Читать книгу Mistress in the Regency Ballroom - Juliet Landon - Страница 10

As a result of her meeting with Miss Austen Letitia came away with a feeling of relief that she had not revealed anything of her own writing. Yet with every sentence she wrote, she was reminded that, apart from one derisory kiss from the odious Lord Rayne, her heroine and her heroine’s creator were both still innocents with fervent imaginations. Although the kiss was very clear in her memory, it had not been given in the right circumstances and was therefore untypical.

Mr Waverley had told her that afternoon how much he was enjoying Waynethorpe Manor as much as, if not more than, the first novel. His mother, he told her, had begged to be the next to read it.

‘Is that wise?’ Letitia asked him before he left that evening.

‘She’s one of your most avid readers. Of course it’s wise.’

‘I hope she doesn’t suspect…’

He took her by the shoulders in brotherly fashion, laughing at her touchiness. ‘She doesn’t suspect anything, Lettie. She and Lake are well acquainted, and he’s told her that the author is a certain Lydia Barlowe, but no more than that.’

‘Perhaps I should have used different initials.’

‘Nonsense. No one is ever going to make the connection.’

Her friend’s approval of Waynethorpe Manor, however, satisfied her that the author’s lack of emotional experience had not in any way affected his enjoyment, though whether she could convince her readers for a third time remained to be seen.

‘What’s the new one about?’ he asked.

‘About a young lady called Em…er…Perdita, rather like one of my pupils, in some ways.’

‘Which pupil?’

‘Any one of them. Inexperienced. Looking for excitement.’

‘Looking for love, you mean.’

‘Yes, that, too,’ she said, giving herself away at each reply. Surely Bart would recognise the heroine?

‘You have only to look at the material right under your roof.’

‘What d’ye mean?’ she asked, rather too sharply.

‘I mean your seven young ladies, who else?’ They had reached the pavement where Mr Waverley’s horse was being held by the young groom. Taking the reins with a nod of thanks, he spoke to Letitia in a confidential whisper. ‘As a matter of fact, there is a young lady who might fit your Perdita’s description, up to a point. The lass from Scotland. One of the boarders.’

‘Edina Strachan? In what way?’

‘Nothing I can quite put my finger on, but you must have noticed how inattentive she’s become this new term. Her mind certainly isn’t on her household-management accounts, and I’d swear she’d been weeping before she came to the dinner table yesterday. She moons about like a lovesick calf.’

‘You don’t think she might be in love with you, do you, Bart?’

‘Good grief, no, I do not. She’s either still homesick or lovesick, I tell you. Perhaps something happened while she was at home at Easter.You might keep an eye on the situation.’

‘Yes, thank you for the warning. I will. I’ll ask Mrs Quayle what she knows about it.’

But Mrs Quayle, the widow in whose house next door the three boarders had rooms, had nothing to add to Mr Waverley’s observations. ‘Homesickness, my dear,’ she said that evening. ‘It’s only her second term away from home. We may have to work harder on her Scottish lilt, for if she cannot be understood, she’s not going to make much headway in the marriage mart, is she? Perhaps we could get Mr Thomas to give her an extra half-hour each week?’

‘So you don’t think she’s in love?’

‘Who knows? With all those young Hussars swarming about, it wouldn’t surprise me if all seven of them were. Don’t worry, I’ll keep a look out.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

That same evening, Letitia sat with the attractive seventeen-year-old Edina, whose guardian grandparents lived at Guildford. After talking at length about her family, it seemed that Edina was relieved to be away from their strait-laced Presbyterian influence and more involved with the kind of social life she had previously been denied. The symptoms that Mr Waverley had identified could not be homesickness, Letitia decided, therefore it must be love.

That evening, Edina’s early signs were written into the notebook with some elaboration to make up for what Letitia had not personally observed.

The remainder of the week passed uneventfully except for the visit on Thursday of Miss Garnet and Miss Persephone Boyce in the company of Uncle Aspinall and Aunt Minnie, the latter requiring a tour of the house and redesigned gardens. Sir Penfold Aspinall, a bluff, good-natured giant who had done so much to help his sister’s eldest daughter to set up house, approved of everything he saw, partly because he trusted her good taste and partly because he liked the idea of being surrogate father to his remarkable niece. His wife, shrewish and disapproving, had come chiefly to take note and then to convey to Lady Boyce every detail to which they could mutually object.

The twins’ main purpose in visiting their sister seemed to be to catch sight of Lord Rayne, whose absence had been the cause of some concern. They asked if it was true that he was visiting her.

‘Visiting me? You must be bamming!’

‘Has he?’

‘Of course not. Why would he visit me?’

‘We heard he was riding with you on Monday.’

‘Me and about twenty others on the way to Garrick’s Temple.’

‘Oh, well, if that’s all.’

‘That is all. I suppose he’ll be escorting you on Saturday?’

‘No,’ said Persephone, pouting.

‘Too busy with preparations for the foreign visitors. Apparently they’ll all need mounts,’ said Garnet. ‘We shall go to Almack’s, anyway.’

‘It won’t be the same. He’s such a tease.’

‘Is he?’ said Letitia, relieved to hear that his commitments would keep him away from Richmond that weekend. ‘Come to the garden and see my new summer-house. I think you’ll like it.’

Aunt Minnie had found it first. She was taking tea there, dunking an almond biscuit in her cup before she heard them coming. ‘Ridiculous waste of money, Letitia,’ she said, brushing away dribbles of tea from her lace tippets. ‘What are your fees for this place?’

‘With extras, usually twenty pounds a term. More for the boarders.’

‘Hmm! I don’t know what your mama will say to that.’

Uncle Aspinall chuckled. ‘It has nothing to do with Euphemia,’ he said. ‘Cheap at the price, I’d say. What are your young ladies doing now, Letitia?’

‘French, with Madame du Plessis, Uncle.’

‘Tch! French indeed,’ said Aunt Minnie, sourly. ‘That monster Bonaparte has a lot to answer for.’

But Uncle Aspinall had nothing but compliments to offer about the way his niece had furnished the rooms, the feminine colour schemes, the new garden layout and the adjoining conservatory. The hanging baskets, potted palms, window-boxes and newly planted vines had brought the garden well into the white painted room. ‘Like a jungle!’ Aunt Minnie carped. ‘Ridiculous!’

It was not until Saturday evening when Letitia gathered her pupils into the downstairs parlour for a last check that she discovered an unwanted addition to the guest list that she could do nothing about when the invitation had been issued by Miss Sapphire Melborough, the daughter of their hosts.

Letitia kept her annoyance to herself, though she would like to have boxed the pert young woman’s ears. ‘I don’t mind you inviting Lord Rayne, Sapphire dear,’ she said, fastening the pearl pendant behind her neck, ‘but it might have been more polite if you’d asked me first. And your parents. We have to be very careful about the audience, you know.’

‘But they like Lord Rayne,’ said Sapphire, understating the case by a mile, ‘so I know they won’t mind him coming with Lord and Lady Elyot. And I didn’t think you’d disapprove, now that you and he have made up your differences. I told him about our concert and he said he’d like to hear me sing.’

‘Next time, dear,’ said Letitia, turning Sapphire to face her, ‘ask me first, will you? He may be one of Richmond’s haut ton, but the 10th Light Dragoons, or Hussars, whichever you prefer, have quite a reputation.’

Sapphire’s bright cornflower eyes lit up like those of a mischievous elf. ‘The Elegant Extracts is what I prefer, Miss Boyce. It’s so fitting, isn’t it?’

‘It’s also one of the more repeatable tags. There now, let me look at you. Yes, I think your family will be proud of you. Nervous?’

A hand went up to tweak at a fair curl, and the eyes twinkled again. ‘With Lord Rayne watching me, yes.’Provocatively, she lifted one almost bare shoulder in a way that some women do by instinct. It would only be a matter of time, Letitia thought, before this one and her parents managed to snare the Elegant Extract, unless one of her own sisters did first.

‘Stay close to Edina, Sapphire. I think she feels the absence of her parents and guardians at a time like this.’

‘Yes, Miss Boyce. Of course I will.’

There was more to Letitia’s annoyance than having to show friendship to a man she would rather have avoided. He had told her sisters that he would be too busy on Saturday to escort them when he must already have accepted Sapphire’s invitation to hear her sing. Persephone and Garnet would be sadly out of countenance to learn that he was not as committed to them as they thought. Their mother even more so. All that was needed now to set the cat among the pigeons was for them to believe that she had invited him to the Melboroughs’. She could only pray that they would not come to that conclusion as easily as they’d learned of his precise whereabouts on Monday.

As it transpired, this particular problem faded into insignificance beside the others of that evening. Though she had made every effort to present her pupils to perfection in appearance, manners and performance, the one who outshone them all without the slightest effort was herself. Gowned modestly in palest oyster silk and ivory lace, her aristocratic breeding and her refined silvery loveliness drew the eyes of the appreciative audience before, during and after each individual contribution. Making good use of her gold enamelled scissors-spectacles that hung from a ribbon looped about her wrist, she was able to see most of what was happening while combining an image of seriousness with a charming eccentricity, for the folding spectacle was not an easy accessory to use.

When she was not using it, it seemed hardly to matter that she could see only the indistinct shapes of the guests for, with Mr Waverley to help her through introductions and to murmur reminders in her ear, she felt the disadvantage less than she might otherwise have done. It also quite escaped her notice that the admiring eyes of so many men turned her way, or that the women’s eyes busied themselves with every perfect detail of her ensemble.

Miss Gaddestone, petite in a flurry of frills, mauve muslin and bugle beads, and Mrs Quayle, like a plump beady-eyed brown bird, were the other two who knew the seriousness of Letitia’s handicap, but who were too interested in their own roles to play chaperon to her as well as the pupils. They knew Mr Waverley would do that.

Sir Francis and Lady Melborough had taken a fancy to Letitia from the start, looking upon her at times as one of the family, though it had always been one of her policies to maintain a respectful distance between herself and the pupils’ parents to avoid any appearance of favouritism. Lady Melborough was a perfect forecast of how Sapphire would look in another twenty years, kindly and flighty and of a more blue-blooded ancestry than Sir Francis. She had prepared well for this event, her house being the most perfect setting, high-ceilinged and spacious, gold-and-white walled, moulded and mirrored.

As a newly knighted city banker, Sir Francis was self-important and ambitious, handsome and middle-aged with an eye for the feminine form, and for his own form, too. He stood facing a very large gilded mirror to speak to Letitia where, with lingering looks, he could see over her shoulder both his own front and her back, the curve of which he thought was enchanting. Letitia found his closeness uncomfortable, his affability fulsome, his attentions too personal for politeness. She edged away, trying to identify Mr Waverley’s brown hair amongst so many others, and when she noticed the unmistakable frame and dark head of Lord Rayne approaching from across the room, the sudden relief she felt was quite impossible to hide.

‘Why, Miss Boyce,’ he said, ‘am I dreaming, or did I see a fleeting welcome in your smile? Do tell me I’m not mistaken.’

‘It would be impolite of me, to say the least, Lord Rayne, to admit any feeling of relief. Sir Francis is our host and I’m sure he’s doing all he can to make the evening a success.’

‘Then I take it you would not appreciate a word of warning?’

This was the first time she had seen Lord Rayne in evening dress, and she found it difficult to reconcile the former soldier in regimentals with the quietly dressed beau in charcoal-grey tail-coat, left open to show a waistcoat of grey silk brocade. Whatever else she disliked about him, she could not fault his style. ‘Warning?’ she said. ‘Are you the right person to be warning me of that?’

‘Of what, Miss Boyce?’

‘Lord Rayne, you take a delight in putting me to the blush. But I shall not rise to your bait. You of all people must know what I refer to.’

‘Will I never be forgiven for that, Miss Boyce? Am I not to be allowed to warn you of similar dangers from old married men who ought to know better?’ Despite the teasing words, his eyes were seriously intent.

‘It is not necessary. I am not a green girl, my lord, and I have Mr Waverley to protect me.’

‘Ah, Mr Waverley. So you do.’

Their eyes roamed together, identifying the elegant figure in dark blue and white only a few paces away. Side by side, he was talking and smiling with Mr Jeffery Melborough, Sapphire’s older brother, shoulders almost touching, their backs reflected in the long mirror above a semi-lune table. Before Letitia could withdraw her glance, a slight movement in the mirror caused her to squint, trying to understand why young Mr Melborough’s hand was slipping between the long tails of Mr Waverley’s coat, its white cuff almost disappearing.

‘What’s he doing?’ she frowned. ‘I think he’s picking Bart’s pocket. I must go and warn him.’

‘No, come away…over here.’ Lord Rayne’s voice was suddenly commanding, his arm across her waist urging her forward. ‘Look, here are Mrs Quayle and your cousin. It must almost be time for the second half. Ladies,’ he bowed. ‘May I procure—’

‘But what if he was trying to reach Mr Waverley’s pocket? Is there not one in the lining of the tails?’

‘—a glass of punch for you?’

Face to face with the two chaperons, Letitia had little option but to abandon Mr Waverley to his predicament, whatever it was, in favour of the excited chatter covering every aspect of the evening, including Lord Rayne himself, as soon as his back was turned.

‘Did you know,’ said Mrs Quayle, ‘that he actually offered for your house when it first came on the market? I had no idea, but that’s what Lady Adorna Elwick has just told me. She’s his sister, you know. Lives at Mortlake. Over there, with the tall gentleman. Her beau,’ she whispered. ‘Isn’t she a vision?’

‘Yes, I met her earlier,’ said Letitia, recalling the stunning beauty in gossamer gold-threaded muslin that seemed to reveal more than it covered. The Merry Widow, they called her, with good reason. ‘Strange that no one mentioned it before. Lord Rayne has said not a word.’

‘Well, perhaps he doesn’t want you to know,’ said Mrs Gaddestone.

‘That he wished to purchase my house? Why not?’

Miss Gaddestone opened her mouth to answer, but was checked by her friend’s elbow connecting firmly with hers. ‘Oh! Am I not meant to say?’

‘Say what? Gaddy, what are you talking about?’said Letitia.

Helplessly, Miss Gaddestone blinked at Mrs Quayle, who rose to the occasion as if this was what she’d intended. ‘Lord Rayne,’ she breathed from half behind her fan, ‘is still recovering from a thwarted love affair, his sister says. Number 18, you see, belongs to the Bostons, and Lady Boston is Lady Elyot’s niece, and when the two of them lived there before They were married, Lady Boston and Lord Rayne formed an attachment to each other.’

‘Before she was Lady Boston, you mean?’

‘Yes, she was plain Caterina Chester then, but she—’

‘Mrs Quayle,’ said Letitia, ‘what are you implying? That Lord Rayne wanted Number 24 so he could live near the lady he once had a tendre for? If that were typical, he’d have to offer for dozens of properties a year, wouldn’t he? Anyway, Number 18 is empty for most of the year. I was told that the Bostons live up in Northumberland. Or is it Cumberland?’

Fluffing up her feather boa and settling it again upon her shoulders, Mrs Quayle tried again. ‘It is,’ she said. ‘The Bostons keep a skeleton staff there. They come down from the north about twice a year. Still, it sounds to me as if he’s not quite got over the lady, doesn’t it? I wonder if she feels the same way.’

‘I think you’re probably jumping to conclusions,’ said Letitia. ‘Perhaps he had his sights on Number 24 because Richmond houses don’t come on the market too often. Well, not the kind he’d want to buy.’

But the information, so carelessly given, found a corner of her mind into which it did not fit as snugly as it ought. The notion of Lord Rayne being capable of a lasting affection for a woman seemed uncharacteristic of such a man. More than that she would not allow herself to dwell on, though it became quite a struggle to prevent certain images from developing in her mind that had no business there in the first place. Especially when she did not even like the man.

As if she could not resist the chance to needle him for something as indefinable as that, she joined him towards the end of the interval as he and Mr Waverley were chatting together. Instead of greeting her with his usual smile, Mr Waverley was studying his shoes as if they had been the subject of some discussion while Lord Rayne’s expression held traces of sympathy.

‘Ye…es,’ Mr Waverley was saying. ‘Right. Ah, Lettie. It’s all going rather well, don’t you think?’

‘It is indeed,’ she replied. ‘And just think, if Lord Rayne had been with my sisters as they expected him to be, he would have missed such high-class entertainment. But one must choose, I suppose, between hearing Miss Melborough sing and thereby pleasing two prospective parents-in-law on the one hand, or escorting two Miss Boyces and pleasing only one parent. It must have been a very difficult decision to make, my lord. I hope the concert is worth the sacrifice. Shall I let my sisters know who took their place, or shall you be the one to explain the problem?’

Rayne’s eyes, heavy-lidded and patently bored with the subject, looked beyond her. ‘There was no problem, Miss Boyce, although if you wish to make a drama of it, please don’t let a detail like that prevent you. I realise how dull life must be for you without some kind of diversion, however small.’

‘Yes, my lord.You can have no idea how tedious it is to put on concerts of this kind and to be making visits almost every day. Compared to the excitement of routine cavalry drill and the polishing of tack, we live very sedate lives. What is it to be on Monday? Ah, yes, our theatre evening. Oh, what a bore.’

‘Lettie, I think Lord Rayne means that—’

‘Bart dear, I know what he means.’

‘If I may interrupt,’ said Rayne, tonelessly, ‘I believe we may have covered this ground only recently. We’re getting to the “I know what you’re thinking” part, if I’m not mistaken. Bart, would you be a good fellow and…?’ He touched Mr Waverley’s lace cuff with the tip of his fingers.

‘Yes, of course. Will you excuse me, Lettie? I’ll catch up later.’

Letitia stared at the prompt departure. ‘What was that about?’ she snapped. ‘Why did you—?’

‘Because, my sharp-tongued beauty, I have some advice for you.’

‘Then I don’t think I want to hear it, thank you.’

‘Yes, you do. It’s about what you saw earlier. With Mr Jeffery.’

‘Oh. Were you giving him a set-down?’

‘Not at all. It was a fudge between them, and Bart was embarrassed. Nothing was taken from his pocket. It was just a bit of nonsense. It would please Bart if you were not to mention it.’

‘Oh, boy’s pranks, you mean.’

‘Exactly. There are certain things a woman is innocent of when she has no brothers.’

Letitia blinked, not knowing how to reply to that. Without knowing it, he had pinpointed a basic truth that lay behind her writing problem, not simply by being brotherless, but being without the kind of understanding that comes from years of observing what young males do, how they behave together, what they look like under the formal attire and what they say to each other. It was a private jest between friends. She ought to have guessed.

Caught unawares, she foolishly pursued the other matter instead of granting him the last word. ‘So what am I to tell my sisters, my lord? I would not want them to think it was I who invited you here this evening.’

‘Miss Boyce,’ he said, visibly stifling a sigh, ‘you appear to be rather obsessed by what other people think, despite your efforts to make it seem otherwise. If I were you, I’d leave me to deal with my own affairs as I think best and try minding my own business.’

‘It will be very much my business, Lord Rayne, if my sisters were to suspect me of keeping you here at Richmond. In fact, they have already asked me if you have visited me. How foolish is that, I ask you?’

‘Extremely foolish, Miss Boyce. I cannot think of a single reason why I should want to call on you at Paradise Road. Can you?’

‘Not unless it was to take a look at the alterations I’ve made since you looked it over. Enjoy the music, my lord.’

The tiff gave her nothing like the satisfaction she had hoped for and, if it had not been for her pupils’ efforts to please, and her own part in that, she would have felt even more irritated than she did. As it was, the parents were well satisfied that they had made the right choice of school for their daughters and that their money was being well spent on all the right accomplishments. In that respect, the exercise had been well worth the effort.

Sir Francis and Lady Melborough went even further by letting it be known that Lord Rayne had agreed to give their daughter some riding tuition and to find her a better mount than the one that had been Mr Jeffery Melborough’s hack. Then, it was only a matter of minutes before first one father and then another approached Lord Rayne with similar requests, effectively appointing him as personal tutor to their daughters and charging him with the purchase of suitable horses to replace the present ones, to Letitia’s quietly seething anger. The only saving grace in her eyes was that the extra lessons would be outside school hours and it would be the parents rather than she who paid him. The only one to miss out on this new arrangement was Miss Edina Strachan, whose relatives had not attended.

‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’ Letitia said to him.

‘I didn’t actually have to do anything, Miss Boyce. It was Miss Melborough herself who broached the subject to her father and he who asked me what I thought. What I thought is what I’d already said to you. Simple as that.’

‘You have a knack of getting your own way, that’s all I can say.’

‘I wish it was all you could say, ma’am. Unfortunately, I do not hold out any hopes on that score until you’re taken in hand and held on a tight rein.’

‘Which will not be your business, my lord.’

‘Not yet. You’ll have to be caught first. Goodnight, Miss Boyce.’

This was not, however, the last she heard from him that night, for as she stood listening to the quietly spoken vicar’s wife, mother of Verity Nolan, the deeper voices of Lord Rayne and Lord Elyot came to her ears from the other side of a wide marble column, weaving around Mrs Nolan’s opinions of the piano duets.

‘Attracted?’ said one, in answer to some question. ‘Intrigued, certainly. I can’t say I’ve ever come across such a combination of looks, intelligence and prickliness.’

‘So well balanced,’ Mrs Nolan was saying, eagerly. ‘Of course…’

‘You’ve had it too much your own way, Sete. That’s the problem.’

‘…there were times when the bass line was a little strong, but…’

‘Yes, I know I have. She seems to think so, too.’

‘What about the sisters? Not so much fun?’

‘….but that’s only to be expected. A little more practice, and…’

‘Getting tedious, Nick. Too predictable. The elder one is a cracker, and I fancy the challenge. You can see why she and the mother don’t see eye to eye.’

‘So, you fancy taking on a blue-stocking.’ There was low laughter and some words about no stockings at all that made Letitia blush. ‘Well, give it a try and see how it goes. She may prove to be worth the trouble, if looks are anything to go by. D’ye think she’s interested?’

‘She’s very green, for all her ways. And I think she may be interested, but she’d not admit it. I may need some help, Nick. Are you willing?’

‘Of course. You helped me with Amelie. Just let me know.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

‘Miss Boyce?’ said Mrs Nolan. ‘Are you all right? You’re very flushed, my dear. I was saying—’

‘Yes, quite right, Mrs Nolan. More practice, I’m sure. Now, I must go and say farewell to Lady Melborough and gather my brood together.’ Slipping away into the crowd, Letitia made her way in a daze between the chattering bodies, her mind reeling from the kind of talk she should not have listened to. As her first taste of the way brothers spoke to each other in private, it would have been more enjoyable if the subject of their speculation had not been herself.

It now became imperative for Letitia and her pupils to take their leave of their hosts, pack themselves into carriages and escape to the safety of Paradise Road away from the controversies surrounding Lord Rayne’s unwanted presence. If he had not been invited, Letitia was sure she would not be feeling so annoyed, even if she ought to have anticipated some trouble, in view of her previous experiences.

Her farewell to her host and hostess, however, could not be rushed through in a few brief words, and when Sir Francis took her to one side, impolitely monopolising her attention, it was more than she could do to snub him by refusing point-blank to cross the threshold of his large library where he promised to show her a rare volume of John Donne’s poetry before she left. Just to one side of the columned hall, the white double doors were wide open and, since anyone could see inside, Letitia saw no danger in following him.

John Donne was one of her favourite poets, but the library was not well lit and, when Sir Francis opened the book upon his desk and moved it across to show her the handwritten script, she found it impossible to see much except the first decorated letter. Deciding there and then that this was to be the extent of her obligation to him, she bent to look more closely as his hand smoothed over the pattern of words on the page. His body moved too close as only a father would have done, innocent but invasive, nevertheless. His breath smelled of brandy. She was tired, emotional and, she thought later, too keyed up to think sensibly, and what happened next was as much the result of her over-reaction as Sir Francis’s uncomfortable closeness.

She moved away and took a hasty step backwards, hitting her heel against some unseen object, and crashing down over the top of it on to the carpeted floor, forcing a yelp from her lips.

Lights tipped and jerked crazily.

Hands reached out.

Shapes bent over her.

A man’s face loomed through a haze of shock.

‘No…no, don’t touch me!’ she whispered. ‘I can manage alone.’

‘Miss Boyce, take my hand. It’s me, Rayne. Let me help you to get this footstool out of the way. You fell over it, I believe. Are you much hurt?’

Somewhere behind her, she heard the deeply cutting voice of his brother asking Melborough what in hell’s name he thought he was doing to invite a young lady to be alone with him, telling him with unarguable finality that it didn’t matter whether the doors were open or not, he should have known better. The thud of Sir Francis’s footsteps on the carpet was swallowed into the soft hum from the hall.

Letitia struggled to sit upright against the desk. ‘My eyeglasses,’ she said. ‘I heard a crack just now. They’re hanging from my wrist. Please, if you would move your foot, my lord.’

There was a tinkle of glass as he obliged. ‘Damn!’he said.

‘Oh…oh, no!’

Crouching down beside her, he removed the ribbon from her gloved wrist from which dangled the golden scissors-spectacles, one half now empty of glass, its pieces on the floor. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t see them there. Why in pity’s name doesn’t he get some lights in here?’ Carefully, he picked up the pieces. ‘Truly, I’m sorry. I’ll have them mended immediately. Leave it with me. Come, Miss Boyce, you should go straight home. Can you stand now?’ Tucking the broken parts into his pocket, he held out his arms to her as Lord Elyot watched.

Although she had heard, only a few moments ago, how indelicate their talk about women could be, she made no protest as his arms enclosed her shoulders and gently pulled her upright, nor did she object when his cheek almost touched hers. She clung to his arm. ‘Yes, I can stand, thank you. Ouch…oh, ouch! I’m all right, really. It was nothing.’

‘No, you’re not!’ said Lord Elyot, sternly. ‘You’ve had a nasty fall.’

‘Not as bad as I’ve had on the hunting field, my lord.’

‘That was years ago. Rayne and I will support you. See,’ he said, offering her his arm, ‘this is entirely proper. It will cause not the slightest comment for you to take both our arms, Miss Boyce. Will it?’

Obediently linking her arms through theirs, she winced visibly as the dull pain came pulsing into her knee and elbow. ‘Thank you, my lord. You are very kind.’ From the corner of her eye, she caught a look from Lord Elyot sent across her head to his brother.

‘A little kindness goes a long way, eh, brother?’he said, softly.

Bustling towards them, Miss Gaddestone was all concern. Mr Waverley was not far behind, then came the others, flocking to her with smiles of sympathy and tender enquiries. Her arms were relinquished to others on a wave of affection that bore her out towards a waiting carriage, lifting her into it, settling her with rugs and cushions.

‘Bart, will you…?’ she began.

‘Leave it all to me,’he said. ‘Came a cropper, did you, Lettie?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ she replied, catching Lord Rayne’s eye.