Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 37

The shopping expedition passed off without incident. Lily bought six pairs of silk stockings, an ell of wickedly expensive Swiss lace and a pair of the indecent new pantalettes. Putting such a garment on seemed impossibly daring; on the other hand, they might be just the thing should she ever wish to thoroughly scandalise anyone.

‘They are so long,’ she explained to Lady Billington as they set out in the carriage that evening for Lady Troughton’s reception. ‘It would not be like showing one’s petticoat; if anyone caught a glimpse, they would know they were encasing my legs!’

‘Most improper,’ her chaperon agreed. ‘But pantalettes are the least of your problems, Lily! That riot outside the house yesterday is all over town and there is the most vulgar speculation as to why it occurred. Some people are saying that you have so much money that you ordered things without thought and the resultant traffic jam was all honest tradesmen attempting to deliver. All nonsense, as I have been telling people, but say what you will, they love a good story.

‘But that pales into insignificance when one considers your engagement. What were you doing that made Lord Randall break it off?’

‘Nothing! And I broke it off, not him. He was furious because of the hoax, and because he had discovered how much of my money would still be in trust even after I marry. And then he found Ja … Mr Lovell in the salon on the sofa and made insulting accusations and I told him I no longer wished to marry him and threw him out.’

‘Indeed? You should have at least kept your temper long enough to have agreed a mutually acceptable notice to the papers and not left it to him.’

‘What? There is something already?’

‘The notice of the engagement between Adrian, Lord Randall and Miss France, etc. etc. was inserted in error and no such engagement exists,’ Lady Billington quoted from memory.

‘But … but that makes it sound as though I put it in to entrap him and now Adrian is denying it!’ In the darkness of the carriage Lily could feel her face flame. ‘The beast!’

‘I am not at all sure that appearing tonight is a good thing,’ Lady Billington said. ‘We are almost there. Possibly we should leave it until things die down a little.’

‘Oh no, we do not!’ Lily said grimly. ‘I am not letting Adrian get away with this.’

At the head of the stairs Lady Troughton was greeting her guests with beaming affability—until her gaze lighted on Lily, when it became positively frosted. ‘Miss France. I had not expected to see you after … after what has just occurred.’

‘You refer to that horrid hoax someone played upon me? But to renege on my promise after I had accepted your kind invitation would never do.’ Lily knew her smile was brittle, but somehow she maintained it. ‘Can you imagine anyone being so spiteful that they would go to so much trouble as that hoax involved? Jealousy is a terrible thing,’ she added piously. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lady Angela approach. ‘One can only assume that the person concerned has a sad life and nothing better to fill it.’

She tilted her head to include Adrian’s cousin in her smile, then followed her chaperon into the great reception hall. ‘She heard me,’ she observed with satisfaction.

The room was already full. A string quartet was playing light incidental music and on the dais a pianoforte had been set up in anticipation of the evening’s promised treat, a performance by Signora Angelina Tendesci, direct from Italy.

Lily felt her tense shoulders relax as she saw friends, the Cunningham girls and their mama. Themselves only one generation removed from trade, the Cunninghams had proved far less snobbish than many in society and Lily had come to enjoy the sprightly chatter of the two sisters.

She made her way towards them. Mrs Cunningham turned, Lily saw her eyes widen, then she simply cut her, turning away without a flicker of recognition and ushering her daughters in front of her. Hurt, Lily stepped back, found herself face to face with old Lady Wilton and was subjected to a long stare through the dowager’s lorgnette before she resumed her conversation with her neighbour.

To Lily’s shocked gaze the entire room seemed to be full of people drawing their skirts away or turning their backs on her. It had never happened before. When she first came out one or two people had turned up their noses at the merchant’s daughter, and she had constantly heard whispers and jibes about her money and her taste, but her wealth had ensured that virtually every door was open to her.

I am refining too much on the reaction of one or two snobs, she tried to convince herself. I am imagining that the others are whispering about me. I just need to compose myself a little and when I come back it will all be quite all right …

There was a loggia off the reception room. Lily made her way over to it, slipped through the door and found herself alone in the long, stone-flagged passage with windows overlooking the garden. Lamps burned in alcoves and chairs and little tables stood about for later on when people needed a refuge from the overheated room. Now it was mercifully empty.

As she took a steadying breath the doors behind her opened and she found Lord Dovercourt at her side. He had always proved an amiable dance partner, but, involved with Adrian, she had never paid him much attention.

‘Good evening, my lord.’

‘Miss France. You are not quite well? I saw you slip away and was concerned.’

‘Merely a slight headache. I thought to nip it in the bud with a little quiet and cool.’ He seemed to be standing very close. Lily began to stroll away down the loggia.

‘Allow me to offer my arm.’ There was no way of refusing without appearing rude, so Lily let him tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow and walked with him further away from the door. ‘I am so sorry to hear that your engagement to Lord Randall has been broken. What poor judgement on his part!’

‘It was mutual, my lord,’ Lily responded stiffly. ‘We discovered we were mistaken in thinking we might suit.’ They were at the end. Now they could turn and walk back. It must be her imagination, but Lord Dovercourt appeared to be pressing her hand very tightly against his side.

‘He’s a fool, then, to give up on a handsome girl like you. And your handsome fortune too, eh?’ His chuckle was coarse and Lily stiffened.

‘I am sure you mean well, my lord, but the tone of your conversation—’

‘Don’t get on your high horse with me, Lily my pretty. Vulgar little fillies like you can’t afford to take that line if they want to find themselves a lord. And that is what you want, isn’t it?’

‘How dare you!’ Lily tried to tug her hand free and found herself pulled back against his chest.

‘Stop being so coy, you silly little jade. Do you think you are going to find a husband from the ton now? I suppose you could at that, with all your money. Someone—me, for instance—might be willing to take Randall’s leavings.’

Lily jerked back her hand and tried to slap him, but he buried his face in her neck and began to kiss her with wet lips. It was even worse than Adrian’s advances. Nauseated, Lily lifted her knee and brought it home hard in his groin, watching with satisfaction as Dovercourt fell back, groaning and clutching himself.

‘I neither know, not care, what you might be willing to take, my lord,’ she informed him. ‘But I am not willing to take the leavings of every drab and whore in London.’

Buoyed up with the satisfaction of seeing him incapable of answering, let alone standing up to follow her, Lily swept down the loggia and came slap up against a woman who stepped out of the shadows to intercept her.

‘That was silly, Lily.’ Lady Angela giggled at the puerile rhyme. ‘Silly Lily,’ she repeated. ‘You are making too many enemies—give up and go away. Move to an unfashionable watering place, like Bath. You’ll find some broken-down, poxed old lord there who will marry you. He’ll die soon enough and you’ll have that precious title you are so desperate to purchase. He won’t give you children, but then, that will keep your tradesman taint out of good bloodlines.’

Only the greatest effort at self-control she had ever managed kept Lily from slapping the sneering face. ‘Better perhaps to make some old man’s last years happy and then be a very rich dowager than to dwindle into a sour old maid as you will, Angela dear,’ she retorted. ‘I doubt if I will ever be so desperate that I will have to entertain myself by forging hundreds of letters to tradesmen just to score a trivial point.’

The expression that flashed across Lady Angela’s face was enough to convince Lily that she was, indeed, the hoaxer—and that, if she had ever doubted it, she had an enemy for life.

Before the other woman could retaliate, or Lord Dover-court recover himself, Lily slipped out of the door and back into the crowded room. Lady Billington was with the chaperons and, heads together with Mrs Westworth, did not notice her charge until Lily gave her skirts an urgent tug.

‘Lady Billington!’

‘Lily? My goodness, you look a complete romp—what have you been doing?’

‘Fighting off Lord Dovercourt,’ Lily whispered back. ‘Lady Billington, please may we go? I feel positively sick.’

With a murmured excuse about migraines, Lady Billington steered Lily towards the door. Mercifully Lady Troughton had just mounted the dais to introduce Signora Tendesci and all heads were turned to watch.

‘What on earth have you been about?’ Lady Billington scolded as their carriage finally rolled away from the Troughtons’ front door.

‘Nothing! The beastly man cornered me in the loggia and slobbered all over my neck and made the most disgusting suggestions—until I … I freed myself.’

‘It is worse than I thought,’ her companion pronounced. ‘Even the least stuffy of the other chaperons are tutting about the scene outside your house, and they do not seem to know what to make of the end of your engagement. The only mercy appears to be that no one has heard anything to suggest actual impropriety.

‘There is nothing for it—you must take a house at one of the watering places and retire there for several months until all the fuss dies down and society finds something else to chatter about. Then perhaps you can reappear at Brighton during the summer.’

‘But I will seem to be running away, as though I have something to hide, or be ashamed of. And none of it is my fault—other than being foolish enough to trust that man in the first place.’ Lily stared mutinously at the drawn blinds of the carriage.

‘The woman is always at fault,’ Lady Billington said cynically. ‘Better a strategic retreat than be seen to be forced out.’

Jack pushed the slipping bandage up for perhaps the sixth time that evening. His head ached. He leaned back in his chair, pulled the bandage off his head and untied the leather thong that held his hair back. ‘That’s better.’ He got up, stretched and strolled across to look at himself in the incongruously large Venetian mirror that hung at one end of the room.

To have his hair cut while he was in London—or not? He was inclined against it, simply out of a stubborn instinct not to join the herd and follow fashion. Jack lifted the candlestick in one hand and pushed back the hair from his temple with the other. The area around the wound was spectacularly bruised now, a palate of purple, red and yellow—and the cut itself would leave a scar.

Fortunate I have no beauty to lose. Not like that pretty boy Randall. Jack grinned at his reflection and went to tidy up his papers. He had things as well organised as he could hope for now, except for factoring in whatever he could learn about the new atmospheric pumps. He had updated his costings, redrawn his maps, learned from the comments of the potential investors who had rejected him so far. An early night, then tomorrow make contact with the remaining names on his list and see how many would be prepared to give him appointments.

And how many of the great and the good—and the less great, but wealthy—would be willing to spare some time to plain Mr Lovell and his schemes? Was he right to follow his instincts, and his pride, and try to sell this on its merits alone or should he come clean and use what might be a weapon if only his pride would stomach it?

Jack straightened and went over to the window, blowing out the candle as he went. Below, in the garden, someone was moving about—he could hear the crunch of gravel underfoot. A housebreaker? They carried no lantern, but they seemed to be making no attempt to hide themselves either. Then, as his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom outside, he saw it was a woman, her long cloak brushing the ground behind her as she paced up and down.

Mrs Herrick? No, this figure moved with a youthful grace. Lily, then. But she should be frittering the evening away at that reception or dance or rout or whatever it was she said she was attending. Still, he shrugged, it was her garden, she could do what she wanted in it. Jack half-turned, then looked back. Something indefinable about the pacing figure said unhappiness to him. Unhappiness and indecision.

He should leave her to her private thoughts. Then he recalled how his sisters sometimes welcomed his shoulder to cry on when they would not share their troubles with anyone else, even with their mama. She could always tell him to go away if she did not want his company. Pulling on his coat, he opened the door and went softly down the staircase to the garden. He paused in the shadow of the wall, not wanting to alarm her, certain he had made no noise, but she swung round, the heavy cloak swirling around her and the sudden flash of white skirts showing beneath it like sea foam in moonlight. Then she was still again, a dark column amidst the shadows of the arbour. ‘Jack?’

‘Yes. I did not mean to startle you. I wondered if perhaps something was wrong.’

Lily laughed shortly. ‘You might say so.’

‘The party was not a success?’ he persisted, coming closer, still uncertain whether she welcomed his presence or not.

‘I was … I was snubbed. Some people I thought were old friends cut me dead. I had a horrible encounter with Lady Angela and … and when I went out into the loggia to be alone someone followed me and tried to kiss me and made disgusting suggestions. He implied that Adrian and I had … had …’ She spun round until her back was to Jack and her voice was muffled as she added vehemently, ‘And we have not!’

‘Oh, Lily.’ He took a long stride forward and caught her in his arms, turning her so she was held against him. ‘Of course you didn’t.’

‘Yes, but I almost did, that is why I feel so smirched!’ She bent back her head so she could look up into his face. The moonlight caught her and he could see the unshed tears glimmering in her eyes. ‘I thought I ought to—Aunt said I ought to do it in order to catch him, and I almost did. How I could ever have contemplated it, even for a minute …’

‘But you didn’t,’ Jack repeated. ‘That is all that matters.’

‘I ran away and you rescued me.’ That seemed to provoke more sadness than comfort; there was an unmistakeable sniff from the region of his third shirt button. Acting on instinct, ignoring the voice of caution that was telling him firmly to find her a handkerchief and send her back inside to her aunt’s care, Jack caught Lily up in his arms and carried her into the arbour to where a wooden bench curved under the tangle of climbing roses.

Lily found herself set down on Jack’s knees and held firmly against his chest. ‘Now, here is a handkerchief. Blow your nose and tell me all about it.’

‘No. I do not want to.’ It was a very large handkerchief. Lily blew her nose with more force than elegance and sat up. Jack’s arm stayed round her and she made no effort to free herself.

‘Tell me. It will all sound much better when you say it out loud instead of it churning round and round inside your head.’

‘All right.’ Lily began reluctantly, but Jack’s very stillness, the concentration with which he was listening to her, gave her confidence. Finally, she reached the end of her account. ‘And then I used my knee and, well, he stopped.’

‘I should imagine he did. What is his name?’

‘Lord Dovercourt. Why?’

‘Because I shall add him to the list, along with Lord Randall, of gentlemen who need to be taught how to treat ladies.’

‘But you cannot call them out! That is what you mean, isn’t it? Not teaching them some other way.’

‘By lying in wait with a knife, possibly? I am not a footpad, Lily. Why can’t I call them out?’

‘Because they would not accept a challenge from someone who isn’t a gentle—’ Oh, Lord! How tactless! ‘I mean …’

‘Who isn’t a gentleman? Perhaps. But somehow they need dealing with.’

‘You cannot fight them.’ Lily took hold of his coat lapels and gave them a shake. ‘Be sensible. What if you kill them?’

‘Which is likely.’ Arrogant man! They were all alike. She wished she had the strength to give him a really hard shake.

‘Then you will be hanged and a lot of good that will do your coal mine.’

‘True.’ There was a laugh in his voice and for some reason she felt quite odd inside. Not miserable any more, but certainly not calm either. Very strange indeed. What was he thinking?

‘Jack?’

‘Yes, Lily, my lovely?’ It was almost what Dovercourt had called her. It was certainly just as improper coming from Jack, but the words made the warm glow inside burn even warmer. She could feel the colour heating her cheeks.

Lily leaned back a little, trying to see his face in the moonlight. ‘Your bandage! What have you done with it?’ She put up a hand, her fingers almost, but not quite, touching the wound. Even in the faint light it looked dreadful. Jack bent his head a little and the raw silk of his hair flowed over her fingers, caressed the back of her hand.

‘Jack?’ What am I asking? He seems to know. He bent over her. There was a long moment of perfect stillness, then his lips found hers and he was kissing her.

He had kissed her the other day when he had no idea who she was or where he was, but this was quite different. Jack Lovell knew exactly what he was doing this time and shockingly, so it seemed, did she. Her body arched against his, trusting. Her lips softened under his, giving. His was not at all like Adrian’s mouth had felt. Jack seemed quite content to explore, angling his lips across hers, shifting and teasing. It appeared that he wanted to taste, not to take.

Lily felt her mouth following his, learning from his. He did not try to do that revolting thing Adrian had done with his tongue. So wet and disgusting and … Oh! It wasn’t disgusting at all, not when Jack did it. Her lips parted, she opened to him and found she could taste too. Coffee, and a hint of brandy, Jack. Just Jack.

She was sinking until she felt as if she were part of him, and it was so right. So perfect. Then he stopped.

‘Lily?’ Blinking, she opened her eyes. ‘I am sorry. I should not have done that.’

‘Why? Was I doing it wrong? It was very nice.’ A sudden horrid thought struck her. Perhaps he had not believed what she had said about Adrian. ‘Just because I … because just now, we … It doesn’t mean I let Adrian.’

‘Lily, my sweet, I know. You have no need to tell me.’ Lily found herself on her feet, being pushed gently but inexorably towards the house. ‘Lily—’

‘Lily? Are you out there?’ It was Aunt Herrick.

‘I am coming, Aunt,’ she called and turned back. The garden was empty. He was gone.

‘Hell.’ Jack wrenched off his dressing gown, balled it up and threw it into a far corner. ‘Hell.’ He sat down, yanked off his right boot and hurled it after the dressing gown; it landed with a more satisfying thud, to be followed by the left one. ‘What am I doing?’

The answer, as the rest of his clothing was tossed onto the chair, was all too obvious: he was very attracted to Miss Lily France. Worse, he was acting on his fantasies. Irritably he climbed into bed and set himself to ignore the demanding ache in his loins. In fact, he was not sure that lust was all it was. Worrying.

Why Lily France of all women? She was rich, spoilt, obsessed with shopping and social climbing and had wincingly bad taste in everything from interior decoration to men.

She was also beautiful, brave, loyal, bright—when her brain was not addled thinking about titled husbands—and in need of a defender. And kissing her was heaven and hell all in one innocent bundle.

Whereas I need an investor who can afford to take a robust attitude to risk—which rules out a woman. And I need an encounter with Adrian Randall like I need a hole in the head. Another hole in the head, he corrected himself. And I most certainly do not need a romantic entanglement with a woman. Any woman.

So, borrowing money from Lily was out of the question. Wasting time thinking about Lily was out of the question. Making both Randall and the bastard who had insulted her this evening pay would have to wait until he had some plan to achieve it without, as Lily very reasonably pointed out, ending up on the scaffold.

He had a duty to protect any woman who came into his orbit and who needed his assistance, but that was as far as it went. At home he had four women who were his responsibility, a mine, and an entire village whose livelihood depended on that mine. If he failed, he supposed he could always sell up and retreat to the farm, and the family would become yeomen farmers once again. There were worse things; it was how they had begun.

But that was no help to the two hundred souls whose fortunes were inextricably tied to the mine. The men and lads who worked down it, their families, the small shopkeepers and tradesmen who supplied them.

Was he going to go home having failed because he was becoming obsessed with a merchant’s red-headed heiress? No. Jack slid down under the blankets, smiling rather grimly as he realised that sobering thoughts and resolutions had had not the slightest impact on his state of more than uncomfortable arousal.

‘What have you been about, child?’ Aunt Herrick marched into Lily’s bedchamber in her niece’s wake and shut the door firmly in Janet’s face. ‘Lady Billington said tonight was a disaster.’

‘It was.’ Lily shrugged. It was hard to keep any sort of mental balance. The soirée had been a nightmare, the last few minutes in the garden with Jack had been a dream. Except surely good dreams did not leave your heart hammering and your mouth dry and the most improper feelings turning your in-sides to jelly.

‘Lady Billington says the only thing to be done is to retreat to the country and try again in the summer. Now, where can we go? She suggests Brighton, which means we ought to think about renting something as soon as possible or all the best places will be reserved.’ Mrs Herrick’s brow was furrowed in thought. ‘And what do we tell people?’

Lily let her cloak fall to the floor and sat down. An hour ago she had been ready to follow her chaperon’s advice and run away. Now she was not so sure. She was unused to not getting what she wanted. Of course Jack was right and there were things money would not buy. But as well as money she had a brain, and pride and—Jack. Not that she was quite certain how he would contribute to her reinstatement in polite society, but there was an idea stirring at the back of her mind.

‘Not yet,’ she said slowly, thinking as she spoke. ‘Not until I try something tomorrow, and not until after Lady Frensham’s dance.’