The Marquess and Miss Davies (20 page)

She didn’t miss the earl at all.

Did she?

Perhaps the Leighton family was simply not made for the married state. Although Harry seemed more than overjoyed with it—and who would have guessed
that
, the little rapscallion? Adele and Eugenie had made utterly conventional marriages to the expected gentlemen. One could hardly guess if they were happy or not, or even if they cared.

Unfair, Jo. Unfair.

Still, Anthony must have an heir; a marquess had never the luxury of indefinitely enjoying a bachelor’s freedom. And she believed that her brother cared a great deal about Miss Carys Davies.

Lady Bainborough had been convinced of her brother’s interest in that young woman from the time she saw them waltzing together at the Telford’s ball. Anthony could not hide such things from his sister. And, having spoken briefly with the girl herself at that same ball, she believed that Miss Davies was amenable to being wooed by the Marquess of Clare.

Lady Josephine sniffed. As well she should be.

Jo had no objections. Even a few minutes conversation had convinced the countess that the young lady was intelligent and not some simpering, wilting little miss that so many men seemed to find attractive these days. More fools them. And Josephine felt it might be a beneficial experience, all in all, for her brother to fall in love. He had certainly been hard enough on her when
she
had done so.

Lady Bainborough’s mouth quirked in a private smile.
Foolish. Headstrong. Smitten for no reason of logic!
How well she remembered her brother’s voice. How she would enjoy repeating his own words back to him.

So when she had learned the previous day, through her lady’s maid, that her brother had ordered the carriage brought around at some truly ungodly time of the morning, she suspected a plan afoot. A carriage meant a woman. ‘Twas little work to walk out to the stables and speak with Perry, who had known her since she was a tiny child, and who had no reason to hide Lord Leighton’s activities from his own sister. Richmond Park? And she had known just the spot to find them, that lovely spot behind the Lodge.

On the other hand, even Lady Josephine could not quite say what she hoped to accomplish coming upon Lord Leighton and Miss Davies unannounced. Especially with Benjamin as her escort.

 Anthony would be annoyed, certainly. But it wasn’t only that, was it?

The fire crackled and sparks flew into the room. She watched them flare and die against the stonework of the hearth. Such uncongenial surroundings, thought Jo. Such uncongenial surroundings for a small, struggling flame.

Perhaps she only wanted her brother to feel a fragment of what she had felt, a year or more past. To be enthralled with another human being, to have one’s life revolve around their presence, only to have the world interfere.

Carys awoke later than usual the next day and for the first time in months did not get up immediately, stretching long and enjoying the feel of the cool sheets against her skin. She wondered—and she blushed even thinking of it—what it might be like to ... to share one’s bed.

“You’re still here,” came a sleepy voice from across the room.

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“If you don’t wake me putting on those hideous walking shoes and tramping across the room I can’t imagine why you—” Isa’s speech was interrupted by a yawn. “—why lying in bed should do so. When will you see him again, do you suppose?”

“I’m not sure. And you know perfectly well that I don’t put those shoes on until I’m downstairs.”

“Doesn’t matter. They probably hear you clomping about all the way to Cornwall. That’s our Carys, they say. Up with the chick—”

Carys threw a pillow at her.

“—ens. What, do you practice hours at that when I’m gone? Your aim is entirely too good.”

* * * *

The marquess and Lady Bainborough were having a discussion over breakfast. As was usual with the two of them, each was being frank.

“Lord Harcourt is a friend,” said Jo. “There can be no concern with our driving out together.”

“Lord Harcourt once asked for your hand in marriage.”

Josephine shrugged. “That’s neither here nor—”

“‘Tis exactly here. And furthermore—”

“Oh, don’t furthermore me, brother. I’m a married woman now—”

“Exactly!”

“—and if Chalcroft has no objection, you cannot.”

Lord Leighton stabbed at his cutlet in frustration. “Lord Bainborough is not in London, at present,” he said. “And in his absence your reputation is my—”

“At least I’m not in the woods making free with some poor viscount’s sister!”

“
What
are you talking about?”

“We drove by a bit earlier. You and Miss Davies were nowhere to be seen.”

Anthony stared at her.

“Oh, for the love of heaven, you know perfectly well your secret is safe with us. And if I choose to spend some of my time in town with Benjamin—”

“There’s no secret!” Lord Leighton rubbed his temples. “And don’t change the subject. Someone will tell Chalcroft eventually, you know they will.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“What! Why?”

But at that point the dowager marchioness entered the breakfast room, and conversation became general.

* * * *

The marquess left for his study, and began reviewing the latest list of needed house repairs written up by Mr Grimes for his lordship’s edification. Anthony suspected that the steward took some kind of perverse delight in the task, as he had waxed nearly eloquent on the subject of drainage, and the need to refresh a substantial section of the north bricking.

Gods.

Odysseus padded in at that point and collapsed at Anthony’s feet.

“Cook,” said Anthony, “feeds you entirely too much.”

The mastiff perked his ears slightly, then settled again. He was a ferocious looking animal who could be counted on, possibly, to lick a thief into submission.

“So what do
you
think I should I do?” the marquess asked the dog.

Oddy refused comment.

Lord Leighton’s concerns with Jo were real enough, but his overriding interest that day was when he would next see Miss Davies. He could pay a visit to Cardingham House—’twould be a clear signal of his interest—or he might send a note and suggest another ride, or he could wait for some appropriate event that they might both attend.

On this occasion, uncharacteristically, Anthony elected to wait, even though it seemed nearly unendurable, even though his thoughts were now fixed on marriage. The sooner he could have the young woman in his bed the better for his patience and his temper.

But he worried—again, uncharacteristically—that he might be pressuring the girl. She was still young, and utterly naive, and he
was
the Marquess of Clare.

“I’m the catch of the year,” he said to Oddy. “Isn’t that grand?”

On the other hand, there was no sense in waiting longer than necessary. Anthony decided to talk to Lord Harcourt that very day; Benjamin would know the most likely ball or soiree to attend.

There was to be one more meeting between Miss Davies and Lord Leighton before calamity struck; a musicale given by Lady Nickleston. This musicale was one of the most sought after invitations in London that week, as the featured performer was a well-known soprano from Italy who was said to sing like an angel and—for the gentlemen’s interest—to have a figure to suit.

“And you claim to be attending this event?” Anthony asked Lord Harcourt.

“I would not miss it,” said Benjamin. “Signorina Benedetti is known to be quite partial to English lords. She was here only last year, don’t you remember?”

“I do seem to recall. Lord Sussex, wasn’t it?”

“The very one. But I have already sent her an enormous bouquet of lilies, and I believe I shall steal a march from him this time.”

“Ah.”

“I put them on your account, of course.”

“Of course.”

A small matter, as Lord Harcourt often conducted his affairs using Lord Leighton’s blunt. Anthony did not mind, as Benjamin was reasonable in his expense, tending to send flowers or fine chocolates to his innamorata in place of jewelry.

“And you believe the Misses Davies will attend as well?” said the marquess.

“I shall make sure of it.”

* * * *

“Sit down, for the love of heaven. We shall never finish your hair.”

For once Carys was the fidget. Lord Harcourt had informed them that the Marquess of Clare would be attending Lady Nickleston’s musicale that night, and had ensured—in whatever way Benjamin always managed such things—that the Misses Davies received an invitation.

“I shall worry about this gown the entire night,” said Carys. The dress that Isolde had picked out—one of her twin’s own favorites—had a tight bodice and a low neckline and somehow suggested that her curves were considerably more than adequate.

“Just don’t look down.”

“Ha. Benjamin is certain he will be there?”

“For the tenth time, yes.”

“What will I say?” Carys stood up again and began pacing the room, with Isa following, attempting to place one last hairpin.

“Oh—”

“Ouch!”

“Well, if you would just stand still—”

Carys stopped suddenly. “What about the slippers?” she said. “What slippers shall I wear?”

“I have already laid them out. Now—”

“What if he does not speak to me?”

Isa sighed. “As I have told you. ‘Twas the marquess who enquired of Lord Harcourt, not the other way around.”

Isolde managed the last few hairpins, and they both regarded the result in the bedroom mirror. Carys took a deep breath.

“Satisfied?” asked Isa.

“Yes.”

* * * *

Their mother, Talfryn, and Lady Reggie were also invited; there was no way around it, and both Misses Davies hoped that the marquess would meet their brother’s approval on this occasion.

“He wouldn’t be in his cups at a musicale, would he?”

“Oh, good grief. When have you ever seen him drunk?”

“What? As you well know—”

“The first time doesn’t count. He was not in public.”

“He was on our front lawn!”

“At seven in the morning, or somesuch. Hardly public to the
ton
.”

“
I
was there.”

“Of course you were,” said Isa patiently. “Else we would not be having this conversation. Really, it’s as if you are
trying
to come up with a reason to dislike the man.”

Carys sighed. “Too late. I cannot.”

* * * *

And so the entire family—minus Taliesin, who was left in the care of Mrs Espey, for the maids and footmen to fight over—took the Lord Davies’s best carriage to Harrowby Street, and ascended Lady Nickleston’s wide portico steps in good order, with the twins keeping a strict silence on the subject of a certain marquess who might be in attendance as well.

“My goodness,” said Lady Regina, almost the moment they stepped into the salon. “There’s Benjamin Harcourt. One hardly thinks that musicales are to his taste.”

“Not the music, in this case,” said Lord Davies. “The soprano.”

“She is very pretty?” asked his wife.

“I’m sure I would hardly notice.”

“Ah,” said Reggie, smiling.

Carys tried not to look in Lord Harcourt’s direction, instead greeting other acquaintances with a cheery wave until, finally, Samantha Godrey appeared and drew near for a chat. Miss Davies sighed in relief. Here was a way to occupy her time, until—

Well, until.

The dowager viscountess always claimed that Carys was shy, and she was forever attempting to chide her daughter out of it. But Carys was not shy, feeling no less at ease in company than Isolde. She
was
reserved in her emotions, and disliked expressing much to individuals she barely knew. On this occasion the reserve was augmented by the acute fear that her feelings for Lord Leighton would be horribly apparent to anyone around her when she saw him, or spoke to him, or heard his name mentioned a single time.

All of this Isolde knew, and Isa was quite aware that her sister was about two breaths away from falling into hysterics. But to the rest of the crowded room Miss Carys Davies seemed only unusually quiet, and perhaps a bit grave.

Miss Godfrey and Isolde were talking of Paris fashions, as both had recently purchased the latest issue of
La Belle Assemblée.
Isa and Samantha were united in their dislike of heavy ruching and rows of decoration at the hem.

“‘Tis as if,” said Isa, “one had stepped deeply into a particularly high quality of mud.”

“Exactly.”

They continued in this vein for some time, Carys listening with half an ear.

“Carys!” hissed Isolde suddenly, “
maman
is looking our direction.”

The dowager viscountess was frowning. Both sisters knew ‘twas only moments before she approached with some complaint that Carys did not mingle, but fortunately at that moment Lord Rowley arrived and came immediately to Samantha’s side.

“Smile at Carys,” Isa commanded him. “Our mother is nearly marrying her off to Sir Camberley.”

Lord Rowley, aware of Lady Davies’s proclivities, obliged with a wide grin and a wink, and they all laughed.

Carys heard the first notes of a violin tuning. People began filing into the adjoining room and taking their seats. She felt gloom sweep over her, followed immediately by anger. How dare he! How dare he imply that he would be here tonight and then not come!

“Miss Davies.”

A touch at her elbow. The strong beat of her heart.

* * * *

They sat side by side, an arrangement which caused her brother to frown, but which Isolde—with consummate skill—had ensured with a few quick steps and a speaking glance at Lady Reggie.

“I hear wonderful things of Signorina Benedetti’s proficiency,” said the marquess.

“I hear she is quite charming to look at as well,” said Miss Davies.

He grinned. “So Benjamin tells me.”

The soprano was, as it happened, extremely capable. She performed two short
lieders
, followed by the rather difficult
Dove sono
from
The Marriage of Figaro
. Carys had heard this aria before, as she had seen a London performance of the opera just that past year, but Signorina Benedetti did it more than justice.