Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 38

The next day Jack breakfasted early, applied a plaster to his temple and set out on a round of visits. Two possible investors who had sent cautiously encouraging responses to his letters and Sir James Arbuthnot, considered to be one of the authorities on steam power in the south of England, promised a full day, especially for a man intending to walk and not waste his blunt on hackney carriages. And besides, an early start meant there was no risk of running into Lily.

Not that the thought of an encounter with Lily was unwelcome—the reverse, in fact, which was what worried him. Jack shifted his portfolio from left hand to right and crossed Oxford Street, flicking a coin to the crossing sweeper as he went. He should never have kissed her. Worse, he was beginning to believe that the earlier kiss, the one he had convinced himself was a feverish dream, had been real.

Under normal circumstances any young lady twice kissed by a man would have considerable justification for expecting an offer. Jack passed the end of Berners Street, dodging a coal cart, a sedan chair and almost getting his boots splashed with milk from the buckets suspended from the pretty seller’s yoke. ‘Cup of milk, sir? Yours for a penny and a kiss, sir.’ She fluttered her lashes at him and Jack grinned back.

The smile faded as he strode on towards Bloomsbury. But these were not normal circumstances. The young lady in question could buy him out twenty times over. At least. Just how rich was she? What Lily France wanted was not kisses, but a title and a place in society. She might be surprised by what Jack Lovell could offer her, but a place in London society was not included. In any case, if he fell to one knee and offered her marriage in return for having compromised her, she would laugh in his face. Thank goodness.

It was a long day, and a mixed one. Sir James had offered encouragement, confirmation that his ideas were not as outlandish as he feared, and some useful papers to read. But no suggestions for investors.

His two prospects might have been reading from the same script. They were dubious about his projections for the growth of demand for heating coals in London; personally, they preferred to concentrate on the markets in the Midland factories. But the canals did not exist to get the coal to them and they treated Jack’s suggestion that steam power might eventually be harnessed to a network of tramways reaching far out into the country as fantasy. They agreed that it was so used in one or two localities in Wales—but only close to the mines. Steam locomotion was the province of dreamers and visionaries, not down-to-earth businessmen, they explained with a patronising tolerance that set his teeth on edge.

He was beginning to get heartily sick of keeping his tongue between his teeth. He was used to action, to making his own decisions and not to waiting on other people’s convenience or pandering to their opinion. London made his skin itch. He wanted to tear off his starched neckcloth, tie a red spotted Belcher handkerchief round his neck instead, and go and work off his frustration by wielding a pick alongside the men.

By the time he reached Chandler Street he was, as he admitted to himself, as cross as a bear with a sore head and within an ames’ ace of packing his bags and going home. His mood was not improved by finding the street outside the house a scene of activity, although this time it was orderly and respectable.

A groom on foot was holding the reins of a grey gelding that made his mouth water with envy. A second man waited alongside, mounted on a respectable bay cover hack, and Lily’s maid was poised on the steps, a whip and gloves in her hands.

Other than crossing to the other side and striding past, he had little choice but to slow down and acknowledge the staff. In any event, one close look at the gelding brought him to a standstill. ‘Is this Miss France’s?’

‘Aye, sir.’ The head groom was respectful, although what he thought of Jack’s status, given his lodging over the carriage house, Jack could not tell. ‘Her agent bought it for Miss Lily at Tattersalls last week.’ As though recognising the attention, the grey tossed its head and rolled an eye at Jack.

‘Something of a handful?’

‘Miss Lily’s a good rider, sir, she likes them with a bit of spirit. This one’s not got any harm in him.’

‘Admiring Spindrift, Mr Lovell? I am bound for Rotten Row.’ It was Lily, pulling on her gloves and smiling at him from the top step. If she felt any awkwardness after yesterday evening, it did not show. She probably regarded it as a trivial incident or was too innocent for it to cause her any anxiety.

Not that he could concentrate on her face—he was too struck by her riding habit. A deep sea green, it was form fitting up to her bust where the plain fabric was laced and ornamented by row after row of military frogging. There was a pert little jacket made without fastenings, which served only to emphasise her curves. The sleeves were cut and frogged, the shoulders of the jacket bore epaulettes and the train of the habit swept over her arm.

To top it off, she wore an outrageous hat, modelled vaguely on a shako. But no soldier ever wore anything as frivolous as this concoction with its cockade of French lace and its plume of ostrich feathers.

The whole outfit was ostentatious, showy and extreme and Jack realised, quite against his expectation, that she looked magnificent in it. He found that his mouth was open and shut it hastily. Lily was regarding him with a twinkle in her eye and he saw that she, too, knew just what effect she was having and what a figure she would cut as she rode her eye-catching horse in Hyde Park at the height of the fashionable hour. It was a declaration of war on her part.

No wonder I love her. The thought came into his mind unbidden and he fought to control the shock and his expression. No! Impossible …

Now what is the matter with the man? Lily buttoned her second glove, took her whip from Janet and came down the remainder of the steps. Jack had looked quite pleased to see her, not at all embarrassed after yesterday evening, which she was afraid he might be. Now he was looking positively stony. Perhaps he had seen her own feelings reflected in her face and that had annoyed him. Perhaps he was afraid she would expect something of him after that kiss.

Drat. She had thought she could manage matters so they could remain friends, despite the fact that her heart was thudding at the sight of him and her mind whirling with the thought that perhaps he might kiss her again. And she had thought for a moment that he understood why she was wearing her outrageous new habit. But, no, doubtless he saw only that it was ostentatious and, in his eyes, vulgar.

‘What do you think of my horse?’ she persisted, determined now to get a response from him other than disapproval and a blank face. And Jack Lovell, once he assumed that flinty expression, looked every bit as forbidding as she imagined his blighted northern crags to be.

‘Very fine. I was admiring him—and coveting him for my eldest sister, Caroline. She is an accomplished rider.’

Approval for something at last! ‘I am exceedingly pleased with him.’ Lily ran her hand down the horse’s neck, then let Peters give her a leg up into the saddle. He sidled and she let him for a moment before bringing him back up to the bit; she was well aware she made a striking figure on the grey. ‘My agent had a tussle to secure him; he had to pay a good round sum in the end.’ There I go again … mentioning money. Lily could have kicked herself.

And then she could have kicked Jack, who merely looked down his nose and remarked, ‘In this case, a purchase where money does buy quality, Miss France. Have a pleasant ride.’

In other words, most of my other purchases are not quality I suppose, Mr High and Mighty Lovell? she fumed as she trotted off towards Park Lane. I just do not know why I love the wretched man.

‘Miss France?’ Lily stared round wildly and found she had reined in right in the middle of Park Lane, almost causing a collision involving a landau, a chaise and two curricles. She pulled herself together and arrived at the Stanhope Gate flustered and dazed, conscious that only Spindrift’s good manners had got her out of a nasty scrape.

‘Are you all right, Miss France? Shall we go back?’

‘What? Oh, yes, I am quite all right, thank you Peters. I just realised something, it was a bit of a shock. Come along, I want to join the promenade along Rotten Row.’

All right? Will I ever be all right again? I am in love with him. But I cannot be in love with him. He is a mine owner, and any minute he may lose that mine. He isn’t even merchant class as I am, however well he speaks. He isn’t rich; he doesn’t even seem to be comfortably off. Papa would have been furious, everyone would be. No title, no place in society. He would never ask me to marry him anyway, he despises my taste and my money …

‘Miss France!’

‘What? Oh, yes, Peters, thank you, I see her. Lady Farringdon, good afternoon.’ She exchanged bows with a matron in a landau; now, had she not heard all the scandal, or was she prepared to give Miss France the benefit of the doubt?

Oh, goodness, there was Lady Jersey. She had not counted on meeting one of the Patronesses of Almack’s, which was foolish, given the fashionable throng who flocked to the Park of an afternoon. All of a sudden her defiance in wearing her new habit, let alone riding out with only a groom, seemed very ill judged.

Lily considered turning tail and bolting. It had seemed such a good idea, to be seen in the Park at the height of the fashionable promenade. She could demonstrate that she had nothing to be ashamed of, she would find out, once and for all, whether there was anyone she could rely upon, and she could perhaps convey her side of the story to a few influential ladies.

Now, completely overset by her thoughts about Jack, all her poise deserted her and she could only stare helplessly as Lady Jersey’s carriage approached.

‘Miss France! What a surprise.’

Could a large enough hole open up to swallow her and horse together? No, apparently not.

‘Lady Jersey, ma’am.’

‘I was just talking about you. The things I have been hearing! Now come and join me and tell me all about it.’

With a sensation of walking into the lion’s den, Lily signalled to Peters to come and help her down. Lady Jersey was a notorious gossip with enormous influence. If she decided to be amused by Lily’s predicament, all might be saved. If she decided it was a vulgar bore, the situation was irretrievable.

‘What a striking habit, Miss France.’ Oh, no, she hates it …

Jack spread the post he had collected from the Green Dragon out in front of him. A letter from home, full of news from his sisters, sensible enquiries about his well being from Mama. No indication there of what she must be worrying about, with him gone so long. He made no secret with her of the state of affairs; she had seen the family fortunes crash during his father’s lifetime and knew exactly how things stood.

A long budget of news from William Sykes, his colliery manager, most of it indifferent, culminating with the intelligence that virtually every metal tire on the wagons needed replacing and enclosing the blacksmith’s estimate. And, gallingly, a cheerful letter from a neighbour with the encouraging information that the market for domestic coals at the Newcastle docks was buoyant and now was the moment to sink further shafts, as he himself planned.

‘Good for you, Roper,’ Jack muttered, trying to feel cheerful for his friend. No, enough was enough. He would give it one more week, one more advertisement and then go home and fight this thing on the spot. A long way away from Lily France and those great green eyes. A broken heart was only another sort of pain, after all.

‘Jack?’

‘I did not hear you.’ She was standing in the open doorway at the head of the stairs, still dressed for riding, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. Jack got to his feet and stood with the table between them. It felt safer. ‘Did you have a pleasant ride?’

‘It was wonderful!’ She came in, closed the door behind her and pulled off her hat. A mass of chestnut hair tumbled free and she pushed it back with an exclamation of annoyance. Jack felt his whole body tense, his mouth dry. He had never seen that glory unbound before. His hands curled with the need to fix themselves in the shining mass, pull her to him, bury his face in it. He felt his body sway and stepped back away from the table, deeper into the shadows.

‘I forgot we just bundled it up.’ She was running her fingers through it now; the fragrance from it reached him, even across the room. Jasmine? ‘I saw Lady Jersey in the Park.’

‘The Patroness? But is that good?’

‘It might not have been—I was a mass of nerves when she called me over. But, Jack, it is all right! She asked me to join her in her carriage and we drove the length of the Row and she was so amiable, you would not believe.

‘And she admired my habit and told me I was bold but original. Then she wanted to know all about the scene outside the house, and laughed when I told her—and said, Now, I wonder who might have been behind that Miss France? in such a knowing way that I am sure she suspects Lady Angela, whom I know she dislikes. And then she wanted to know about Adrian.’

‘What did you tell her? She has the reputation as a shocking gossip, has she not?’ Damn it, I just want to go over there and take you in my arms and …

‘Dreadful—but I think that is all to the good—provided she is on one’s side and believes she has all the inside news. I was very careful not to say anything horrid about Adrian, just to imply that we both realised we would not suit. Then I said that despite it being perfectly amicable someone was spreading nasty rumours about it and she looked very knowing and said she would soon put people right about that. So I think it will be a storm in a teacup—I am so thankful I caught her on a day when she was inclined to be understanding.’

If I tell her I love her, will she be shocked? Or laugh? Or if I go over there and make love to her and then tell her—can I make her love me? And then what? ‘Good news indeed,’ he agreed drily. ‘I suspect she enjoys meddling, setting people on end. Perhaps someone she is at outs with has criticised you, so she decides to take your part?’

‘Probably,’ Lily agreed, drifting into the room and beginning to turn over the pile of prints and drawings that were on one end of the table. ‘Are these all steam pumps?’

‘No, not all, there are maps of the coal field, some cross-sections of rock formations, that sort of thing.’ He stayed back in the shadows, burningly conscious of the hardness of his body, of his need to touch her.

‘Oh, what is this?’ A print, stuck to the underside of another, drifted free as she lifted it and fluttered to the floor. Jack took one long stride forward and caught it, his fingers over the caption at the bottom. It brought them face to face as he straightened up.

‘Let me see.’ Lily craned to look at the print, a foursquare castle in the antique style with massive towers at each corner. ‘Where is that? It is very picturesque.’

‘Hardly that,’ Jack said. ‘It is simply a castle near the mine.’ There was something in his voice that made her look sharply at him, but she could read neither his face nor the tone. It seemed to her that perhaps his head was paining him, for the skin over those strong cheekbones looked tight and his eyes were shadowed. She wanted to run her fingertips over his face, caress away that tension, but something in his face held her back. ‘It has changed since this print was made. That tower at the right at the back has collapsed—in my grandfather’s day one of our tunnels ran under it and the thing caved in.’

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Lily stared at him aghast. ‘But how dreadful! What happened? Was there a claim against your family?’ No wonder Jack has no money.

‘The shock carried the old earl off with some kind of apoplectic fit. His son decided not to rebuild. There was no monetary claim as such, but we lost access to a large area of high-quality coal.’

Lily opened her mouth to demand all the details, then closed it again firmly. If nothing else, loving Jack was teaching her tact. He pushed the print to the bottom of the pile, allowing her a partial glimpse of the title as he did so. … erton Castle.

She should leave now she had told him her news. Aunt Herrick would certainly say so. Defiantly Lily went and curled up in one of the big leather chairs she had ordered set up on either side of the closed stove. ‘Jack, do come and sit down. It’s giving me a crick in the neck talking to you when you are standing right over there.’

It seemed to her that he hesitated before he came across and sat opposite her. ‘I am glad to hear your good news, but you should go now.’

‘Oh, you are as bad as Aunt Herrick,’ she grumbled, tucking her skirts snugly around her ankles. ‘Don’t be so stuffy. I want to ask you something.’

‘Yes?’ he said warily.

Lily chuckled. ‘That was not very gallant. You should have sounded eager to assist me.’

‘I never know what you are about to say or do. I have not known you long, Lily, just long enough to be cautious.’ He was smiling too, but there was a constraint behind it that she did not understand. ‘What do you wish to ask?’

‘If you will please act as my escort tomorrow night to Lady Frensham’s dance. It is not a ball, more of a rout party with dancing.’

‘No.’

The rejection was so immediate that Lily blinked. ‘But I have not explained—oh, you are worried about not having an evening suit of clothes, but I am sure one of the fashionable tailors can outfit you in a trice, and naturally I would pay for it as I am asking you to oblige me.’

‘No.’ Jack crossed one leg over the other, sat back in the chair and looked as unmovable as a granite boulder.

‘Why not?’ she demanded.

‘If you feel I am under an obligation in return for my food and shelter, beyond the amount for my lodgings which I am paying to Mrs Oakman—’

‘You are what?’ Lily uncurled her legs and sat up straight.

‘You said that you would charge me what I was paying to the Green Dragon. I am giving it to your housekeeper.’

‘But … that was not what I meant, you exasperating man! I meant that I would take it out of whatever I and the trustees decide to invest with you.’

‘I dislike being in debt.’ Jack spoke calmly, but his eyes were the hard flint colour she had learned to recognise as a sign of anger.

‘We will talk about that later.’ Lily was not used to backing down from an argument, far less losing one. ‘I would like you to come with me because I would feel more comfortable with a male escort.’

‘Or that you wish to demonstrate that you can muster one? Will Lord Randall be there?’

‘I have no idea whether he will or not. I would simply like to show that I am not moping around, pining for him.’

‘I am sure you can adequately demonstrate that without my assistance. Buy a new gown, perhaps? I am sure the crown jewels of some minor duchy must be available at a price?’

‘I will not dignify that with an answer,’ Lily retorted. ‘You are just set upon being disobliging for some reason.’ How is it possible to be head over heels in love with a man who makes you want to throw the fire irons at him?

‘I am busy.’

They sat in silence, Lily fuming, Jack watching her from beneath hooded lids. ‘Please?’

‘No.’

‘I will pay you for your time.’

‘What?’ Jack sat up abruptly. ‘I’ll be damned if you do! There are names for men who hire themselves out to ladies, and none of them apply to me.’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Jack! You are as prickly as a hedgehog! I want your escort to a social event, not your … your … body, you conceited man.’ And that was as brassy a lie as she was likely to come out with in many a long year, she recognised as soon as she said it.

‘Very well.’ The mobile mouth quirked into a smile. Lily narrowed her eyes suspiciously and tried not to recall what those lips had felt like on hers. ‘One hundred guineas.’

‘How much? That is outrageous!’ Jack shrugged, still smiling. Obviously he thought she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted and was prepared to call her bluff. Lily bounced to her feet in an affronted swirl of skirts. ‘Out of the question. Since you are so disobliging, I will go without you.’

She marched towards the door, forgetting the long skirts of her riding habit, and tripped over her own feet, somewhat spoiling the effect of her exit. She paused at the head of the stairs, chin up. ‘And minor duchies do not have crown jewels.’

‘Schleswig-Holstein,’ a mocking voice called after her. Lily slammed the door and retreated with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘Aunt!’ Mrs Herrick was sitting in the smallest salon with her feet up on a footstool and a novel in her hand, dozing.

‘Wha …? What, dear? Do not bounce so, Lily.’

‘Where, or what, is Schleswig-Holstein?’

‘Goodness, how would I know! Germany, I should think. Look it up on the globes in the study, dear. Why do you want to know?’

‘Just something Mr Lovell said.’

‘Discussing geography?’ Mrs Herrick asked vaguely, picking up her novel and pushing her cap straight. ‘That is nice, dear.’