Читать книгу Regency Rumours - Juliet Landon - Страница 8

By breakfast, Lord Elyot’s surprise had mellowed and a plan of action had already begun to form in his mind about how best to proceed, given that his father’s instructions would require some readjustment. To the genteel rattle of newspapers and the clatter of cutlery on plates, he had consulted his brother about the day ahead, though his suggestion had not been received as favourably as he’d hoped.

‘Nick,’ said Lord Rayne, laying down his knife, ‘if I’d known you’d hauled me back to Richmond to be wet-nurse to a green chit, I’d have stayed in London. You know I’d do anything for you, but this is a fudge if ever I saw one.’ He laid down his crisp white napkin with rather more force than was necessary and sat back, still chewing. ‘She’s only just out of the schoolroom, dammit!’

‘It’s not a fudge,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I mean it. And I’m not asking you to marry the child, only that you keep her happy while I—’

‘While you keep Lady Chester happy. Thank you, but I have a better idea. You take the frilly one and I’ll take the diamond. How’s that?’

Lord Elyot reached for the marmalade-pot and heaped a spoonful of it on to his toast. ‘Two good reasons. One is that you’re not her type. Second is that you don’t have the time. You’ll be a member of His Majesty’s fighting force soon, don’t forget.’

‘Not her type? And you are, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’ The bite into the toast was decisive.

Reluctantly, Lord Rayne was obliged to admit that his elder brother would succeed with Lady Chester if any man could, for it would take a cold woman to be unaffected by his darkly brooding good looks and the singular manner of his total concentration upon what she had to say. Which was not the usual way of things. As to the time he would need, Nick was right about that, too. The lady’s response to him had been polite, but far from enthusiastic, and he would need both time and help to gain a more lasting interest. ‘What’s it worth to you?’ he said.

Lord Elyot’s pained expression was partly for his brother’s mercenary train of thought and partly for the messy nature of toast and marmalade. ‘I’m doing you a favour, sapskull,’ he snapped. ‘The child’s a pert little thing, not a dimwit. Pretty eyes, rough round the edges, but you could have the pleasure of working on that. She’d not resent it. She’ll be a little cracker by the end of the season and then you can leave her to somebody else. A built-in escape route. What more d’ye want, lad?’

‘Cattle. I shall need three or four good mounts to take with me.’

‘What happened to your allowance?’

‘You know what happened to it or I’d not be on a repairing-lease in the country, would I?’

‘All right. Four good mounts it is. For your help, Seton.’

‘For my full…unstinting…liberal and generous help. When can we go and look at them?’

‘We’ll look at the women today. This morning. We’ll take my new crane-neck phaeton out. You can drive.’ Lord Elyot leaned back, satisfied.

‘Just one detail, Nick. How d’ye know there isn’t a husband there somewhere?’

‘I made enquiries.’

‘You don’t waste much time, do you? And what about this urgent business for Father? Where does that come in?’

‘That’s in hand, too,’ he said, ‘but I want you to keep that very much to yourself, Seton, if you will. A word about that in the wrong ear can send them up like pheasants.’

The particular pheasant Lord Elyot had in mind was already flying at a steady pace along the edge of Richmond Park in a coffee-and-cream phaeton. The driver of this neat little turn-out had evasion in mind, but her passenger was on the lookout for the merest sign of the two men who, since their meeting yesterday, had satisfied her every criteria for what makes the perfect Corinthian. Believing that she had won the argument about a need for fresh early-morning air, Caterina had resisted all her aunt’s recommendations that she should wear a shawl over her spencer and pale blue walking-dress, and now she wished that the stiff breeze would abate a little. Holding the long ribbons of her blue ruched bonnet with one hand, she clung to the side of the phaeton with the other as they bounced on elliptical springs through a deep puddle.

‘Aunt Amelie,’ she said, half-turning to see if the tiger was still on his seat behind them, ‘do you think…we could…slow down a little? There’s a…phaeton over there…in the… distance…oops! I can’t quite…see. Please?’

Amelie’s hands tightened on the reins. It had been her intention to speed with all haste to Kew Gardens with Caterina in order to avoid the visit that she feared might result from their introduction to Lord Elyot and his brother, who she knew to be returning to Richmond yesterday. Conversely, sending a message to the door to say that they were not at home would not please Caterina one bit, nor would it help to fulfil her assurances to Caterina’s father.

Yet after last night’s bitter disappointment and her poor night’s sleep, the thought of being even civil to the unfeeling pair was more than she could bear, and Caterina’s pleas to go out driving instead of revelling in her new dress-lengths had seemed to Amelie like a chance to please herself while appearing to please her niece. Now it looked as if her strategy had been identified, as the vehicle in question had swung round in a dangerously tight half circle to head in their direction.

It would have been folly for her to go any faster, as she would like to have done, with the small body of the phaeton suspended above the lightweight undercarriage and the greys being so eager, but Amelie saw no reason to slow down either. The road ahead was clear except for the approach of an open landau, and it was the tiger’s warning as he stood up to peer between their heads that decided the pace after all. ‘Watch out, m’lady!’ he called. ‘Them two are ‘avin a bit of a frisk, by the look o’ things. Better pull up till they’ve passed. Aye, I thought as much. It’s the Oglethorpes’ new pair. That’s it, m’lady. Keep ‘em on the rein till I’ve got their heads.’ He leapt down off his rear perch and ran to the bridles, and Amelie had no choice but to wait for the two fretting horses to pass, receiving the coachman’s thanks but only the briefest of acknowledgements from the two female passengers.

Amelie would have been surprised if it had been otherwise; only the men in Richmond had ever offered any warmer salutation in the last five weeks and, as yet, no lady had left her calling-card. Before they could move off again, the towering crane-neck phaeton had caught them up, making their lower version look sedate by comparison. Sensing Caterina’s frisson of excitement, Amelie glanced at her and saw how nervous fingers smoothed the blue muslin over her knees, saw the alertness in her posture like a soldier on parade. So soon she was in love, and all a-flutter. Within her own breast, she felt again that uncomfortable kick against her lungs and put it down either to the affray of last night or having eaten her breakfast muffin too quickly.

‘Lady Chester, Miss Chester,’ said Lord Elyot, tipping his hat. ‘What a happy coincidence. You are out early. Do you go to see and be seen up on the Hill?’

Richmond Hill was a favourite parade-ground for showing off one’s horse or carriage, which Amelie had so far avoided. ‘No, my lord,’ she said, aware of the looks being exchanged between Caterina and Lord Rayne, ‘we’re on our way to see the newest blooms at Kew. I’m teaching my niece to depict them.’ She wished instantly that she had not made it sound so school-marmish, but her large canvas bag lay at their feet, bulging with sketchbooks and paint-boxes, and the men would surely have seen it from their height.

Lord Rayne leaned forward the better to see Caterina. ‘The study of blooms,’ he said, ‘would seem to be a glaring omission from my education, my lady. Would you allow us, just this once, to accompany you to see how it’s done?’

Caterina was about to enthuse, but Amelie used an elbow to nudge her into silence. There was no question of her showing them or anyone else except her niece how to draw blooms, and the mock-interest Lord Rayne was showing annoyed her by its facetiousness. ‘I cannot prevent you going where you will, Lord Rayne,’ she replied, ‘but we are not inclined to demonstrate. I beg you to excuse us.’

Her indignation swelled once more as she recalled for the hundredth time those hurtful words the two men had used only yesterday: ‘Loose screw…do-gooders…addle-pate…ought to be locked up…’ Buxton people had thanked her and called her stout-hearted: here, they called it interference and would put a stop to it, if they could. Not even for Caterina’s sake could she forget or even try to find an allowance for their heartlessness, nor could she shake off the thought of the miserable childbearing woman she had failed last night. At that moment the two events were linked in her mind, and any goodwill she might have pretended for the sake of Caterina’s burgeoning emotions was still-born.

Sitting nearest to Amelie as his brother’s passenger, Lord Elyot was better able to see the coolness as well as the anger behind her dark eyes and, though they were now turned towards the horses’ ears, not to him, he was determined to get more out of this meeting than an excuse when it was obvious that the niece was setting so much store by it.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We have no wish to intrude, Lady Chester. But will you explain something to me, before you leave us?’

‘Certainly, if I can.’

‘I noticed that Mrs and Miss Oglethorpe could hardly raise an acknowledgement between them just now. Not that it matters, of course, but I wondered if there was a particular reason for their rudeness. Have they not been introduced to you?’

He was right. It did not matter, but he may as well know now as later, and it may as well come from her, to set the facts straight. ‘Yes, they were, at church.’ He would want to know more, she was sure.

‘Yet no smiles and hardly a bow? Was she attempting to cut you, by any chance?’

She sighed, then looked slowly at him and his handsome brother. ‘I think you and Lord Rayne will soon discover,’ she said, ‘that you do yourselves no favours by being seen speaking to Miss Chester and me. In London where we can be more anonymous, perhaps, but not here in Richmond. We are not quite the thing, you know.’

‘Is that so?’ said Lord Elyot. ‘How very intriguing. Well, I suppose we could drive on at a smart pace, but I am inclined to beg for more details. I’m sure my brother is of the same mind. Do tell us. You are highwaymen in disguise? Escaped Muscovy princesses?’

Though his eyes were shaded, Amelie recalled how they had looked at her in the shop, and she could not meet them again. ‘Nothing quite as dramatic,’ she replied. ‘We are northerners, sir. Worse still, my family has connections with industry. To put it bluntly, my lord, trade. There, I’ve said the awful word. Now I shall go and rinse my mouth with water and vinegar and you will put some distance between us as fast as you can. We shall not hold it against you. I bid you both a very good day.’

‘Wait!’ Lord Elyot’s gloved hand could not reach Amelie’s phaeton, but his command was enough to hold her back. ‘Please?’ he added, squeakily.

When she sneaked a look upwards, she saw that he and his brother were grinning broadly. ‘You may smile, Lord Elyot,’ she said, ‘but the good people of Richmond take such things very seriously, you must know. Or had you forgotten? We might display any number of harmless eccentricities like sketching blooms at Kew Gardens, but trade is unforgivable, sir. Somebody has obviously got wind of it. And the north…well, nothing there but mills and clogs and smoke and strange dialects. Miss Chester and I own only one head each, but some have two, or even three! Can you imagine it?’

To keep her straw hat firmly in place in the blustering wind, Amelie had tied a long gauze scarf over it, swathing her neck and making it difficult for him to see her face without craning forward. But her sarcasm had produced an angry flush and a sparkle to her superb eyes that Lord Elyot could only guess at until his brother moved the horses forward a step. Then he was better able to judge the passion behind her droll revelations and to see that she was not quite the amenable obliging creature he had met the day before, nor was she the misguided woman whose reticule he now possessed.

Equally significant was the expression of dismay on the pretty niece’s face at the scuppering of her hopes. So this was the reason why they had kept out of the social scene for five weeks and why the young lass was so keen to make contact with the first half-decent beau to speak to her. His laughter had stopped well before Amelie had finished her explanation.

‘With difficulty,’ he said, in answer to her question. ‘But am I to understand that Richmond approval is what you desire, my lady?’

Her voice lost its flinty edge. ‘Not for myself, my lord. I did not come here to seek high society and there is no one’s approval I need. I have more interesting matters to keep me occupied. I bid you both good day, my lords.’

Giving them no time to recover or to say a proper farewell, she called out to Riley to let the horses go, cracked the whip above their heads with astonishing precision, and set them off so fast that the poor tiger had to take a flying leap at the back of the perch as it passed.

‘Whew! You in an ‘urry, m’lady?’ he gasped.

‘Yes. How do we get out of this place?’

‘Thought you was going to Kew, m’lady.’

‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. Left or right…quick, man!’

‘Left! Steady, for pity’s sake, or we’ll all be in the ditch.’

‘Rubbish! If you can’t stay aboard, get off and walk.’

Riley grinned. ‘Yes, m’lady.’ He would rather have been seen dead.

Amelie’s sudden reversal, however, was heartily disapproved of, and had done more than bring a mild disappointment to the young breast at her side, for now there were tear-filled lashes and a voice husky with broken dreams. Turning round after taking a last lingering look at the classy phaeton’s driver, Caterina rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief and dabbed, reserving her questions for the privacy of the breakfast parlour at Number 18 Paradise Road. Travelling at Amelie’s speed, it did not take long.

Caterina was a vivacious but not unreasonable young lady, even at times like this when her desires had been thwarted, and such was her admiration for her aunt that the explanation and assurances she was given were accepted without argument. If Aunt Amelie said that the men would not be put off, then she must wait and hope it would not take too long, though privately she could not see why they should have been so positively rejected in the first place if they were expected to try again. Did Aunt Amelie hope they would?

The rest of the day was not wasted, for Caterina’s weekly singing lesson with Signor Cantoni used up an hour after noon, then there was piano practice to be done followed by a thorough search through back copies of the Ladies’Magazine to find some day dresses for the mantua-maker to reproduce. After which she read all the advertisements for cosmetics, hair colourants, rouge for lips and cheeks, mouth fresheners, skin softeners, soaps, pills and whalebone.

Amelie protested. ‘You need no stays, my dear,’ she said. ‘You have a beautiful youthful figure that needs not even the shortest corset. Nor does your hair need extra colour.’ It was no flattery—Caterina was exceedingly pretty and trim, and Amelie was convinced that, with an overhaul of her somewhat childish wardrobe and some practice of womanly ways, she would soon be a beauty. Her naturally curly red-gold hair would respond well to the dishevelled look, so they set about experimenting, there and then, with the Grecian style, with bandeaux, plumes, combs and knots, twists and coils. The next time Lord Rayne saw her, Amelie predicted, he would be astonished by the transformation.

Next morning, the mantua-maker and her young assistant arrived to measure Caterina for new gowns. It had rained heavily again during the night and well into the morning, damping the dressmaker and chilling her helper to such an extent that, although one of her roles was to model some of the gowns they had brought with them, her emaciated and shivering body stuck through the sheer fabrics like a grasshopper’s knees. Amelie resolved to mend that problem before the coming autumn sent the child to an early grave.

While they were merrily draping themselves with new muslins and silks, Henry the footman came to announce that Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne were below, hoping to be allowed to see them.

‘Oh, please, Aunt,’ Caterina said, clutching at her unstable toga. ‘Do say we’re at home. Don’t send them away.’

If she wondered, fleetingly, how far Lord Elyot’s enquiries had led him into the workhouse affair, Amelie concealed it well; she had no heart to disappoint her niece again so soon, even though she felt herself to be wading in rather deep waters.

‘The morning room,’ she said to Henry. ‘Leave your hair just as it is, Caterina. It looks most becoming like that, and they must take us as they find us, mustn’t they?’ Nevertheless, the advice was amended in her own favour as she passed the long cheval mirror brought downstairs for the fitting, and the darkly tumbling curls bound with lilac ribbons were tweaked into place. As a married woman she would have worn something over them, but any inclination towards convention had grown less attractive after Josiah’s death. Yet at the back of her mind was a nugget of satisfaction that there was someone in this town who, in full possession of the facts, had not been so easily put off. Indeed, a timely show of her very comfortable life without Richmond’s friendship might be no bad thing. Even now they would be looking around with some interest at the fine white and gilded entrance hall and the Ax-minster carpet, while in the morning room were two views of Venice by Canaletto that would impress them more.

The visitors were shown into the room only moments after Amelie had seated herself at the rosewood pianoforte with Caterina standing by her side, a sheet of music in her hand. Despite herself, it was an impression she wished to convey, though she could not have explained why.

‘Lady Chester. Miss Chester.’ The men bowed as the door closed behind them, their reflections disappearing into the shining oak floor.

Caterina smiled, but Amelie chose not to while resisting the temptation to continue her former irony. ‘You are welcome, my lords. May I enquire how you knew our address?’ She stood to meet them, inclining her head gracefully.

‘From the man who delivered the heroic silver tea urn from Rundell’s this morning,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I made a point of asking him so we could offer you our thanks in person.’

‘Ah…I see.’ Amelie sat on a chair newly upholstered with her own embroidery and saw how Lord Rayne sat near enough to Caterina to admire the glossy red curls he had not seen before. Against the simple gown of white muslin, the sight seemed to hold his attention most satisfactorily.

Lord Elyot went to sit in a corner of the sofa, his arm thrown across the scrolled end, his long legs crossed as if the creasing of his tight buckskins was of no consequence, and it was this relaxed manner and his study of her face that made Amelie suspect that her choice of gift for his sister had been recognised for what it was, for now he must have caught a flavour, at least, of her excellent taste in all things domestic. Other than the tea urn, that is.

There was something more to be seen in his steady regard, however, that kept Amelie’s eyes upon his face longer than at any time since that first meeting. She noted how the dark hair down the side of each cheek reached the level of his earlobes and how the starched points of his white shirt touched each dark column. Now she was able to see the colour of his eyes away from the shadows, grey and dark-rimmed like the clouds, and very intent upon her. She gulped as the sly thud against her lungs forced her to take an extra breath, then the silent exchange ended as she looked away, conscious that this was not at all what she had expected to feel. She did not like or approve of these men’s carelessness of others’ misfortunes, but they were noblemen who could open doors for Caterina and, for that reason alone, she would have to stifle her reservations and show them some civility.

‘I hope you approve of our choice, Lord Elyot,’ she said. ‘Miss Chester and I thought that, if your sister enjoys taking tea as much as we do, then an urn would be just the thing. Especially as she has a family.’

‘My sister’s family is still very young,’ he said, ‘but taking tea is one of her delights. I’m sure she’ll be…er…’

‘Dismayed?’

‘Oh, no, indeed. She’ll be gratified that we even remembered. We’re not very good at that kind of thing, you see.’

‘I would never have guessed it, sir. Does she live nearby?’

‘At Mortlake, just across the park. May I congratulate you on such a beautiful room, my lady?’

The long sash windows looked eastwards out over the kitchen garden where the light was bright and new, bouncing off pale yellow walls and white ceiling, pinpointing the delicate gilded moulding, the silver pieces, the rosewood and satin surfaces, the sumptuous sofa striped with white, gold and apple-green, matching the chair seats. Inside the pierced brass fender stood a large white jug holding late blooms and berries, and before the white marble chimney-piece lay a pale rug.

Lord Elyot’s scrutiny paused at the views of Venice then lingered over a beautiful still life with yellow-and-white flowers. ‘I recognise Canaletto,’ he said, ‘but not this one. This is very fine. Are you a collector?’ He stood up to examine it in silence and then, leaning a little closer, read out the signature. ‘A. Carr? That’s a painter I’m not familiar with.’

‘My maiden name,’ said Amelie.

He turned to look at her, and because he was too well-bred to show his astonishment, he came back to sit on the sofa at the end nearest to her. ‘You were on your way to paint blooms,’ he said, quietly.

‘You doubted it?’

‘Not exactly, though I did think it an odd excuse. I hope you’ll forgive me. You are obviously no amateur. And a collector, too. Have you attended any of the exhibitions in London yet?’

‘One or two. I bought a set of Thomas Bewick engravings while we were there, but Caterina doesn’t share my interest, and there have been others things to attend to since our arrival.’

‘From the north,’ he smiled, reminding her of the dire warnings. ‘I am not put off in the slightest, by the way.’

‘If that includes Lord Rayne, sir, my niece will be happy to hear it.’ They glanced at the two, talking animatedly like old friends.

‘And you, my lady?’

‘I hoped I had made that clear, my lord. My concern is for her, not for myself. She left her friends behind, sadly.’

‘You are brutally honest. But the name Carr carries some considerable weight in the north, I know. Are you by any chance a descendant of the Manchester Carrs?’

‘My father was Robert Carr, the Manchester industrialist, one of the cotton-printing Carr dynasty, sir.’

‘Is that so? And the name Chester?’

‘Was my late husband’s, Sir Josiah. A merchant banker. Miss Chester is his brother’s eldest daughter.’

His firm lips had begun to form an ‘oh’ before being readjusted into an expression of admiration and approval, which Amelie misinterpreted as the usual interest at the sound of substantial assets. She was not disappointed—it would be an exceptional man indeed who failed to respond to the scent of wealth.

‘So you lived in Manchester, my lady?’

‘In both Manchester and Buxton, in Derbyshire. Among other places. I didn’t want to stay there.’ She realised that this had an unfortunate ring to it. ‘Buxton has always been my real home, Lord Elyot. It’s a lovely place. People go there to take the healing waters, you know. But it’s a small town, smaller than Richmond even, and there is gossip and snobbery, which I cannot abide, and so many restrictions for people like myself. It was time for a change. I chose Richmond for its nearness to…oh, well, never mind that. I don’t wish to be tedious.’

‘You are far from becoming tedious, Lady Chester, I assure you. But you were saying at our last meeting how your neighbours have not so far taken the trouble to leave their cards. I find that sad, but not particularly surprising, given that they’re far too cautious for their own good round here. But there are exceptions.’

‘Oh? Who?’

‘Myself. And my brother. The Marchioness of Sheen is the leading society hostess here, but she’s in London and I dare say everyone is waiting for her approval before they know whether they’re allowed to like you or not. But that doesn’t apply to us.’

‘I really do not care for her approval, sir. She sounds like a very disagreeable woman, and I’ve had my fill of such people for the moment.’

Lord Elyot smiled at that. ‘May I ask how long you were married, my lady?’

‘Two years, sir. Why do you ask?’

‘You must have been a very young bride.’

‘But not a foolish one. I am well able to take care of myself.’

‘And of your niece too? You say you are concerned for her.’

Amelie’s shawl had slipped, exposing the peachy skin of one arm where a row of dark bruises had begun to show. Unhurriedly, she drew the shawl up over her shoulder while her glance passed lightly over Caterina and came to rest upon the rain-spattered window. ‘I cannot deny that I have an obligation to my niece and her father. You must have noticed how she longs for the company of other people, but we arrived too late for the season and, in any case, next year looks to be the same as this if things don’t improve. I had not forseen that making contacts would be quite so fraught with difficulties. Perhaps I should have done. Perhaps I should have made more of an effort.’

‘You brought no letters of introduction?’

‘No, my lord. There was no one I wanted to ask.’

‘I see. So you have not attended the local assemblies yet?’

She blinked. ‘Assemblies? I haven’t heard about any.’

‘There is one tonight at the Castle Inn. It’s our local hop, you know, but always well-attended and respectable. We have a very good Master of Ceremonies who doesn’t allow anyone in without a ticket. My brother and I have season tickets. If you think Miss Chester would care for it, and if you would permit it, we’d be delighted if you would be our guests.’ The last sentence was directed towards Caterina, whose ears were tuned to the sound of her name.

Its effect on her was predictable; her conversation with Lord Rayne stopped to make way for a pleading that Amelie thought was excessive, even after her previous refusal of company. ‘Aunt…please, oh, please, may we?’

Amelie was not the only one to think so, for she caught the lift of an eyebrow from Lord Rayne to his elder brother before he took Caterina’s part. ‘There would be no lack of partners for Miss Chester,’ he said, ‘or for yourself, and you may be assured that my brother and I make the sturdiest of escorts. We can call for you and deliver you safely home again, and we shall not wear boots, I promise.’

Caterina giggled, but Amelie felt the waters deepening around her as she thought of the poor woman to whom she had promised freedom and failed. She had fully intended to go with one of her manservants to make another bid for her freedom, and now those plans would have to be revised again, or abandoned.

Her face must have reflected some doubt, for when they met Lord Elyot’s for the expected answer, it was he who looked back steadily at her as if they had already formed some kind of embryo understanding. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, very quietly. ‘Miss Chester will be quite safe with us.’

And you? she wanted to say. Will I be as safe with you, who have instructions to investigate me? Will you find me out? Will your friendship turn cold, then, and leave Caterina bereft? Will that be the end of a brief fling with Richmond society?

There were other concerns also, to which she hardly dare allot any thought for fear of making them more real. His voice. His perceptively intimate way of looking at her. His devastatingly good looks. They would dance together. He would hold her hand, and more. She would be lost. He would be well used to this game and she was sadly out of practice, and vulnerable.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure she will, my lord.’

‘At eight, then? They always have a decent supper.’

‘We shall be ready. Thank you.’

Fortunately, Caterina managed to contain her squealing hug of excitement until the two visitors had been shown out. ‘Only think,’ she laughed. ‘their father is a marquess and they live up at Sheen Court. We passed the gates on one of our drives. Do you remember wondering who could live at such a grand place? Well, they do. Oh, what am I going to wear, Aunt?’

‘A marquess? Then their mother is…?’

‘Yes, the Marchioness of Sheen.’ Caterina whirled away in a solo dance, already imagining a queue of beaux.

‘The leader of society.’

‘I beg your pardon, Aunt?’

‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Amelie.

Beneath the hood of the two-seater curricle, the two men were quietly confident, if not self-satisfied, on their return to Sheen Court. ‘I think that went rather well this time,’ said Lord Rayne. ‘Progress, would you say?’

‘An improvement, certainly. But still as wary as a wildcat.’

‘Well, we’ll see how they perform this evening.’

‘Yes, but try to avoid any mention of Father and Mother, will you?’

‘Sorry, old chap. Already have. She asked me.’

‘Oh, well. Too bad.’

‘I’ll warn Todd we’ll need the town coach for tonight, shall I?’

‘No, it’ll have to be one of the others. I’m sending Todd up north for a few days to make some enquiries for me. Tell me, why would neighbours in a small town gossip about a wealthy young widow so much that she feels bound to move away?’

‘Scandal, I suppose. That’s the usual gossip fodder, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what I thought. Now we shall have to wait and see.’

‘Ah, so that’s why Todd’s going up north. Enquiring into her background? You’re that serious, then?’

‘Certainly I am.’

‘So why can’t you just ask her what it is you need to know?’ The look he received from his brother apparently answered him, and there were no further questions on that subject. ‘You said we’d be calling at the workhouse on the way home. Are you still of that mind?’

‘It’s our duty, Seton, you know that. And I think it’s time you took another look. There’s a package under the seat. Infant wrappers from Mother and Dorna’s sewing-group. We’re to take that in with us.’ Then, because there was something on his mind that would not take a back seat, his remark came out of the blue. ‘I must say though, brother, she’s the most out-and-out stunner I’ve ever seen in my life.’

With years of youthful hope behind her, Caterina could still not have predicted the impact she was to make upon her standoffish Richmond neighbours that evening or the bliss she would feel at being sought for every one of the twenty or so dances. Attired with studied simplicity in a bead-embroidered white gown of her aunt’s and quickly altered to fit, the young lady shed her blue velvet cape and waited with her hand tucked into Lord Rayne’s arm, slightly behind Aunt Amelie and Lord Elyot. And from that moment on, when all heads turned in their direction, the steady stream of young men to her side increased, for one had only to watch her beauty and vivacity to see that here was a new star in the ascendant.

Naturally, she could not have been expected to pay more than a passing attention to her aunt’s enjoyment except to note, whenever she happened to look, that she was dancing, or had disappeared, or was just returning from the supper room. But the press of people, mostly men, around her aunt would have made more than the briefest contact difficult. Altogether, it was a most satisfactory beginning, especially in view of Lord Rayne’s care of her. He was the most perfect escort.

They had been taken up in Lord Elyot’s coach, although the new assembly rooms at the Castle Inn on Hill Street were only walking distance away from Paradise Road. But the roads were still muddy, and to be helped up into a coach with a man’s hand beneath one’s elbow was vastly more romantic than a moonlit walk swinging a shoe-bag and holding one’s skirts up over the puddles.

The jest about not wearing boots might, Caterina thought, have been a hint for them to dress up rather than down, for both men wore pale knee-breeches and white stockings with their long dark-blue tailcoats and, if she had not already been half in love with his brother, she would have fallen for Lord Elyot, even if he did not smile as readily at her aunt as he did at her. Indeed, his expression was quite severe at times.

‘Is your brother displeased with my aunt’s appearance, my lord?’ she whispered as they waited to be greeted by Mr Newbrook, the Master of Ceremonies. ‘He rarely smiles.’

Patting Caterina’s fingers in the crook of his arm, Lord Rayne reassured her. ‘You will find, Miss Chester, as you gain experience, that men’s smiles are not always an indication of approval, just as a straight face does not always mean the opposite. I can assure you that my brother’s regard for Lady Chester could hardly be higher.’

Caterina thought his lesson rather patronising but, from then on, her observation of men’s expressions became rather more acute. Amelie, on the other hand, with or without Lord Elyot’s smiles, was dealing with the kind of approval she had missed since the death of Sir Josiah, having recognised in her escort’s appraising glances a darkly disturbing yet controlled desire to make their short coach-drive last for hours, alone. His lingering support down the two steps confirmed it and, to her own astonishment, her body responded, if only fleetingly. It was just as quickly cautioned. This man, she reminded herself, would never be one she could allow herself to warm to.

Mr Newbrook was gratified to welcome such illustrious members of Richmond society. A rare visit, he said it was, and how honoured. They had arrived just in time for the opening minuet, and would Lady Chester and Lord Elyot be pleased to take the lead for the first figure? Splendid.

It had been over two years since Amelie had danced, but no one would have guessed it as she swept gracefully into her first curtsy, then into the slow and languid movements of the minuet. Feeling all eyes upon her and her equally elegant partner, she was confident that the white gauze-covered silk with its simple classic lines had been the right choice. Instead of a lace cap or turban, she had defied convention by binding her glossy curls into coils threaded with ropes of pearls and, apart from one very large diamond surrounded by small pearls on a chain around her neck, these were her only adornments. The pendant, however, was enhanced by the glorious expanse of peachy skin inside the low-cut neckline, her beautiful breasts crossed with satin ribbons over fine pleats, the long sleeves clinging to the point of each shoulder, tied with ribbons at intervals. Lord Elyot, she was pleased to see, did not take his eyes off her once during their duet until the others came to join them.

This, my lord, is what you will never get to know, however much you may discover about my inconvenient do-gooding, damn you.

The minuet ended and, to the accompaniment of glances, open looks and more outright stares, Amelie was led off the floor to a corner where, before she could be surrounded by potential partners, Lord Elyot made his own claim upon her quite clear. ‘You will go into supper with me, my lady,’ he said, watching carefully for her reaction, ‘and you will save the next and the last dance for me too.’

‘My lord, that sounds remarkably like a command. And you know what will be said if I dance more than twice with you.’

‘It is a command,’ he said. ‘And people may say whatever they wish. They are talking already, I dare say.’

She looked. Yes, heads were bent behind fans, plumes nodding. It was as she had half-expected, and although most of her new acqaintances were men introduced to her by Lord Elyot, only a few were their wives and daughters who may or may not have been told that they must be introduced to her, like it or not.

Lady Sergeant and her daughter obviously had, otherwise their greetings would have come sooner and been delivered with more sincerity. ‘Well Nicholas,’ said Lady Sergeant, squinting through a waterfall of heavy blond lace and greying curls, ‘you’ve picked up another handsome gel, and no mistake, though you could hardly miss her on your own doorstep, could you? Eh?’ She tapped Lord Elyot’s arm while looking Amelie up and down several times. ‘Heard your husband was in the metal trade…what was it…lead?’

Amelie’s policy had always been to make no response to outright rudeness, which was quickly fielded by Lord Elyot. ‘Lady Chester’s late husband was in gold,’ he said, ‘not lead. He was a banker, Lady Sergeant. Now, if you and your daughter will excuse us, this is my dance and I don’t intend to miss it.’ Taking Amelie firmly by the hand, he drew her away, transferring his palm to the small of her back on purpose, Amelie thought, to give the obnoxious woman something else to talk about.

‘Lead mines,’ she said to him in a low voice.

Across the set, he faced her, mouthing the words, ‘Lead mines?’

They met in the middle. ‘In Derbyshire.’

‘Good grief!’ he murmured, retiring.

‘I knew it,’ she said as they met again.

He took her hands. ‘What?’

‘I should have worn my other two heads.’ She turned with him and retired, smiling to herself.

His response, when it came, made her blush. ‘That, my lady, would be to gild the lily.’

The glow was still in place when they next met to go down the set, hand in hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It would shock you as much as the rest of them.’

‘I am learning enough about you to be neither shocked nor surprised.’ Ducking under the arch of hands, they parted to return to the top of the set, and his meaning was not made clear to her, as the dance steps forbade anything more than the odd word in passing. Then it became more than a holding of hands and a linking of arms, but a series of more recent dance moves where she was entwined and turned by him, where arms were placed across waists with hands clasped above, where there was a closer contact than ever with him looking down at her as if they were alone, and this but a prelude to something even more intimate.

She felt the firm pressure of his hands upon her shoulders and knew that her own hands were resting on hard muscle that could have lifted her clean off the floor with little effort, and that dance was what epitomised the manly qualities of self-confidence, support and…yes, captivation. What use was there in denying it?

Taking her hand again, he led her away. ‘I shall re-introduce Mrs Oglethorpe and her mousey daughter to you,’ he said. ‘She may not leave her card until you do, so now I shall remove both your excuses.’

‘I’d much rather you did not,’ Amelie said, releasing herself. ‘I prefer to choose my own friends.’

‘You must know you cannot do that in this business, my lady.’

‘In what business, sir?’

‘In society. For your niece’s sake, you need all the contacts you can get, as long as they’re respectable. It won’t cost anything to know who they are.’

But there he was mistaken, for it cost Amelie not a little in hurtful remarks that she felt could not possibly be unintentional, some to her face, others overheard. ‘Ah, from the north,’ said the hard-faced Mrs Oglethorpe, not knowing Derbyshire from the Outer Hebrides. ‘Is that not where they fix the heads of stags all round the halls? And do they still use the furs on their beds?’

‘You seem to know more about that than I do, Mrs Ogel-thorpe,’ said Amelie, tiring of such nonsense. ‘Did your coachman manage to get your horses under control, by the way? I always send my men to Tattersalls, you know. Costs are higher, but I prefer that to local dealers. Don’t you?’

Then there was the barely concealed remark concerning Lord Elyot, which, for different reasons, Amelie would rather not have heard. ‘Well, my dear, with a reputation like his, you know where she’ll be heading, don’t you? Heartbreak, almost certainly. Two mistresses that I know of and plenty more that I don’t. His brother is just as bad, I believe.’

Amelie concluded her dance with a charming red-coated army officer who returned her to Lord Elyot, who knew him. ‘Where is Caterina?’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should be thinking of leaving soon.’

‘What is it?’ he said.

‘Oh…nothing. But it’s time we—’

‘You’ve heard something. I can see by your face.’

‘No…really…I…’ she looked round for Caterina, but now there was a general movement towards the supper room and there she was, with Lord Rayne and a group of young people heading for the refreshments, chattering and laughing, oblivious to her aunt’s concern.

‘She’s perfectly safe,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘You surely cannot take her away from that because of some idle gossip, can you? Isn’t this what you wanted for her? Is it not worth a little discomfort? Here, come with me.’ Threading her hand through his arm, he led her through large glass doors that opened on to a long verandah on the northern side of the inn that looked out over a large torchlit garden. Steps led down to wide terraces, the lowest one to the Thames where boats were tied, rocking on dark-mirrored water. Couples sauntered round huge stone flower-filled pedestals or sat on benches drinking and eating, and on one of these he bade her sit and wait while he went to find food.

In admiration, she watched his tall lithe figure stride away, stopping to speak to two officers who had partnered her. As if they had been waiting for permission, they kept her company with their gallantry until he returned with a servant then, bowing politely, left her alone with him.

‘If you hope to get through the evening at the same pace, my lady, you’re going to have to eat something. The tea may be lukewarm, but—’

‘It’s very good. Thank you.’

‘You’re not still thinking of leaving, surely? You will disappoint a great many admirers if you do.’

Notes of high-pitched laughter floated through the darkness, followed by the deeper men’s tones. ‘Is she.?’

‘Miss Chester is in safe hands. Why? What is it you’ve heard?’

‘Oh, the usual kind of thing. I suppose there must be some truth in it, my lord.’

‘About Seton, or me?’

‘Both.’

‘Well, then, it’s probably true unless you’ve heard that we eat live eels, or some such thing. That’s not true. But one would hardly expect two men of our age to have lived a celibate existence, surely?’ He waited for a response, then asked, ‘Does it matter to you?’

She might have returned some flippant and meaningless answer, but again his eyes demanded that she stop to think before she spoke. It did matter to her, so much so that she felt something rage inside her at the thought of him being intimate with other women, speaking tenderly to them, looking at them the way he’d looked at her all evening. Watching him dance while trying not to be observed, she had scolded herself for her prying unnatural curiosity. Now, he was asking her if she cared, and if it mattered that she cared.

‘Does it?’ he insisted, gently.

‘No…no, of course not,’ she said, looking away. ‘Why should it?’

‘Look at me and say that.’

Nettled, she kept her face averted, unable to lie so blatantly. ‘I made a mistake about Lady Sheen…the Marchioness…I’m afraid I may have…well, put my foot in it. Please accept my apologies, my lord.’

‘None are necessary. She’ll never hear of it. She’s still in town or I suppose she’d have been here tonight. But perhaps it’s as well that she’s not or we’d not be dancing Irish jigs and Scottish reels, I can tell you. She’s a stickler for propriety.’

‘Are you saying she would not approve of me, my lord?’

‘I have never been influenced by my parents’ approval or disapproval of my friends, Lady Chester. Nor has Seton.’

‘Thank you. That is a great comfort to me.’

Tipping his head sideways, he studied her expression in the dim light. ‘I could make myself much plainer, if you wish it.’

‘No, sir. I think you will find that our friendship will die a natural death quite soon without any help from the family.’

‘You suggested something similar once before. Are there more skeletons in the cupboard, then?’

Her smile was rueful. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Shall we go in? I can hear the musicians tuning up. Do you have a partner for “The Shrewsbury Lasses"?’

‘No. I shall be watching you instead.’

Climbing the damp stone steps towards a blaze of chandeliers whilst holding up a long gown caused more than one lady to slip and others to cling like crabs to their partners. Amelie did neither. Laying her arm along Lord Elyot’s, she experienced the rock-solid hardness and the firm grasp of his fingers under hers, receiving smiles for the first time as she entered the ballroom, some of them from women.

Not quite believing that he would watch her dance, she glanced every now and again to see if he meant what he had said. And since he did, every one of her looks was intercepted. But now she made a point of observing Caterina and Lord Rayne more closely, for although there would always be talk about the morals of handsome men, her thoughts on the matter were less than charitable where these two were concerned. Still, she had found a certain comfort in learning that their mother, at least, had high standards.

Several times she met him in the dances that followed as they crossed the set, turning to smile. She danced twice with Lord Rayne and found him as good as his brother, and as attentive. Speaking to Caterina several times, the latter could hardly finish a sentence for laughter and breathlessness, and even Lord Rayne admitted that Caterina was like quicksilver, meaning it as a compliment. Lord Elyot danced two dances with the young lady, thus making the score infuriatingly even for those who were counting until the last dance, which tipped the balance and caused tongues to click more furiously than ever.

That, however, was not the only effect it had, for there was a repeated movement where partners stood face to face, holding hands and taking turns to draw each other forward, stately, provocatively and, if one were in the mood, significantly. One, two, three, he stepped forward and she stepped back as if to tease him; one, two, three, he drew her towards him with unyielding hands and eyes that said, ‘You will come to me, woman.’ His message was clear, and she was too tired to misunderstand it, and they were both particularly silent as they left the floor for the last time, hand on hand.

Their departure was more delayed than their arrival by the good nights and the finding of cloaks, hats and shoes. Bundling her velvet evening cape over one arm, Amelie was able at last to smile and bid adieu to many of her neighbours with Caterina by her side making last-minute introductions. Then they had to wait for the coach to move up the queue outside, while she warmed her back on Lord Elyot’s solid chest and watched the glitter of diadems and flushed faces.

His arm moved across to shield her from the doddery footwork of an elderly gentleman, pulling her in yet closer. She could have moved away again as he passed, but she did not, nor did she protest when Lord Elyot’s hand slid beneath the cape in front of her, settling upon her waist and sending its warmth immediately through the silk. Then it moved in the lightest of caresses, and she responded, shifting and edging at the infringement, but not knowing whether to stay or flee, wanting to do both yet feeling herself yield to its heady excitement and by the events of the evening.

As if he could sense her dilemma, he firmed his hand upon her waist, holding her back, telling her to stay while his other hand came to rest upon the beautiful curve of her hip, lightly stroking and smoothing where no one could see. And as Amelie continued to call out her good nights, to smile and make believe that her heart was tranquil, all her awareness was alive to that gentle movement sliding upon the fine fabric of her gown, exploring like a summer breeze over hip, buttock and thigh, as intimate as water.

Vaguely, she tried to excuse her own deplorable behaviour with references to her exhaustion, her elation, and the years of solitary mourning, the newness of the company, her success and the lateness of the hour. But she could find no truly acceptable reason for allowing such a thing to happen, knowing what she did of the man.

He had stopped of his own accord when the crowd began to move, had placed the cape around her shoulders and, in doing so, had obliged her to look at him with neither reproach nor approval in her dark confused eyes, but to accept the mastery in his. It was, without question, the most outrageous and unacceptable behaviour towards a lady, which could never be condoned, but the aching fires deep within her body were a new experience that held any sense of insult or shame well out of her reach.

In the coach, the two men sat beside their partners and, as Caterina bubbled over with chatter to Lord Rayne’s happy prompting, Amelie sat in silence close to Lord Elyot, linking hands beneath the folds of her cape, feeling the gentle brushing of his thumb over her skin and thinking of nothing except that she was in imminent danger of losing her wits along with her closely guarded principles.