, is it?”

“No. Two ladies in a carriage, but not so nice a carriage as Lord Lydon’s, though.”

“Hmm. Thank you, William. And William,” she laid a restraining hand on her brother’s shoulder, “let us wait until Mr. Tidworth announces their arrival so we can welcome them properly instead of rushing out at them.”

“Oh.” William plopped down obediently on a stool in front of the fire while his sister racked her brains to guess the possible identities of the women. She knew very well that the marquess had no female relatives and though Lady Winslow called on Charlotte, she never did so without both of her daughters. Besides, Charlotte felt reasonably sure that the Winslows were unacquainted with Lord Lydon.

By the time Tidworth came to announce the callers, Charlotte was almost as consumed with curiosity as William. Lady Marling’s name was one she knew, though she had never met her, but Lady Hillyard was a mystery. Instructing the butler to make them comfortable in the drawing room, Charlotte stole out into the hall to glance quickly into an ornate rococo looking glass.

Assuring herself that she had no ink smudges on her nose and that her hair was in reasonably good order, she turned to her brother, but William too was presentable, having spent the day quietly in the schoolroom. Then, knowing they looked as best they could, given the unexpected nature of the call, she led the way to the drawing room to welcome the visitors.

Chapter Fourteen

As they entered the drawing room Charlotte’s first perception was that the marquess had somehow retreated back into his shell of cool indifference. Though he was physically part of the trio seated by the window overlooking Harcourt’s magnificent rose garden, there was an aloofness in his expression and a rigidity in his posture that declared as loudly as if he had been sitting at the opposite side of the room that he in no way wished to participate in the visit. This expression changed, however, the moment he caught sight of Charlotte and William in the doorway. The gray eyes warmed and the corners of his mouth turned down in a faintly ironic smile. “Charlotte, William, this is Lady Marling and Lady Hillyard, an acquaintance from London who is visiting her. I encountered them in the village and when Lady Hillyard discovered that I was staying at Harcourt she expressed a desire to make your acquaintance. Apparently, her mother and yours were dear friends.”

“It is most thoughtful of you to call on us, Lady Hillyard.” Charlotte welcomed her visitor pleasantly enough, but with such a lack of enthusiasm that it was perfectly clear to Lord Lydon that she was no more convinced of the supposed intimacy between her mother and Lady Hillyard’s than he was.

In fact, Charlotte had taken an almost instant dislike to Isabella. It was not that the lady was unattractive—far from it. Her ripe figure, its curves emphasized by the trimming on her lilac pelisse which crossed the bust Grecian style and drew the observer’s eye to the voluptuousness of her bosom, was elegant in the extreme. Her exquisite complexion and deep blue eyes, which were accentuated by the bunch of lilac flowers draped around her white satin bonnet, made Charlotte feel quite drab and shapeless in her morning dress of plain white cambric. It was not that the lady was cold or reserved—quite the opposite. Lady Hillyard was simply charmed by the fortuitous circumstances that had made it possible for her to meet the Countess of Harcourt’s sweet young daughter and her handsome son.