Читать книгу Mistress in the Regency Ballroom - Juliet Landon - Страница 11

With so much to be said about the success of the evening, it was very late when the three boarders and Mrs Quayle left Number 24 for their beds next door. Everyone they had spoken to agreed that Miss Boyce’s very select seminary excelled in the quality of the teaching and in the astonishing progress of the pupils. The only sad note was the absence of Edina’s parents and grandparents, though Letitia did her best to sweeten the disappointment by drawing attention to the absence of her own family, too. It could not be helped, she said, if one’s family could not always be where one wanted them to be.

Later, sitting up against a bank of pillows in her own bed, Letitia felt the sadness as keenly as her Scottish pupil, knowing that her sisters would gladly have come if their mother had chaperoned them. What would it take to get her here? she wondered. What would it take to win her approval?

Other incidents had left a sour taste in Letitia’s mouth, the last one being by far the most serious and the one her friends had kindly glossed over as being no more than an accident, though they must have realised there was something more to it than that. She had been warned, and had assured Lord Rayne that she was capable of looking after herself, and now he would think she had brought it upon her own head.

It had also served her right for trying to manage without wearing her spectacles on such an important occasion, and now they were broken. Amongst her literary friends it mattered less, for most of them wore them openly. But tonight she had wanted to look her best, to be a credit to her pupils and to set an example of womanly perfection, as far as she was able.

But her efforts to hold herself above the reach of rakes had been less than successful, for the one whose attentions set up her hackles more than any other had discussed her with his brother as if she were a filly ready to be taken in hand. It was what he had rudely told her more than once. Perhaps that was the way they discussed her sisters also—her ‘tedious, predictable sisters’. Unlike them, she had always been too threateningly bookish for any man to think of in romantic terms, and even Rayne found her—apparently—intriguing rather than attractive, a challenge, a diversion, nothing too serious. Nor had Bart ever shown her any romantic intentions.

Between bouts of reflection, her pencil on the page described the atmosphere, mannerisms, expressions and ensembles, the music and voices, the colours, the blurred flutter of fans and feathers, the perfumes and the faint, warm, male scent of the man who had lifted her from the floor, effortlessly. The pencil stopped, her head fell back upon the pillow, eyes closed, remembering. Was that how it would feel to be lifted, carried, laid upon a bed?

Busily, the pencil continued its word pictures. Her elbow and knee throbbed. She took another sip of warm chocolate while constructing an image of Lady Boston who would, naturally, be ravishingly beautiful, not at all sharp-tongued or intellectual, and probably pining up in Northumberland for the brother of her uncle-in-law. Was he within the permitted degree of consanguinity? Did it matter these days? She fell asleep, wondering about it, convinced that Lord Rayne did not intend anything more than a light flirtation, being still half in love with Lady Elyot’s beautiful talented niece. Yes, she was sure to be talented and experienced. A society high-flyer she would be.

Several times she woke when her knee and elbow pressed upon something, sending her thoughts rushing back into the angry pocket of her mind where Sir Francis’s unfortunate lack of manners hovered like a giant question mark over the messages she was unconsciously sending out about her accessibility. Was her learning attracting the wrong kind of man? Was it perhaps to do with her care of younger women? For Lord Rayne to overstep the mark was one thing, but for the father of one of her own pupils to forget the respect due to her was nothing short of shameful. By dawn, she felt as if she had hardly slept at all.

Monday morning, usually kept for music, was taken at a leisurely pace over jugs of barley water and coffee, cook’s best biscuits and a continuous flow of laughter and discussion about future events. Sitting outside in the garden, Letitia used the opportunity to show them the new shoots of herbs, dill, parsley, rosemary and thyme, and to make a game of recognising them by smell alone. Then there were formal thank-you letters to be written to their hosts, leaving Letitia to put her feet up in the roomy summerhouse where the footman came to find her with the news that she had two morning callers.

‘Lady Elwick and Lady Elyot,’ he called to her.

She swung her legs down, but her guests would not allow her to stand for longer than it took to exchange kisses to both cheeks.

‘We came to see how you are this morning…’

‘…taking a ride through the park…’

‘…and to thank you and the girls…’

‘…for the concert. We must do it next at Sheen Court.’

Letitia was used to the twins’ interwoven sentences, but she had not encountered these two sisters-in-law together until now. Lady Elyot was a dark classic beauty; Lady Adorna Elwick was fair and quite unlike her two brothers. However, she shared with them their noble parentage, so was entitled to be known as Lady Adorna from birth, whereas the title of Lady Elwick came via her late husband. To confuse matters more, she had been known from childhood as Dorna, and the name still held.

Lady Dorna laughed readily, caring nothing for the crinkles around her merry blue eyes, the same shade exactly as the flimsy morning gown and low-cut velvet spencer. Ribbons flowed from her ruched poke-bonnet, and a lacy parasol was furled into a spear as she took the chair next to Letitia. ‘Isn’t this cosy?’ she laughed, looking about her at the cushioned benches, basket chairs and rattan tables. ‘One could have a secret rendezvous in a place like this, Amelie. Couldn’t one? Oh, what fun! I think mine is too small for anything as romantic as that. Perhaps I ought to enlarge it.’

Lady Elyot shook her head, smiling at her sister-in-law’s artlessness. ‘Dorna, you are shocking Miss Boyce, dear. This darling place is used only for taking tea and writing one’s journal, isn’t it, Miss Boyce? Tell Dorna I’m correct. Mind you, if I had it, I’d use it to do my painting in.’

‘That is what I use it for, my lady. Writing and painting.’

‘Of course you do. As soon as we met I could see you were artistic. Writing and art: two sides of the same voice. You keep a journal, do you? Most women seem to, nowadays.’

‘It’s one of the subjects we teach. That, and the art of letter-writing. Speech-writing, too. There are sure to be occasions when they’ll be expected to say something intelligent in public.’

‘You are so progressive in your thinking, Miss Boyce.’ Sliding gracefully into the other basket chair, Lady Elyot lifted a ladybird off the arm and placed it gently on to the vase of tulips. ‘There will also be times when they’ll be expected to attend a local Vestry meeting. Our new Vestry Hall is only a few doors away from here. Why not bring them along one day, just to listen?’

‘Thank you. That would certainly open their eyes. We shall all be going to the theatre this evening. The girls are studying The Merchant of Venice and, by chance, that’s the play being performed.’

‘A coincidence indeed!’said Lady Dorna, delightedly. ‘We have arranged to go, too. We’re to have dinner first at the Castle, then straight to the Theatre Royale. Now why don’t you join us for dinner, Miss Boyce? You and your boarders. And your two chaperons?’

‘Lady Dorna, it is more than kind of you to invite us, but we couldn’t possibly all come. That would be far too many because our party includes Mr Waverley and Mr Thomas, the elocution teacher. He wants to come, too. Why do you not come to us instead? It would be much more convenient, I think. We shall be dining early at six o’clock in time for the performance at eight. Just a simple repast. We’d be honoured if you would share it with us.’

Lady Elyot was concerned about the short notice to Letitia’s cook, but Lady Dorna had no hesitation in accepting. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Seton hopes to be with us, too. What a party we shall be.’

‘Is not Lord Rayne at Hampton Court today?’ said Letitia.

‘Yes, but he’s returning in time for our theatre dinner.’

‘That’s not like him,’ said Lady Elyot. ‘Seton has never been too keen on Shakespeare.’

‘Well, dear, that’s what I put to him, but he tells me he’s reforming.’

And perhaps, Letitia thought, Lord Rayne has received another invitation from Miss Sapphire Melborough who, like the other day pupils, would be attending with their parents. With this certainty in her mind, she found it hard to accept that she was being used by the scheming young woman as a way of including Lord Rayne in her social life, whether she approved or not. If that were the case, there was little she could do about it, but she would have preferred the Melboroughs rather than herself to have the pleasure of feeding him.

To her relief, Mrs Mappleton, the cook, seemed quite unperturbed by an extra five guests to cater for. Mrs Brewster, the housekeeper, after indulging in the obligatory astonishment, soon began to warm to the idea of entertaining an extra two lords, two ladies and a captain. It was still before noon, enough time to send for more meat and fish, to prepare more side-dishes and desserts, and enough time for Letitia’s pupils to decorate an enlarged dinner table. It was good experience, she told them, opening the double doors between dining and drawing rooms, thinking how right she had been to buy the extending table and matching chairs from Gillow of Lancaster. Lady Boyce had insisted it would be too large for Letitia’s purposes. Rather than set thirteen places, however, she sent an invitation to Mr Titus Chatterton, who lived near Mr Waverley on The Green, asking him to dine with them. He was an entertaining guest, for all his face paint and flamboyance, and one could not help but like him.

For the remainder of the day, she showed her pupils how a good hostess must prepare for last-minute diners without the slightest sign of improvisation or muddling through, and without upsetting one’s cook or housekeeper.

By the time the first carriages rolled up at the door, the day pupils had returned home and the duty of receiving the guests was shared by the boarders as part of their education.

Acting as assistant host, Mr Waverley took the head of the table with Lady Dorna to his right while Letitia and Lord Elyot took the opposite end, and although there were more ladies than gentlemen, the arrangement could not have been more comfortable for the three youngest ladies for whom this was a kind of lesson. The guests appeared to understand it well, this being the first visit for four of them, and even though good manners forbade any show of amazement at Letitia’s exquisitely tasteful surroundings, it was impossible for them not to appreciate the ivory-handled cutlery and fine engraved glassware, the blue-and-white Wedgwood dinner service matching the posies of bluebells and white lilac filling every space between silver dishes.

It was too early in the year for fresh green vegetables, but root varieties had been made into a pie, with a fricassee of turnips, and roasted potatoes, still a talking point. Nor was there any shortage of lamb, gammon or game, salmon and sole, pies and rissoles, sauces and garnishes and, as the guests were so appreciative and unpretentious, the meal flowed easily along with good wines and home-made orange wine for the younger ones. Tarts and cheesecakes, blancmanges, fruit jellies and creams were toyed with as the talk, inevitably, veered towards the contrast between the pupils’ study of Shakespeare and their greater penchant for the novels such as The Infidel and, more recently, Waynethorpe Manor. The general opinion seemed to be that they could not have been written by a woman, in spite of what the title page told them.

Letitia had no opinion to offer on that, but laughed as she offered her poor excuse. ‘Variety? My pupils are encouraged to discuss whatever they read, whether it’s classical or popular fiction. If it’s well written, it’s readable.’

Captain Ben Rankin, Lady Dorna’s good-looking friend, was intrigued by this view. ‘So you’ve read them, too?’he said.

‘Indeed I have, Captain. I would not otherwise allow my young ladies to.’

‘And you approve, I see. Does Mr Thomas approve, too?’

The articulate young Welshman came readily to her rescue. ‘If Miss Boyce approves, then so do I, sir. We don’t necessarily read these stories out loud, as we do with Shakespeare, but—’

But the company had already dissolved into laughter at the idea of anyone reading The Infidel out loud, and Letitia’s pink cheeks went unnoticed except by Mr Waverley and Lord Rayne who, sitting five places away from her, was finding it difficult to give his undivided attention to Mrs Quayle on one side and Miss Strachan on the other.

As they left the table, he caught up with Letitia. ‘Allow me to thank you, Miss Boyce, for including me in your party. That was a memorable meal.’

She had had little choice in the matter of his inclusion, but saw no advantage in saying so. ‘Thank you, Lord Rayne. It’s given you the opportunity to see how I’ve changed things since you last saw the inside of the house.’

‘I never saw the interior until now.’

‘Oh? You would have bought it unseen?’

‘My agent saw it. He recommended it to me, that’s all.’

‘I see. I had heard…’She must not tell him what she’d heard.

‘Otherwise?’ Deliberately, he looked across the room to the group where Lady Dorna stood talking. ‘My sister means well,’ he said, in a low voice, ‘but she inhabits a delightful world where realities and fancies mix rather freely. None of us would have her any different, but it sometimes leaves us with some explaining to do. Would you like me to explain anything to you, Miss Boyce?’

‘No, I thank you. There is room for all of us. But whatever I heard about you wanting my house has completely escaped me. It’s of no consequence.’

‘None at all. I could never have made it look as handsome as it does now.’ His eyes did not follow his compliment, but took a route over her piled-up silvery braids, her graceful neck adorned with a single rope of pearls, her beautiful shoulders and bosom framed by pale grey silk piped and latticed with silver satin.

‘No, a house generally does better with one mistress, my lord, rather than a succession of them. Take my tedious, predictable twin sisters, for instance. Even they might be at odds about some details. By the way,’ she whispered, as if about to disclose a confidence, ‘the blue-stocking elder sister is not interested, despite what you believe. I cannot think how you came by that notion, my lord, unless you share the same kind of problem with reality as Lady Dorna. Could it be that, I wonder?’

Lazily scanning, his eyes came to rest on hers, slowly revealing an understanding of where her phrases originated. They widened, then smiled, then grew serious again as she reached the end of her disclosure. ‘So,’ he said, quietly, ‘the ears make up for the eyes, do they? No use for me to apologise, I suppose?’

‘No use at all, my lord. It merely confirms what I knew already.’

‘That’s the pity of it, Miss Boyce. It only confirms what you thought you knew already. But we’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? Both of us have preconceived ideas about the other. You believe I am shallow. You think I believe you to be—’

‘A challenge is what you said. You fancy a challenge. Forget it, my lord. You could never hold my interest. My sisters, however…’

‘Whom we shall leave out of it, if you please.’

‘They’d not be pleased to hear you say that.’

‘Then they’d better not hear it, had they? As I was saying, you appear to believe I cannot be serious about a woman, and that what you overheard confirms it, and that I could only be interested in you for the novelty value.’

‘I didn’t imagine that, my lord. I heard it.’

‘I was being uncivil, on purpose. It was not meant—’

‘Oh, spare me!’ she snapped. ‘I’m so looking forward to hearing some good acting, aren’t you? See,’ she said, turning, ‘the coats and capes are being brought in. Mr Waverley…Bart…where are you? If you will take three of the ladies in with you, and perhaps Lord and Lady Elyot will take…’ She bustled away, managing and marshalling four people into each of the three coaches until, quite by accident, she was the only woman left with one male guest. ‘Lord…er…Rayne?’ she whispered. ‘Oh!’

Leaning against the hall table with feet wide apart, he was quietly laughing. ‘Managed yourself into a corner, Mother Hen?’ he said. ‘Come on, then. You and I are going to walk it. It’s not far.’

‘I know how far it is,’ she growled. ‘It’s not that.’

He did not move. ‘You want me to carry you there?’

‘Tch!’ She sighed, wondering how she could possibly have done something as foolish as this. She would rather have walked with Mr Chatterton in his high-heeled shoes than with Rayne, whose arrogance both excited and annoyed her.

The footman bowed and withdrew, leaving them alone in the hall with a mountain of misunderstandings to keep them apart.

He waited, then reached her in two strides, backing her into the hard edge of the opposite table. She gripped it, leaning away from him, seeing for the first time the crisp detail of his neckcloth, the white waistcoat and its silver buttons, undone at the top. Again, she breathed the faint aroma given off by his warm skin, but now there was to be no making of mental notes for her writing when he was so frighteningly close, no time to express how she was affected, or the sensation of her heart thudding into her throat.

He placed a large knuckle beneath her chin, lifting it. ‘Yes, my beauty, I know. This is not what you planned, is it?’

‘Don’t call me that! I’m not your beauty, nor am I—’

‘And you can glare at me all you want, but this evening you will do as I say without argument and without biting my hand off. Do you hear me?’

‘I shall—’

‘Do you hear me? Without argument. Just for once, if you please.’

She nodded, looking at his mouth, then at the faint bluish shadow around his jaw, then back to his eyes that had noted every detour. his thighs pressed against hers, and she understood that, suddenly, he was struggling to suppress an urge to do what he had done once before. She must prevent it. ‘Let me go,’ she whispered.

He did not move. ‘Where are your spectacles? Have you another pair? Do you have them with you?’

‘In my reticule. Let me go, please.’

‘You will take my arm,’ he commanded, ‘and you will be civil.’

‘Yes, I will be civil.’

‘I have your word on it?’

‘Yes…now please…let me go.’ She took hold of his wrist, expecting it to move but, when she looked again at his eyes to find the cause of his delay, she saw how his gaze rested upon the staircase as if to measure its length. Panic stole upwards, fluttering inside her bodice. Her fingers tightened over the soft fabric of his coat-cuff. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t…please don’t.’She saw the reflection of the two wall-lamps in his eyes, heavy-lidded with desire.

‘I could,’ he said, ‘but I suppose they will not delay the performance of Shakespeare for us, so we’d better go. Come, my beauty, adjust your shawl. There, now take my arm, and try to remember what you have agreed.’

Speechless and shaken, she did as she was told. Arm in arm they went out into the cool evening, pulling the heavy door closed behind them.

Earlier that afternoon she had formed a clear plan of where everyone would sit, herself being nowhere near Lord Rayne. However, arriving at the theatre only a few minutes later, Letitia found her plans already displaced by the earlier arrival of the day girls, their parents and friends. Although Miss Sapphire Melborough clearly hoped that Lord Rayne would join her parents in their box, he merely bowed politely, held a few words of conversation with her mother, then rejoined Letitia, taking the two seats left over after the others had taken theirs. It was not at all what Letitia had intended, and Rayne knew it as he quelled her budding protest with a stern glance, positioning her chair next to his at the back of the box and almost herding her into it with one uncompromising word. ‘There,’ he said.

She delayed for as long as she dared but, in the end, there was nothing for it but to accept the situation when the musicians in the pit ceased playing and the curtain glided upwards. The scene of merchants and their clients against a background of Venetian waterways would normally have riveted her attention. But this time she was sitting close to Lord Rayne against the high back of the box with a partition on one side of her, and her usually obedient concentration was distracted by the sensation that, for all her determination to deny him any sign of encouragement, he had won that round with ease.

He had another way of putting it, in a whisper, when she turned slightly to glance at him. Catching her angry expression, his unsmiling eyes made his advice all the more telling. ‘Stop fighting me, my beauty. I intend to win.’

Turning her attention to her reticule, she drew out a pair of pocket spectacles that swung inside a mother-of-pearl cover, holding them to her eyes as if his words meant nothing. But the spectacles trembled, and she knew he had seen before she transferred them to her other hand.

That evening at Richmond’s Theatre Royal was to be remembered for many reasons, the chief of which was the way in which Lord Rayne attended to her needs as they had not been since her father died, not even by Mr Waverley. Independent to a fault, she had intended to take charge of the event, putting herself last, as usual, in spite of there being enough adults to watch over the three boarders. But if she had thought they would prefer her to the others, she was wrong. They did not need her, and she had no other role to play except to stay by Rayne’s side, where he wanted her.

‘Miss Melborough is hoping you will visit her,’ she said.

‘Then she will be disappointed. This evening, Miss Boyce, I am with no one but you, and you will not get rid of me.’

‘Hasn’t this gone on long enough, my lord?’ she said, demurely, opening and closing her spectacle-cover. ‘You’ve made your point, I think. You’ve had your fun and enjoyed the stares. But these girls are my pupils, and you place me in a very awkward position by paying me this attention one evening and then, as you are sure to do, paying the same kind of attention to someone else next time they see you. They all know you and my sisters are seen in each other’s company. They know that Sapphire’s parents are keen on an alliance. I am not unused to being talked about in one way or another, but this evening will not be easy for me to live down, my lord. Perhaps you think you’re doing me some kind of favour, but I assure you, you’re not. Surely you can see that?’

Handing her a glass of negus, he took the spectacles from her and popped them into the opening of the reticule that hung on her arm. ‘It’s a great pity, in a way,’ he said, ‘that you overheard what you did, for now it will be harder than ever for me to convince you that I am not simply flirting with you.’

‘You are mistaken in the matter, Lord Rayne. I was convinced you were doing exactly that at our first meeting. I’m afraid I cannot be unconvinced, nor would any woman be, in the same circumstances.’

‘That would not have happened to any woman, Miss Boyce.’

‘No, of course not. How often does one encounter a shortsighted, lost schoolmistress? Not one of your greatest challenges, I would have thought.’

He sighed. ‘Miss Boyce, will you try to dredge from the depths of your deep intellect something we agreed on before we set out? Something you gave me your word on, if you need a clue?’

‘Yes, my lord, but—’

‘Good. Then keep it, will you?’

‘But you haven’t answered my question.’

‘Oh? I thought I had. I wish you would listen as well as you talk.’

‘Odious man!’ she muttered.

Mr Waverley was amused by the new partnership. ‘What’s happened, Lettie? The fellow’s sticking to you like glue. I think he’s smitten.’

‘Fudge!’ she said. ‘Bart, rescue me. Walk home with me. Don’t leave me alone with him. He’s only trying to show Miss Melborough that she has some competition, that’s all. I know the kind of tactics such men use.’

‘Maybe, but Sir Francis doesn’t look too pleased about it, either, does he? He’s been sending you the oddest looks. What’s that all about?’

She did not explain. She had noticed the crowded Melborough box during the interval but, without peering through her lenses, had not been able to see who the visitors were. Nevertheless, she was receiving the distinct impression that Sir Francis, who would normally have been amongst the first to ingratiate himself with her, was keeping well out of her way.

Undeterred by her watchful escort, she managed to speak to many of her friends, her pupils’ parents and their friends, too, and had thought that, as they began to seat themselves for the second half, she might be invited to join their ranks. But Lord Rayne was having none of it and, disregarding the interest and envy of her pupils, he steered her back to the same chair with the utmost propriety, giving them little to gossip about except that their guardian was once again being claimed by him.

And indeed there was nothing to which she could object except his closeness; no touching, no arm across the back of her chair, no flirtatious remarks, no compliments except in his eyes. It was, she thought, as if his aim was to familiarise her with his nearness as he would with an unbroken young horse. Which, after all, would have been the way of any suitor except this one, for whom conventional methods were usually too slow.

Years of watching her vivacious sisters take centre stage, however, had caused her to develop an unhealthy cynicism, enabling her to see through and partly to despise the ploys men used, the foolish games they played. And in view of her previous encounters with this particular buck, she was unlikely to let go of her conviction that she was being used as some kind of instrument in one of his games in full view of the pert and eager Miss Melborough, not to mention her ambitious parents. While she could not help but absorb the exciting vibrations from the man at her side as she had never done before with anyone, it was her steely common sense that pulled her emotions back from taking precedence over her writing, which needed information of this kind more than her starving sensitive heart did. If it was common sense, then it must be right, for what else did a woman like her have to rely on?

Agog with curiosity to see whether Lord Rayne would walk back to Paradise Road with Miss Boyce, her pupils were almost as excited to hear him call farewell to his relatives and to see him take one of the carriages with Letitia and Mr Waverley, which seemed to them a little odd when Mr Waverley lived almost next door to the theatre. Mr Chatterton and Mr Thomas had only yards to go. What the pupils did not discover is that, by tacit consent, Mr Waverley, Lord Rayne, Miss Gaddestone and Miss Boyce stayed up until past midnight in the drawing room, drinking red wine from sparkling cut glasses through which the candlelight danced and winked. Talking like old friends, not one waspish word was heard between them. Then the two men left, Lord Rayne having accepted a lift back to Sheen Court in Mr Waverley’s phaeton.

It was usual, at the end of each day, however late, for Letitia to enter notes into her book before they suffered from distortion or, worse, amnesia. This night, the notebook stayed locked in her drawer while she lay against the pillows to watch the shadows move over the bed-curtains, not because she was too tired to write, but because her thoughts were torn by conflict, her heart entering a period of slow ache in anticipation of the pain that was sure to come unless she armoured herself against it. Of course he was teasing her. Her sisters said he was a tease. This was nothing but a game to him. Nothing but a game.

For the next two weeks it began to look as if Letitia’s reading of events was accurate, the only communication from Lord Rayne being a formal note of thanks for an enjoyable evening, then a brief visit in person to return her mended spectacles. But since she was out with her pupils at the time, they did not meet. In a way, she was relieved to have missed him, for she had nothing to say except to offer him her thanks.

She was even more certain of her ground when, only two days later, she took her pupils to London to the Royal Academy Annual Exhibition at Somerset House where she found her sisters and mother in Lord Rayne’s company. By chance, Miss Melborough was not one of the party, having twisted her ankle the day before and, in some discomfort, had been left to work on her watercolour until their return.

Letitia’s sisters, as always, were glad to see her and to unload on her their latest experiences, shopping trips and parties, their mama’s dinner party and the men who had caught their attention most. Lady Boyce greeted her eldest daughter more formally with a stand-off embrace and a showy kiss past each cheek that could hardly have been called motherly. After relating to Letitia what she had missed by not being at home, her remarks centred around the attention being shown to Garnet, especially by Lord Rayne. ‘There’ll be an announcement soon, Letitia,’ she said, waving her fan to friends Letitia could not quite identify. ‘Mark my words. I’m never wrong about these matters. I can always tell when a man is about to declare himself. Well, heaven knows, it happened to me often enough before your dear papa snared me. Lord Rayne is very keen, you know.’

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘So these are your gels, are they?’she said, glancing round. ‘They look respectable enough. Isn’t that Sir Mortimer Derwent’s daughter?’

‘Maura. Yes. They live in Farnham. She boards with us.’

‘Your papa used to hunt with them. And there’s your Mr Waverley. Still faithful, is he? Who are the other two?’

‘That’s Mr Dimmock, our watercolour teacher, and Mr Ainsley, our drawing master. Rosie has stayed at home with one of the girls, but the lady over there in brown is Mrs Quayle, our next-door neighbour. Would you allow me to introduce her to you? She’d be so thrilled.’

‘Another time, dear. Nice to see you. Keeping well, are you?’

It was pointless for Letitia to reply when the orange turban had already turned towards other faces and, since that exchange appeared to be the sum total of her mother’s interest, she adjusted her spectacles and moved away to the walls lined with pictures.

Softly, Lord Rayne’s voice spoke into her ear. ‘You’re using them I see, Miss Boyce?’

She turned to face the dark serious eyes and immaculate form of the one man she had hoped not to see. ‘Yes, my lord. Thank you for returning them to me. They’re quite perfect. I cannot tell where the mend is.’

‘Ayscough on Ludgate Street,’ he said, gravely. ‘My mother gets hers there. He recognised them.’

‘He should. That is where they were bought. But please don’t let me keep you from your obligation to my sisters. I had not expected to see them here, nor my mother. They don’t usually show much interest in this kind of event.’

‘I did not come with them, Miss Boyce. I came with Lord Alvanley and George Brummell. Over there…see? They’re helping me to find something suitable for my study.’

‘Oh…I thought…’

‘Yes, I can see you did. I believe that’s what you were meant to think.’ His quick glance in Lady Boyce’s direction qualified his remark. ‘If I may offer you a word of advice, it would be not to—’

‘No, please don’t offer me any advice, my lord,’ she said, quickly cutting him off. ‘It’s no concern of mine what my sisters do or don’t do. All I wish for is their happiness, not to interfere in it. Have you seen a painting you like?’

He paused, obviously not content to be diverted. ‘I’ve seen one prime article in particular I like the look of, Miss Boyce,’ he said. ‘I wish it was as easy to purchase as a painting.’

‘For your study wall?’

‘For my study, certainly. For my wall, no.’

‘Good day, my lord,’ she whispered, trying to hide her flushed cheeks behind the panel of her bonnet. ‘I shall leave you to make your choice.’

‘And you don’t wish to give me the benefit of your advice?’

‘I don’t wish to incur any more of my mother’s disapproval than I have already, my lord.’

‘By talking to me? Surely not.’

‘She would misunderstand, and so would my sisters. Need I say more than that?’

‘Usually you say too much, Miss Boyce, but on this occasion you have said too little. I thought you had become independent of Lady Boyce’s management.’

‘I have taken a very big step, my lord, but I have hopes that she will visit me, one day, not cut me out altogether. I am already well outside her plans.’

‘But not her influence, apparently. Time you were, then. So, if I am not allowed to advise you, I shall tell you this. Lady Boyce may be allowed to keep a finger in your pie, for the time being, but, by God, she won’t put a finger near mine unless she wants it snapped off. When I want a woman, I shall not be asking her permission.’

‘Not even when the woman is her daughter, my lord?’

‘Not the eldest one, no. Good day to you, Miss Boyce.’

Her cheeks were still very pink when Mr Dimmock joined her to discuss some of the paintings with her and found, to his dismay, that she had so far seen very few of them.