Читать книгу The Louise Allen Collection - Louise Allen - Страница 35

Joanna let Giles take her hand and lead her out on to the dance floor, trying not to remember what had just happened, forcing herself not to think about how she would feel when this dance was over and he was gone. Time must stand still: this was all there was.

She let her hand rest lightly on his shoulder and shut her eyes briefly as his fingers touched her waist. This was another memory to be added to the precious store of recollections of Giles, the most vivid being the fleeting kiss which she had snatched in the flurry of farewells when Hebe and her new husband had driven off after the wedding. Everyone had been kissing the bride and groom: what more natural in the confusion than that she should accidentally kiss the groomsman? Giles had laughed at her blushes and returned the kiss with a swift pressure of his lips on hers: Joanna could still close her eyes and conjure up the exact sensation, the scent of Russian leather cologne…

‘Miss Fulgrave?’

‘Oh, I am sorry! I was daydreaming, thinking about my steps,’ she improvised hurriedly to cover up her complete abstraction. She must not waste a moment in his arms by thinking of the past: only this moment mattered.

The music struck up and they were dancing, dancing, Joanna realised, as if they had been practising together for years. Giles Gregory was a tall man, but her height made them well-matched partners and his strength and co-ordination meant that their bodies moved together with an easy elegance which took her breath away.

‘You dance very well, Miss Fulgrave,’ he remarked, looking down and meeting browny-green, sparkling eyes. He had thought her much improved on the bouncing schoolroom miss he remembered; in fact, he had hardly recognised her at first sight, but now with the colour back in her face and animation enhancing those unusual eyes, he realised that he had a very lovely young woman in his arms. Who or what had so overset her? he wondered, conscious of a chivalrous urge to land whoever it was a facer for his pains.

‘Thank you, Colonel, but I think I must owe that to you. Do you have the opportunity to attend many dances whilst you are with the army?’ Joanna realised she must take every opportunity to converse, as while they were talking she could be expected to look into his face. She tried to garner every impression, commit each detail to memory: the darkness of his lashes, the small mole just in front of his left ear, the way his mouth quirked when he was amused, that scent of Russian Leather again…

He swept her round a tight corner, catching her in close to avoid another couple who were making erratic progress down the floor. Joanna was very aware of the heat of his body as she was suddenly pressed against him, then they were dancing once more with the conventional distance between them.

‘Dances?’ He had been considering her question. ‘Surprisingly, yes. We take whatever opportunities present themselves, and as not a few officers have their wives with them whenever circumstances allow—and certainly when we were wintering in Portugal—there is often an impromptu ball.’

‘And the Duke encourages such activities, I believe?’ Joanna asked. As they whirled through another ambitious turn she caught a glimpse of her mama’s face, a look of surprise upon it. She felt wonderfully light-headed. This was reality, the music would never stop. Giles would never leave her.

‘Yes. Wellington enjoys a party and he thinks it does us good,’ Giles smiled reminiscently.

‘His family, he calls his officers, does he not?’

‘You know a lot about old Nosey, Miss Fulgrave. Are you another of his ardent admirers? I have never known such a man—unless it were that fellow Byron—for attracting the adulation of the ladies. None of the rest of us ever stood a chance of the lightest flirtation while Wellington was around.’

‘Why, no, not in that way, for I have never seen him.’ Better not to think of Giles wanting to flirt. ‘But he is a fine tactician, is he not?’

She saw she had taken Giles aback, for he gave her a quizzical look. ‘Indeed, yes, but that is a question I would have expected from Master William, not from a young lady.’

‘I take an interest, that is all,’ she said lightly, wishing she dared ask about his life with his regiment, but knowing she could never keep the conversation impersonal.

And then, with a flourish of strings, the music came to an end, Giles released her and they were clapping politely and walking off the floor. Joanna felt as though the places where his hands had touched her must be branded on her skin, it felt so sensitive. Her hands began to tremble again.

‘Miss Fulgrave, might I hope that the next dance is free on your card?’ It was Freddie Sutton looking hopeful. ‘And now that I know you have changed your mind about waltzing tonight, may I also hope for one a little later?’

‘Miss Fulgrave.’ Giles Gregory was bowing to her, nodding to Freddie. ‘Sutton.’ He smiled at her, and she read a look of reassurance in his eyes and guessed that she must be looking better. ‘Thank you for the dance.’

Then he was gone, swallowed up in the crowd. She looked after him, catching a glimpse of the back of his head and slowly realising that with the ending of that dance the entire purpose for which she had been living for the past three years, and her every hope for the future, had crumbled into dust.

‘Thank you, Lord Sutton.’ She turned back to him, her smile glittering. ‘I would love to dance the next waltz with you, but just now what I would really like is a glass of champagne.’

To the chagrin and rising dismay of her mama, to the censure of the flock of chaperons and to the horrified and jealous admiration of her friends, Joanna proceeded to stand up for every waltz and most of the other dances as well. She did refuse some, but only to drink three more glasses of champagne, to be escorted into supper by Lord Maxton, a hardened rake and fortune hunter, and to crown the evening by being discovered by the Dowager Countess of Wigham alone with Mr Paul Hadrell on the terrace.

‘I felt I must tell you at once,’ that formidable matron informed an appalled Mrs Fulgrave, who had been looking anxiously for her daughter for the past fifteen minutes. ‘I could not believe my eyes at first,’ she continued, barely managing to conceal her enjoyment at having found the paragon of deportment engaged in such an activity with one of the worst male flirts in town. ‘I am sure I do not have to tell you, Mrs Fulgrave, that Mr Hadrell is the last man I would want a daughter of mine to be alone with!’

This final observation was addressed to Mrs Fulgrave’s retreating back, for Joanna’s harassed mother lost no time in hurrying to the doors that led to the terrace. It had never occurred to her for a moment that Joanna might be out there, but there indeed she was, leaning against the balustrade in the moonlight, laughing up at the saturnine Mr Hadrell, who was standing far too close and, even as Mrs Fulgrave approached, was leaning down to—

‘Joanna!’ Her errant daughter moved away from her beau with her usual grace and no appearance of guilt. He, however, took one look at her chaperon’s expression and took himself off with a bow and an insouciant,

‘Your servant, Miss Fulgrave. Mrs Fulgrave, ma’am!’

‘Joanna!’ Emily Fulgrave repeated, in the voice of a woman who could not believe what she was seeing. ‘What is the meaning of this? You have been flirting, waltzing—and, to crown it all, I find you out here with such a man! And to make things even worse, I was told where I could find you, and with whom, by Lady Wigham.’

Joanna shrugged, a pretty movement of her white shoulders. ‘I was bored.’

‘Bored!’ Mrs Fulgrave peered at her in the half-light. ‘Are you sickening for something, Joanna? First your obstinacy this morning, now this…’

‘Sickening? Oh, yes, I expect I am, but there’s no cure for it,’ she said lightly. She did indeed feel very odd. The aching pain of Giles’s loss was there somewhere, deep down where she did not have to look at it yet, but on top of the pain was a rather queasy sense of excitement, the beginnings of a dreadful headache and the feeling that absolutely nothing would ever matter again.

Her mother took her arm in a less than sympathetic grip and began to walk firmly towards the door. ‘We are going home this minute.’

‘I cannot, Mama,’ Joanna said. ‘I am dancing the next waltz with—’

‘No one. Home, my girl,’ Emily said grimly, ‘and straight to bed.’

The dreadful headache was there, waiting for her the next morning when she awoke, as was the hideous emptiness where all her plans had once been. It was as though the walls of a house had vanished, leaving the furniture standing around pointlessly in space.

Joanna rubbed her aching head, realising shakily that she must be suffering from the after-effects of too much champagne. How much had she drunk? Hazily she counted five glasses. Could she have possibly drunk that much? She could recall being marched firmly from the ball with her mama’s excuses to their friends ringing in her ears. ‘The heat, I am afraid, it has brought on such a migraine.’ But the carriage ride home was a blur, with only the faintest memory of being lectured, scolded and sent upstairs the moment they arrived home.

Oh, her head hurt so! Where was Mary with her morning chocolate? The door opened to reveal her mama, a tea cup in her hand.

‘So you are awake, are you?’ she observed grimly as her heavy-eyed daughter struggled to sit up against the pillows. ‘I have brought you some tea, I thought it might be better for you than chocolate.’ She put the cup into Joanna’s hands and went to fling the curtains wide, ignoring the yelp of anguish from the bed as the light flooded into the room. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Joanna?’

‘Have you said anything to Papa?’ Joanna drank the tea gratefully. Her mouth felt like the soles of her shoes and her stomach revolted at the faint smell of breakfast cooking that the opening door had allowed into the room. Surely she could not have a hangover?

‘No,’ Emily conceded. ‘Your papa is very busy at the moment and I do not want to add another worry for him on top of your refusal yesterday to receive dear Rufus. Unless, that is, I do not receive a satisfactory explanation for last night.’

‘Champagne, Mama,’ Joanna said reluctantly. ‘I had no idea it was so strong.’ She eyed her fulminating parent and added, ‘It tasted so innocuous.’

‘Champagne! No wonder you were behaving in such a manner. Have I not warned you time and again to drink nothing except orgeat and lemonade?’

‘Yes, Mama. I am sorry, Mama.’ I am sorry I drank so much, her new, rebellious inner voice said. I will know better next time, just a glass or two for that lovely fizzing feeling…

‘I had thought,’ Emily continued, ‘of forbidding you any further parties until we go down to Brighton for the summer, but I am reluctant to cause more talk by having you vanish from the scene, especially as I know the earl will be in town for at least another fortnight. Fortunately there are only minor entertainments for the rest of the month. I hope the headache you undoubtedly have will be a lesson to you, my girl.’

She got up and walked to the door. ‘I must say, Joanna, this has proved greatly disappointing to me. I had been so proud of you. I can only hope it is a momentary aberration. As for Rufus Carstairs, I will have to tell him you are indisposed and will not be able to receive him for a day or two.’

On that ominous announcement the door closed firmly behind her and Joanna curled up in a tight ball of misery and had a good weep. Finally she emerged, feeling chastened and ashamed of herself. It was very good of Mama not to punish her for what had happened, she fully appreciated that. And dissipation only made one feel ill, it appeared. Perhaps she should return to normal, if only to prevent her mother ever speaking to her in that hurt tone of voice again.

It was all hopeless, of course: she was twenty years old and as good as on the shelf. How could she bear to marry another man when she would always be in love with Giles? Still, spinsters had to behave with modesty and decorum, so she might as well continue like that and become used to it.

This pious resolve lasted precisely two days; in fact, until the rout party at Mrs Jameson’s and her next encounter with the Earl of Clifton. Mrs Jameson’s parties were always popular although, as she admitted to Mrs Fulgrave when the ladies were standing talking halfway through the evening, it did seem rather flat after the Duchess’s grand ball. Emily, who could still not think of the ball without a shudder, agreed but pointed out that anything on such a scale must induce a sense of let-down afterwards.

Her daughter was certainly feeling that sensation, for the combination of being on her best behaviour, and knowing that many of those present this evening had observed her behaving in quite the opposite way, was oppressive. She tried hard not to imagine that people were talking about her behind her back, but could not convince herself. It became much worse when she realised that Lady Suzanne Hall was amongst the young ladies present.

Joanna had never had more than a passing acquaintanceship with Suzanne, who was at the centre of a group of her friends, all talking and giggling together. Knowing that she was going to regret it, but quite unable to resist, Joanna strolled across and attached herself to a neighbouring group so she could hear what was being said behind her.

There was a lot of giggling, several gasps of surprise and then one young lady said, ‘Colonel Gregory? Why, Suzy, you cunning thing! What does your papa say?’

‘As it is Giles, why, what could he say? He has always been against it, but darling Giles is so persuasive.’

‘Oh, you lucky thing! I saw him at the Duchess’s ball and I thought he was so dashing and handsome…’

Joanna moved abruptly away. So, he had asked Lord Olney for Suzanne’s hand in marriage and the Marquis had agreed. Now all she could look forward to was the announcement. Joanna scooped a glass of champagne from the tray carried by a passing footman and drank it defiantly before she realised that the Earl of Clifton had entered the room and was being greeted by his hostess. Joanna took a careful step backwards towards a screen but was too late: he must have enquired after her, for Mrs Jameson was scanning the room and nodding in her direction.

Regretting her height, which made her so visible, Joanna slipped her empty glass on to a side table and prepared to make the best of it. He could hardly ask her to marry him in the middle of a crowded reception, after all.

She watched him make his way across the room, critically comparing him to Giles. Rufus was slightly above medium height with an elegant figure and a handsome, slightly aquiline, face. His hair was very blond, his eyes a distinctive shade of blue, and Joanna suspected he knew exactly how attractive he was to look at. He was also always immaculately dressed in an austere fashion.

But compared to Giles’s tall, muscular figure, his air of confident command and the quiet humour in his face, Rufus Carstairs cut a poor figure to her eyes, and, although she could not quite decide why, a sinister one at that. His eyes flickered over her rapidly as he approached and once again she had that disconcerting feeling that he was paying more attention to her figure than was proper.

‘My lord.’ She curtsied slightly as he reached her side.

‘So formal, Miss Fulgrave.’ He took her hand in his and bent to kiss it. Joanna snatched it away, hoping that this unconventional greeting would go unnoticed.

‘My lord!’

‘Oh, come now, Joanna.’ He tucked his hand under her elbow and began to stroll down the length of the room. ‘How can you stand so on ceremony with an old friend even if we have only recently been reunited?’

‘We were hardly friends, my lord,’ she retorted tartly, wondering if she could extricate her elbow and deciding it would create an unseemly struggle. ‘As I recall, you considered me a pestilential brat and I thought you were a bully.’

‘But now you are a beautiful young lady and I am but an ardent admirer at your feet.’

‘Please, Lord Clifton, do not flirt, I am not in the mood.’ She looked around the room for rescue. ‘Look, there is Mr Higham. Have you met him? I am sure he would wish to meet you.’

‘I have no wish to meet him, however.’ Rufus’s hand was touching her side, she could feel its heat through the thin gauze of her bodice. Only a few days before Giles’s hand had rested there. ‘Joanna, when are you going to permit me to speak to you?’

‘You are speaking to me now. Oh, good evening, Miss Doughty. How is your mama?’

With a faint hiss of irritation Lord Clifton steered Joanna away from her friend. ‘That is not what I mean and you know it, Joanna. Your parents are more than willing for me to address you.’

Joanna wondered if she had the courage to refuse him there and then and risk a scene, but those blue eyes were glittering dangerously and she was suddenly afraid of what he might do. ‘Yes, I know, but it is too soon, my lord, we are hardly acquainted again.’

He smiled suddenly, but the attractive expression did not reach his eyes. ‘Such maidenly modesty! I know what I want, Joanna, and what I want, I get. I have a fondness for beautiful things and my collection is notable. And I do not think I am going to be fighting off many rivals, am I? I have heard the whisperings since I returned to London. Miss Fulgrave, it seems, is very picky and turns down every offer. Do you expect men to keep offering and risking a rebuff?’

‘I am surprised that you risk it, then,’ she retorted, trampling down the mortifying thought that people were gossiping about her.

‘But I told you, I get what I want and I want you, Joanna. Just think of the triumph of carrying off the Perfect Débutante, the young lady who has refused so many. How lovely you will look installed as chatelaine of Clifton Hall. I will be calling very soon. Now, I am expected at Rochester’s for cards. Goodnight, my dear.’

Watching him saunter back across the room and take his smiling leave of his hostess, she wanted to throw the glass at the wall, scream, do something utterly outrageous, but only the dark glitter of her eyes betrayed her innermost feelings. Somewhere, deep inside, the girl she had once been before she had met Giles was reawakening: older, more socially adept, polished, but still that rebellious, adventurous spirit burned, and now it roused itself and stared out at a hostile world through new and defiant eyes.

The next day while walking in Hyde Park with her maid, she saw a smart curricle bowling along the tan surface towards her. At the reins was the petite figure of Lady Suzanne, a dashing tricorne and veil on her blonde head, her figure clad to perfection in a deep blue walking dress. She was laughing with delight as she controlled the two high-stepping bays at a brisk trot and, with a wrench, Joanna realised that not only was the man beside her Giles Gregory but his right hand was over Suzanne’s on the reins and he was laughing too at her uninhibited enjoyment.

They swept past Joanna and for a moment she thought he had not noticed her, then the team was reined in and began to back. Joanna could hear Giles’s voice, ‘Keep your hands lower, Suzy, for goodness’ sake, you are trying to make a team back up, not encourage a hunter over a fence!’

The curricle drew level with her again just as he said, with unmistakable pride in his voice, ‘Good girl! There, I told you you could do it. Good morning, Miss Fulgrave, I do beg your pardon, we were past before I recognised you. I hope your family is well?’ His eyes asked something else, and Joanna felt a surge of warmth that not only had he remembered her distress, but that he had the tact not to mention it in front of Lady Suzanne.

‘Quite well, I thank you, Colonel,’ she replied, wondering at her own composure. ‘All of us are in good health.’

‘Excellent. Are you ladies acquainted?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Lady Suzanne said with a light laugh. ‘We know each other by sight, do we not, Miss Fulgrave? And, of course, I saw you at my aunt’s ball.’ As did most of the ton, her expression said, as her pretty blue eyes rested on Joanna’s face. She did not like another woman drawing her Colonel’s attention, that was plain.

‘Indeed.’ Joanna could feel the seams of her gloves creaking as she clenched her fists. ‘And I saw you. Such a lovely gown. Good day, Lady Suzanne, Colonel. Enjoy your drive.’

She forced herself to smile as she turned on her heel and began to walk home. Nothing mattered any more, the only thing left was to immerse herself in whatever diversions presented themselves so that she did not have the opportunity to even think about Giles.

Her mother noted with concern her silence and set face when she came in but within days she found that her daughter’s uncommunicativeness was the least of her problems.

At the end of two weeks the list of outrages committed by her lovely, obedient, perfect daughter included flirting heavily with every rake who came within her orbit, being found playing dice with three young gentlemen in a back room at a party, galloping on Rotten Row and eating ice cream in Gunther’s with Lord Sutton, having ‘lost’ her maid. This was on top of her managing, by what stratagems her mama could not establish, to avoid Lord Clifton on every occasion he called. The final straw was to walk up St James’s because—as she told her speechless mother—she ‘wanted to know what all the fuss was about’.

That exploit led to Mr Fulgrave’s involvement, resulting in a painful interview. Joanna was forbidden any parties until they went to Brighton in two weeks’ time and had to suffer the ignominy of not being allowed out at all without her mother’s escort.

‘I do not understand it, I really do not,’ Mr Fulgrave said, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘At your age dear Grace was married with her first child and was mistress of a large household, while you are behaving like a hoyden of seventeen who knows no better. Lord Clifton will not contain his impatience for much longer my girl, and if these disgraceful exploits come to his attention he will withdraw his suit in disgust.’

Alone in her bedroom Joanna considered these strictures with little sense of remorse. She felt too numb to really care, although the hope that she would drive away Rufus Carstairs gave her a glimmer of pleasure. But disappointingly a course of dissipation did not seem to provide the distraction from the circling thoughts of Giles that she had hoped. Still, it was at least more stimulating than meekly withering into an old maid, which seemed the only alternative to an unwanted marriage.

Nothing, therefore, deterred Joanna from her plans for that evening, which involved leaving the house by the back door after she was supposed to be asleep and meeting her old acquaintance Catherine Marcus. Mrs Marcus, once plain Kate Hampton and now a rich young matron, had informed Joanna three evenings before when they met at a reception that she was getting up a party to attend the masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens. Her dear Joanna, she was sure, would thoroughly enjoy it.

Mama did not approve of Mrs Marcus, whom she considered to be fast and flighty, but, as far as she knew, she and Joanna had never been close at and she was therefore unlikely to lead her daughter astray. The thought that their reacquaintance would involve an expedition to Vauxhall for a masquerade, an activity entirely beyond the pale as far as Mrs Fulgrave was concerned, was inconceivable.

Her mask dangling from its ribbons in one hand, the other clutching her blue domino tightly around her, Joanna made her escape and was picked up by the Marcuses’ coach without mishap at the appointed place. No one, she congratulated herself, would know and she had always wanted to experience a masquerade. In the flickering light her friend did not notice the shadows under her eyes and the party set off full of high spirits.