Читать книгу The Earl's Practical Marriage - Louise Allen - Страница 12

Chapter Three

He would call at Laura Place tomorrow, Giles thought, moving back from the window as he shrugged out of his comfortable old riding coat.

But, no, damn it, he realised, one hand at the knot of his neckcloth. I can’t very well do that without revealing that I followed her home, which might be enough to alarm any right-thinking female.

He unwound the now-crumpled muslin from around his neck as he considered the problem. This would take some thought if he were to satisfy his mysteriously insistent curiosity about who she was and why kissing her had made him feel he had...had come home, of all the bizarre impressions. But he could manage it with a discreet enquiry of Bath’s Master of Ceremonies at the Assembly Rooms who would have all the well-bred residents and visitors in the city at his fingertips. After all, how difficult could securing an introduction to the Laura Place ladies be, compared to identifying French spies in the Portuguese court or riding through Spain behind enemy lines?

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of porters with cans of hot water and, on their heels, Dryden, pin neat as usual, despite a day spent in an open vehicle. ‘My apologies for my tardiness, my lord. There was a tree across the road at Cherhill, as no doubt you encountered for yourself. I will lay out your evening clothes directly.’

‘I will be dining here in my room and not going out, Dryden. A clean shirt and my banyan will do.’ He had been in the country for only two weeks, but the volume of correspondence was threatening to take over his life. He would need a secretary soon, but for now he would have to tackle the most urgent matters himself. ‘However, I will need your very best work tomorrow morning, Dryden.’

‘The Marquess? Of course, my lord. The new waistcoat, I presume?’

Father, secretary, correspondence, Laura Place ladies.

Giles made a mental list as he began to strip off his dusty riding clothes. Not the most thrilling of programmes and, in places, downright difficult, but time enough to discover how to make England interesting.

He added, Clubs, mistress, decide where to live. Then, A wife.

Giles grimaced. He was not looking forward to the Marriage Mart.

* * *

‘I am certain that taking the waters does me a great deal of good, you know.’ Aunt Phoebe lowered her voice and murmured, ‘It keeps one so regular! And I meet all my friends and acquaintances here every day.’ She fluttered her fingers at a pair of mature ladies on the far side of the room. ‘The Misses Prescott. And of course it is the perfect excuse for seeing who has come to town and for exchanging the latest news. I come almost every morning.’

Oh, dear, Laurel thought. That might become rather tedious.

But she smiled and nodded politely to the Misses Prescott and reminded herself that a little boring routine was well worthwhile for such a change of scene and her aunt’s kindness.

Phoebe settled herself at one of the little tables in the Pump Room and signalled to a waiter for two glasses of the water. ‘And you may save yourself the effort of tactfully not telling me that I am a shallow and frivolous creature, for I have a full hand of excuses,’ she said, straightening her bonnet. ‘And the strongest is that this is quite the best way of judging the new company before one finds oneself on nodding terms with some vulgarian or a crashing bore.

‘Look at that woman, for example,’ she added with a discreet gesture towards a slender brunette accompanied by a maid and a young woman who might be her daughter. ‘I saw her yesterday and thought what style and elegance she has. But she treats her unfortunate maid as though the girl is a drudge, and a foolish one at that, however charming and caressing her manner is to her daughter and other ladies.’

Laurel took an incautious gulp of water and almost spluttered it back out again. ‘This is disgusting,’ she whispered.

‘I know,’ Phoebe agreed. ‘But it does one so much good. Apparently it is full of the most wonderful minerals and salts. You should drink a glass a day.’

The benefit she derived was probably from the exercise involved in walking to the Pump Room and back daily and the stimulation of seeing all the new arrivals, Laurel decided, but kept the thought to herself.

Phoebe was still looking around the room, nodding greetings to old acquaintances. She gave Laurel a discreet nudge in the ribs. ‘Oh, my goodness, now there is a handsome creature just come in! And half the age of most of the gentlemen.’

Ouch. Phoebe’s elbows were sharp. ‘Who? Where? Oh.’ Goodness, indeed. The man who had just strolled into the room was tall, blond, tanned, beautifully barbered and elegantly attired—and all too familiar, despite his changed appearance. Laurel could not decide whether her blood was rushing to her face in a blush or draining to her toes in embarrassed alarm. Or possibly simply overheating with a dismaying and inconvenient physical attraction.

‘Why, that is the gentleman I told you about, the one who showed me the way over the Downs when the tree had blocked the road. Only then he looked as though he could scarcely afford a decent coat, let alone a pair of boots like that,’ she managed. ‘And he has had his hair cut. Phoebe? What is it?’

Her aunt was staring at the man as he came closer, her expression one of complete dismay. ‘The last person I would have expected to see in Bath... It must be him because, good heavens, he is the perfect image of his grandfather. I had no idea he was in the country. Of all the unfortunate things to have happened, I cannot believe you did not recognise him. Or perhaps not, if you had never met his grandfather because he has changed so much... With any luck he will not notice us.’

‘Phoebe, what are you talking about? That is not someone we know. Is it?’ The gentleman had seen them, she realised, and must have recognised her from yesterday. He began to make his way across the room towards them, this time with obvious intent. He kept his expression politely neutral, although as he came closer she saw a crease developing between his brows, so dark in contrast to his sun-bleached hair.

Phoebe made an abrupt gesture with her hand as though to ward him off. ‘Oh, dear, I wonder what is the right thing to do—’

‘Madam.’ He arrived in front of them before she could finish and made a slight bow. ‘Forgive me for approaching you without an introduction, but I believe I had the honour of being of some slight assistance to this lady yesterday and wished to enquire if she is quite recovered from her journey.’

‘You are Lord Revesby,’ Phoebe said, peering up at him like a flustered little bantam hen, not at all sure whether to ruffle her feathers at this fox in her hen coop or simply fly away cackling in alarm. ‘But why did you not introduce yourself to my niece when you met her yesterday, instead of waiting until now?’

‘Yes, I am Revesby, but I fear you have the advantage of me, madam. I did not introduce myself as she was alone save for the presence of her maid and I did not think it appropriate to make myself known to her.’ He seemed puzzled by Phoebe’s question, but Laurel could only admire the way he kept his tone polite and any sign of irritation hidden. He obviously had breeding. ‘I could not introduce myself to a lady with whom I had merely a chance encounter on the road.’

You could kiss her though.

Then she realised what Phoebe had called him. ‘Revesby? You are Giles Redmond?’ No wonder that hint of familiarity had been teasing at her. This was Giles. Her friend. Her nemesis. So changed. All grown up.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, looking squarely at her for the first time. She saw the recognition dawn on him even as she felt the dizziness of shock take her. He had not recognised her, any more than she had him. ‘Laurel? You are Lady Laurel Knighton?’

‘I am. What are you doing here?’ She would not faint and she would not raise her voice, even if the man who had ruined her life was standing in front of her. Why had she not recognised him yesterday? Laurel made herself focus. Stupid question. This was a man, not a boy. A man who had grown into those ears and feet and the nose. A man who had lost the scrawniness of youth to muscle and bone. Heavens only knew where the diffidence and the shyness had vanished to. But then those had been only the outward appearance—underneath it he had been someone different all the time, a juvenile libertine, a deceiver and a false friend.

‘I have private business here. You were the cause of my leaving the country once, Lady Laurel. Now, I am glad to say, I go where I wish, when I wish.’

‘And you wish to be in Bath, of all places?’ She knew she sounded scornful. It was a beautiful city, but there was no getting past the fact that these days it was true to its reputation as the resort of the infirm and the elderly.

‘I can assure you, my presence in the same town as yourself is in no way intentional.’ He looked as though he would rather chew wasps. ‘My father is unwell and undergoing treatment here.’

Phoebe cleared her throat and he turned, unsmiling. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I am aware we have not been introduced.’

‘But we have, Lord Revesby.’ Despite the crackling antagonism between Laurel and the Earl, Phoebe sounded absolutely delighted with his presence now and her cheeks were flushed becomingly with pink. ‘You will not recall it because I last saw you when you were the merest child. Why, I dandled you on my knee. I am Lady Cary, Lady Laurel’s aunt.’ She frowned slightly. ‘But how did you identify her just now, know to cross the room to us? My niece was travelling veiled.’

Laurel knew the heat was definitely a blush this time. Would Giles reveal that she had removed her veil for a few incautious minutes and that he had taken advantage of that? Although to do so would expose him, once again, as a libertine.

‘It was you I recognised, Lady Cary, although not from my childhood. I must confess that I followed the chaise. After all, I too was coming to Bath and I wanted to make certain that the chance-met lady arrived safely.’ Giles glanced, unsmiling, at Laurel, then back to Phoebe. ‘I would not have recognised you today, ma’am, but I was close enough to glimpse you in Laura Place greeting your guest. When I saw you across the room just now I came over to enquire.’

‘You followed me? Why on earth would you do that? Perhaps your rakish propensities have not improved with age, my lord,’ Laurel said sharply. Her own behaviour the day before had been decidedly improper and knowing that added vinegar to her tone.

‘My what?’ Several heads turned and he lowered his voice. ‘You were an hysterical girl nine years ago, Laurel, and, it appears, you are as poor a judge of men now as you were then,’ Giles said, his voice silky with suppressed anger. ‘I assisted you yesterday out of a disinterested desire to help a stranger.’ In the look he gave her she read the message that he was not going to mention that kiss unless she did, but that was as far as any truce between them would go. ‘I followed because I was certain I knew you from somewhere. If I had realised who you were, I would have ridden in the opposite direction, believe me.’

Let alone have kissed me, no doubt.

That behaviour was all of a piece with what she knew of his true character.

‘Lord Revesby!’ Phoebe was all of a flutter at their hostility. Laurel realised that she had been paying no attention to where they were or who might overhear. Certainly the tension was too blatant for even good-natured Phoebe to ignore. ‘Laurel! Please, both of you—whatever is the matter? Surely not that old business? Oh, dear, I beg of you, do not make a scene in here, Laurel, it would be fatal to your prospects.’

‘We could always summon a porter to have Lord Revesby removed,’ Laurel added. ‘We did not desire his presence, after all.’

Giles’s smile, if that was what it was, conveyed disbelief that anyone would be capable of ejecting him forcibly. Laurel’s fingers twitched with the desire to box his ears, but she kept her hands clasped in her lap, merely looking pointedly away as he sketched a bow and strolled away to the entrance.

‘I do not think anyone noticed.’ Phoebe cast a glance around the room and sat down again. ‘Of all the unfortunate encounters. Are you all right, my dear? You were positively bristling and I had thought... It is such a long time ago...’

‘I am perfectly all right, Aunt, thank you. After all, as you say, it is nine years since I saw Giles—Lord Revesby—last. The wretched man might still annoy me, but he hardly has the power to upset me, not after all this time.’

Giles had hurt her, betrayed her friendship and, she had realised afterwards with a shock, broken her heart, as well as causing a scandal, confounding their fathers’ mutual plans for their future and, incidentally, sending her godfather’s daughter into an hysterical decline that lasted almost an entire summer.

‘Would you like to leave, Laurel? I think he has gone. We should return home—I could call a chair for you. Or would the walk be soothing?’

‘I am certainly not adjusting my movements in order to avoid one man. I will not be driven out of anywhere by Giles Redmond. Besides, if he is staying while his father is in Bath taking treatments, we might encounter him at any time and I refuse to run away whenever we encounter him.’ She sent a sidelong glance at her aunt. ‘How much do you know about what happened?’

‘Not a great deal, your father’s letter was such a tirade I could hardly make sense of it. But we cannot discuss it here, can we?’ Phoebe fanned herself vigorously with her hand. ‘I know—let us drink our water and then we may stroll back by way of Miss Pringles’s haberdashery shop for that braid I need. We will both find the walk beneficial and then when we get home you can tell me all about it in the privacy of our own drawing room over a nice cup of tea.’

‘Of course. What I can remember of it. After all, it was so many years ago and I was only just sixteen,’ Laurel said with a smile that was intended to betray nothing but rueful regret about an unfortunate incident that was virtually ancient history now.

The smile was very successful, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors lining the walls above the dado rail. Especially as she had just lied. Every word that had been spoken that day, every expression on Giles’s face, every stab of anguish she had felt, were still crystal clear. She had lost more than a friend and a neighbour, she had lost the young man she had fallen in love with without realising it.

How very fortunate that she had not married him after all, considering how objectionably he had turned out.

* * *

Hell and damnation.

Giles stalked along the High Street from the Pump Room and turned left into Bond Street, welcoming the stretch to his leg muscles as he climbed towards Queen’s Square and his father’s lodgings. If the old man discovered that Laurel Knighton was in Bath at the same time as his prodigal son it would probably give him a seizure. It was enough to give Giles a seizure, come to that, and his constitution was perfectly sound.

Neither of them had ever discussed Laurel directly in their punctilious, cautious, correspondence. It had taken his father a good month to recover from the worst of his fury over the collapse of his plans to marry his heir to the well-dowered girl next door. Then there had been the scandal over Giles’s flat refusal to do the decent thing and marry Miss Patterson instead, even after he had so gravely insulted her in the midst of the hideous row with Laurel.

Eventually the Marquess of Thorncote had simmered down sufficiently to write in response to Giles’s formal and polite letter informing his sire that he had removed his person—as instructed—as far as possible from the Marquess’s sight. That had taken a while to reach home as, to his father’s indignation, Giles had attached himself to his cousin Theobald’s entourage sailing for Portugal and Theobald’s new diplomatic post with the Court at Lisbon.

His father had replied, acidly, that his instruction to ‘remove’ himself had meant relocating to one of the family’s other country estates. Anyone but a stiff-necked ingrate would not interpret it as a direction to take himself off into a war zone at the age of barely eighteen. Giles would kindly bring himself back immediately if he wished to avoid falling even further into the Marquess’s ill favour. If there was any deeper hole to fall into.

But Giles found he had no desire whatsoever to go home and that had nothing to do with ghastly embarrassment, torrid gossip, furious or fainting young ladies, or fathers demanding satisfaction and reaching for their horsewhips. He wrote a temperate letter of refusal to his parent and made himself at home in Lisbon.

It had been, as Giles was fully prepared to admit, a young man’s over-dramatic solution to a monumentally unpleasant situation. But he soon found that life in Lisbon suited him down to the ground. He grew up fast and hardened up as quickly. Then the quiet gentleman who was believed generally to be the British army officer attached as liaison to the diplomatic corps revealed himself to be rather more than that and recruited Giles into his intelligence organisation. Giles had never imagined himself involved in spying, let alone risking his neck behind enemy lines, but he discovered that it was something he enjoyed and was good at into the bargain.

Now he was furious. He recognised that it was as much with himself for being thrown off balance as with Laurel, the infuriating female. The fact that the gangly, plain, awkward fledgling of a girl had turned into a lovely young woman—at least, she was lovely when she was not glaring at him—only fuelled his own bad temper, for some inexplicable reason.

He arrived at the doorstep of the elegant lodging house and spent a good half-minute getting his breathing under control before he rapped the knocker.

The man who answered was clad in a respectable suit of dark superfine with crisp white linen and had the unmistakable air of being a retired gentleman’s gentleman. He ushered Giles in and escorted him upstairs with a few unexceptional remarks about the weather. At the top he paused. ‘The Marquess has taken all of this floor for his accommodation,’ he said, low-voiced. ‘He is having a good day today, I am happy to say, my lord. His gout has eased considerably and I believe the anticipation of your visit has raised his spirits.’

‘How bad is his health?’ Giles asked bluntly. ‘I would rather have the truth with the bark on, if you please.’

‘You will wish to speak to the medical practitioner who attends your father, my lord, to satisfy yourself. I would only venture to say that the Marquess’s condition is always vastly improved when his mood is good.’

In other words the gout was thoroughly unpleasant, but everything else was in his head, Giles mentally translated. Whether his father was looking forward to taking the prodigal to his bosom in an excess of forgiveness or was pleasurably anticipating giving vent to nine years’ accumulated disapproval remained to be seen.

‘This way, my lord.’ The landlord tapped on a door, then opened it. ‘Lord Revesby, my lord.’