Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 1: Books 1-6 Of 12 - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 60

By half past six, Mercedes had the house well in hand; a cook, a housekeeper, one maid and two footmen-cum-valets, happy to act as men of all work, were established below stairs having performed their services for the evening with sufficient dexterity. Keeping busy had taken her mind off Greer. But she prepared for an evening at the theatre with a growing sense of trepidation. Either Greer would be downstairs waiting or he would not. Her father would have her neck if Greer had left and she would be vastly disappointed, but not surprised.

She’d not left things on a good note with him that afternoon. Perhaps she should have let him explain. But it had been easier to get angry, safer. She’d started that conversation with the intention of taking things further, of acting on the implicit contract they’d established in Beckhampton. But then, at the slightest hint of trouble—those ambiguous words about the consequence of their association—she’d retreated. Not only had she retreated, she’d thrown up a fortress. It would be no wonder if Greer left. Any other man would have. Men didn’t like difficult women. Now, as she took a last look in the mirror, she was betting Greer wasn’t like any other man.

She’d worn the oyster-coloured summer organdy and pearls and put her hair up in a simple twist. The effect was one of elegance and class. Tonight, she dared any lady to look better. Greer would be proud to have her on his arm if he was downstairs. Mercedes drew a breath to steady herself. There was no more waiting.

At the top of the stairs, that breath was taken away at the sight of Greer. He’d stayed! Relief swamped her, mingled with abject appreciation of his appearance. He leaned casually on the banister, one foot on the bottom step, his head resting on his hand as he looked up at her, his gaze hot and approving as he took her in. He was turned out in the full glory of his dress uniform, much as he had been that first night in Brighton.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Mercedes said, taking the final step. The comment was de rigueur. She wasn’t truly late, merely the last one downstairs, and the curtain didn’t rise for another half hour.

Greer took the matching mantlet from her and stepped behind her to drape it. ‘Beauty in any form is always worth waiting for.’ His hands skimmed her shoulders, his voice low for her alone. ‘I’m sorry about this afternoon.’

‘I thought you might have left.’ She drank in the scent of him, all citrus and sandalwood. His hands were warm where they lingered at her shoulders.

‘Don’t worry, Mercedes. I never leave until I get what I came for.’

‘You mean me.’

‘I mean you.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we? Your father is waiting outside. He has rented a small victoria for the evening.’

‘Greer?’

‘Yes?’

She smiled mischievously. ‘Nice buttons.’

The ride to the theatre was uneventful unless one counted the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Greer had stayed for her. The realisation played in her mind like a litany. It didn’t mean all their problems were magically solved, but it did mean they could move forwards to wherever they wanted to go.

The carriage stopped to let them disembark in front of the tri-arched Theatre Royale. Brighton had its culture, to be sure, but there was something distinctly exciting to be attending the theatre in Bath. The press of people and the buzz of a hundred conversations only made it more so. She put her hand in Greer’s and he squeezed it as he helped her down, a shared look passing between them as if he knew what she was thinking and perhaps shared the feeling.

Inside, her father had secured prime seats in the box of his newest ‘best friend’, a Sir Richard Sutton, his wife, Olivia, and his daughter, Elise. Introductions were made, Sir Richard and her father acting like old friends instead of acquaintances who’d met only hours earlier. Seats were taken and the lights dimmed as Greer slid into the space beside her. She had not missed the fact that for the first time since their association, her father had introduced Greer as Lord Captain Barrington. Sir Richard had been impressed. If the reference had bothered Greer, he’d made no show of it.

The play was a rendition of Shakespeare’s comedy As You Like It, and the cast was good. There was champagne at the intermission, their box filled with the Suttons’ acquaintances. It turned out Sir Richard was a prominent yacht builder with connections to the royal family and those in the exclusive royal set. As a result, he was quite popular with the titled families that had come to Bath before heading to London.

Mercedes smiled to herself. It was becoming clear why her father had ingratiated himself with this particular individual. But she liked Elise and thought Lady Sutton would serve her own purposes quite nicely. By the time the Lockharts and Suttons parted ways for the evening, Mercedes had an invitation to join them in the Pump Room tomorrow. They would have an invitation from her the day next for cards and afternoon tea, only they didn’t know that yet.

Plan B was going swimmingly.

The next day set the pattern for the days to come. Mercedes slept late, dressed carefully for a promenade with Greer in the Pump Room, during which she’d meet with her newly accumulated friends: Elise Sutton and her mother, and by extension of that, Lady Fairchild, Mrs Ogilvy, Lady Dasher, whom all her friends called Dash, red-headed and vibrant Mrs Trues and her friend Lady Evelyn.

After the gossip of the Pump Room, where Mercedes made an enormous effort to listen to everything that was being said and about whom, there were the afternoon activities. Most of these were organised or prompted by her. She talked Mrs Trues into arranging an ‘historical tour’ of the Roman ruins. She convinced Lady Evelyn, who loved painting in the countryside, to put together an ‘artist’s picnic’ for the ladies. The event was such a success the ladies decided to do it once a week, weather permitting. There were the weekly card parties Mercedes hosted herself in the elegant drawing room of the rented terraced house.

Then it was on to the evening entertainments, the balls at the assembly rooms, nights at the theatres and private entertainments. Greer always escorted her and put in a lengthy appearance beside her before disappearing with her father to the elegant subscription rooms and gentlemen’s clubs.

Greer proved to be a most able dance partner and by far her favourite time of day was in the evening when she could spend it on the dance floor in his arms. He was a popular partner with all the ladies, never letting any wallflower go unattended. On more than one occasion she’d been discreetly approached by the young ladies of Bath inquiring about her ‘situation’ with the Captain. To which she merely responded, ‘He is a friend of my father’s.’

‘You should have told them we have an “understanding.”’ Greer gave a mock grimace as he swung her through a turn at the top of the ballroom one night.

She smiled up at him, flirting a little with her eyes. ‘Do we? I wonder what that might be?’ He’d made no obvious overtures since they’d reconciled after their quarrel and yet he’d not been inattentive. Just the opposite, in fact. He’d been her unfailing escort in the mornings to the Pump Room, to some of the afternoon activities to which she’d invited gentlemen, and every evening. Surely a man who invested that kind of time and energy in a woman wasn’t unmoved?

‘That pleasure awaits us when the time is right.’

‘Pleasure, is that what it would be?’ she challenged coyly.

He bent his mouth close to her ear. ‘It’s not always dismal, Mercedes.’

‘For the man you mean,’ she rejoined, but there was heat in her belly, conjured there by his words, breathed so seductively in her ear she thought she might collapse right there on the ballroom floor. They were not the words of a gentleman.

The dance ended and in the press of people leaving the floor, his next words were lost. But she thought his lips had formed the phrase, ‘care to find out’, before they broke into a most tempting smile.

Maybe she would. The time would be right just as soon as she got phase two of her plan underway.

Mercedes was up to something. It was a marvel Lockhart didn’t notice it, Greer thought, leaning against his billiards cue in the subscription room. But Lockhart was too busy revelling in his fame. The billiards champ had been well received in Bath, everyone eager to hear his opinions on Thurston’s tables. Everyone was eager to see him play, too, and to learn about the championship coming up in Brighton.

Lockhart was undeniably in his element and it was, admittedly, an exciting place to be. Lockhart introduced Greer to players who shared his seriousness about the game and to others who might be able to advance a second son’s ambitions in other ways. The evenings were full of entertainments and then the gentlemen adjourned to the subscription rooms for games much like MPs would adjourn from dinner to a late-night session of Parliament. And with about the same level of gravity.

Lockhart had been right. In Bath there were serious games to be had and Greer was grateful for the hard work Mercedes had put him through in preparation for them. But since their arrival, Mercedes had backed away from billiards. True, she played him on occasion at home. But it appeared she’d meekly accepted Lockhart’s verdict in Beckhampton and Greer didn’t believe it for a minute. She’d become the epicentre of Bath with her circle of friends and whirlwind activities. For the record, he didn’t believe that either.

Greer lined up a difficult shot and made it, using a gentle slice stroke. Lockhart nodded his approval. They were playing as a team against two other gentlemen, industrial princes from the north. But Mercedes was claiming a lot of his concentration. She was up to something, but what?