An Improper Suitor (2 page)

He laughed. ‘You can’t believe everything you hear,’ he retorted, his eyes sparkling with humour.

‘Perhaps not,’ she said, still examining him with her quizzing glass. She turned to Julia.

‘I should perhaps introduce you. Miss Swifton, my granddaughter.’ He nodded formally. ‘And this,’ said Grannie turning to Julia, ‘is Lionel Blake, Earl of Thorwynn.’

Julia forgot to smile. It was not that she didn’t
want
to smile. Courtesy had been bred into her since she had cut her milk teeth. But the knowledge that the stranger was Lord Thorwynn crushed the sense out of her, like a medieval war hammer.

‘Rest assured, ladies, that Miss Neville is in good hands,’ he said, tossing them a smile that exuded charm.

‘We’ll call on you later, to assure ourselves that all is well,’ said Lady Bullfinch, addressing Miss Neville. ‘If you’ll be kind enough to tell us your direction.’

Meanwhile Lord Thorwynn joined his hands to help Julia mount. He grinned up at her, one of those beguiling grins that she was sure he used to good effect on a great many women. ‘I trust I am forgiven, Miss Swifton.’ His tone left no doubt that he believed himself forgiven.

‘Of course,’ she said, woodenly. Her ability to think was returning, gradually. She settled her riding habit around her then turned her attention back to him.

He had already moved away to lean over Miss Neville. The hands Julia had stepped on enfolded the hands of the girl, who was
struggling
weakly to stand up. She did not appear at all like a cherub now. More like a new-born foal finding its feet.

Perhaps it was petty of her, since the poor girl had gone through a terrible shock and really did need his assistance, but Julia wished Miss Neville to Jericho.

She had not heard the last of Miss Neville, however. The Cavalry could talk of nothing else.

‘I hope that poor girl doesn’t suffer any after-effects from the fall,’ said her grandmother.

‘She’s such a small slip of a girl. Lucky she didn’t break any bones,’ said Aunt Viola.

But behind the talk about the accident, there was something else. Lady Bullfinch was impatient for her friends to leave. When they all reached the gates of the park, she did not linger as she usually did. Outside the park their progress was slow. The city had awakened, and street vendors, hawkers, and loaded carts obstructed their
movement
.

‘So you’ve met Lord Thorwynn,’ said Grannie.

Ah. We’re coming to it now.
‘Yes.’ Before she could say anything, she rushed in, ‘I hope you aren’t planning to say anything in his favour, Grannie. I found his behaviour quite abominable.’

He had certainly lived up to his reputation as a rake. Attacking one lady, then escorting the other to her home. She was being unfair, of course. In both cases he had done nothing ungentlemanly. If his touch had provoked unladylike sensations in her, it was hardly his fault.
The attack has shaken me, that’s all. I’m not the victim of abduction every day.
What surprised her more than anything was that, after the initial jolt of fear, she had remained calm throughout. And despite her attempts to free herself, she had not been truly frightened. Perhaps some instinct told her that he meant no harm. Nevertheless, she fretted over her reactions. She had always scorned the role of the swooning heroine. Today she had come perilously close to that.

‘If I chance upon him again,’ she said, resolutely, ‘I’ll give him the cut.’

‘Of course you won’t,’ said her grandmother, forcefully. ‘Now that you’ve been introduced to him, you have to acknowledge him. To cut him would imply that something untoward had occurred between you.’

Julia let out an irritated breath. ‘I did not mean the direct cut, and well you know it. But if you think that I’ll look more favourably at him as a possible husband after today, you’re very much mistaken.’

She expected Grannie to berate her, to tell her not to be childish or some such thing.

Instead, Grannie nodded. ‘I don’t expect anything at all, although I must say he seems a tolerable young man. Quite attractive-looking,
too. But if you are really planning to choose your own husband, you had better move a bit faster. Time has wings, and it doesn’t wait for anyone.’

There was no mistaking those elaborate flourishes. The small white letter lay on the silver tray, looking harmless. But a letter in this particular handwriting never boded well. He picked it up and tore the top with his silver letter opener. The content was perfectly familiar.

He threw the letter into the fireplace. Though not an accomplished letter writer, his mother always made herself clear. He sighed and reached for the bell-pull.

Hodgkin appeared immediately.

‘Do I have any matters that require my immediate attention, Hodgkin?’

Hodgkin’s expression did not change, but he glanced towards the silver tray, empty of its letter, and then up at the ceiling. The ceiling apparently did not inspire him, since he answered, ‘I’m afraid not, my lord.’ His voice held a note of apology.

There was no escaping it, then.

‘In that case, Hodgkin, I’d better be on my way.’ Had the old retainer’s mouth actually twitched? There was no knowing with Hodgkin, of course. ‘If anyone asks for me, I’ll be visiting my mother. And you can let Cook know I will not be returning for dinner.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘And Hodgkin’ – the butler’s impassive face did not change – ‘have
you heard any rumours I should know about?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Thank you, that will be all.’

Hodgkin bowed.

Lionel stepped out of his townhouse on St James Square. It was a beautiful spring day. He could so easily be tempted to dawdle. His mother would not take kindly to it, however.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Duffel.’ The housekeeper’s big round face was as familiar as his mother’s. ‘Has my mother already worked herself into a state?’

The housekeeper, clearly torn between loyalty to her mistress and her soft spot for him, replied with a tiny smile. ‘She’s been expecting you this last hour, Lord Thorwynn.’

He grinned, ‘In other words, since the moment she finished
writing
the letter.’ He tossed his hat and topcoat to the footman, and waited to be announced.

‘His lordship’s here to see you, my lady.’

Mrs Duffel allowed him to pass, and closed the door slowly,
careful
of her mistress’s nerves. She shot him a quick look which he could only interpret as sympathy. Damn if he needed sympathy to face his own mother.

Lady Thorwynn was lying on the sofa, surrounded by a variety of herbal concoctions for her nerves, each more evil looking than the other. She had tasted none of them. As the door closed she struggled up into a seated position, wringing her hands.

‘Come to me. My poor, poor boy,’ she said. ‘What have you got yourself into this time?’

He had come to the conclusion some time ago that, no matter his age, his mother still saw him as a five-year-old boy with scraped knees. She pulled his head down to plant a kiss on his brow, then cupped his cheeks and peered into his eyes.

‘Let’s see how you get out of this one,’ she said, releasing him and sinking back on to her sofa. ‘Sit, sit.’

Confound it. I’m not a dog.

He sat and prepared himself for the lecture that he knew was coming. He searched through his recent past, the last two months, at
any rate. His latest mistress, the luscious (though very greedy) Angelique had been given her
congé
three weeks ago. There had been some overlap between her and the alluring Lady Amestable, who insisted on sharing his bed when Lord Amestable was away at his estate, which was quite often. Fortunately for him. And he had enjoyed one riotous night with Mrs Radlow, the golden-haired widow. There was nothing exceptionable in any of them. Unless Lord Amestable had discovered his wife’s infidelities and was foolish enough to call him out.

No doubt he would find out, after the lecture was over.

‘—how embarrassing it is to have to tell Lady Ponderton every time she asks, that you have not yet settled down. I could understand it if you were still green and wanting to make an impression. But you’re thirty. Thirty is beyond the age when an earl starts looking to his responsibilities and thinking about the family line. Just the other day Lady Neyfous was saying that it was such a pity—’

He rose and poured himself a glass of claret from the decanter on the tray. That was the only good part about these encounters. Mama always provided him with the best from her cellars. Perhaps she meant it as a bribe so he would listen. Or as a reward for enduring the lectures.

‘—you will stay for dinner, won’t you?’

Always the same question. ‘Yes, of course, Mama, I’d be delighted.’

She tugged at the bell-pull. The butler entered, a gangly man with no chin and pale-blue eyes.

‘Have a place set for Lord Thorwynn, will you?’

‘Yes, my lady.’ The butler bowed so tightly from the waist that Lionel wondered if he had lumbago.

‘Who is this man? What the devil happened to old Matthews?’ Thorwynn asked.

His mother sighed. ‘His name is Iggleton. He came very highly recommended. Old Matthews has been pensioned off. The poor man was starting to confuse everyone’s names. He’s gone to live with his sister in Staffordshire, I believe.’

Things would not be the same without him.

‘This brings me to why I called you here.’

Ah. Here came the moment he’d been dreading. Despite her
penchant for dramatics, his mother usually had good reasons to summon him.

‘It’s that Neville girl.’

For a moment he could not place the name. Then an image flashed through his mind of a girl lying on the ground very still. He choked on his drink. ‘Nothing’s happened to her, has it?’

His mother looked puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean. If it’s one of your cant terms signifying that she is increasing, then I can only say that I am shocked beyond words.’

‘Increasing?’ he said. He downed the claret in a gulp. He was not slow-witted, but at the moment inspiration escaped him.

‘In all the years I brought you up and watched you grow, I never thought for a second you would sink so low.’ She was genuinely upset. This was no moral sermon. ‘I have tolerated some of your excesses in the spirit that they were done – a young man sowing wild oats. Particularly since much of your youth was spent in the army, fighting Napoleon. You have not spoken to me of it, but I am sure that must have been a terrible ordeal.’ She focused her attention on the brocade of the sofa, following one of the patterns with her finger. ‘But this time you have crossed the line.’

He rested his glass carefully on the table and went to her. He knelt on the floor, and took her hands.

‘I’m very much in the dark, Mama. Could you kindly explain what is going on?’

She took a deep breath.

‘Is it possible you have not yet heard? I find that hard to credit. You are always the first to know when you have become the object of gossip.’

His head was still spinning. What possible gossip could there be that would involve Miss Neville?

‘I don’t see what there is to be done. You will have to marry her.’

‘Deuce take it, Mother,’ he exploded. ‘Stop playing games!’ But she wasn’t playing games. She didn’t like games, except for cards. ‘Just tell me what’s going on.’

‘But I
am
telling you,’ she said, bewildered.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘So why do I have to marry the chit?’

‘Because you compromised her, of course. Lady Nattleham, her
mother’s friend, was riding in Hyde Park and saw her lying on the ground, with you leaning over her, and your hands—’ She broke off, embarrassed.

‘My hands?’ he said, dangerously.

She reddened. Sometimes he wondered if Mama had actually bedded his father. It seemed hard to believe, though his very existence proved it.

‘Your hands,’ she continued, in a faint voice, ‘on her limbs.’

‘What nonsense!’ He stood up, his hands tearing through his hair. ‘I did indeed feel her limbs, as you choose to call them, Mother. Her
legs
.’ She looked up in shock. ‘But I was in the presence of her groom, and another perfectly respectable young lady. And I felt her legs to ensure that they were not broken. She had
fallen from a horse
, Mother.’

‘It was very foolish of you to feel her limbs, even if she had fallen from a horse.’ But then the full impact of his words reached her. She rose and drew him to her, to kiss him on the brow. She was smiling.

‘I knew it, my foolish boy. I knew you could not be so indifferent to propriety to—’

‘Feel a young lady’s limbs. In Hyde Park.’

She ignored him.

‘We must counter this rumour, and set things right immediately.’ She paused and looked hard at him. ‘Unless you were in the company of some dubious female at the time?’

‘No, indeed, Mama. I would not go riding at eight o’clock in the morning with some “dubious” female, as you term it.’

‘I beg to differ. Any female who would be riding with you alone in Hyde Park at eight o’clock in the morning can hardly be called respectable.’

He assured her that Miss Swifton was very proper
ton
. ‘She’s Lady Bullfinch’s granddaughter, no less, Mother. I think we can call her respectable.’

Still, there was a nagging doubt in his mind. She had not reacted as any society miss would have reacted when he had pounced on her so very unexpectedly. In fact, now that he thought of it, she had been remarkably unflustered, considering how close he had held her. So close, in fact, that her scent, mingling with a subtle hint of rosewater,
had lingered with him.

‘Yes, of course, we are well acquainted with Lady Bullfinch. She is a good friend of your grandmother’s. And I knew Miss Swifton’s mother, Olivia, though she was younger than me. A family of
bluestockings
, and rather odd, but nothing exceptionable. I will call on Miss Swifton, in that case, and we’ll devise a strategy to clear your name. As for Miss Neville, I have heard nothing about her at all, but I cannot help but feel that she must be a scheming nobody.’

‘There you wrong her, Mother. She is a perfectly charming and innocent young lady.’ A very pretty young lady, in fact. But the
direction
of his thoughts shifted to Miss Swifton, struggling in his arms; to the moment of awareness, as she jostled against him. His body had reacted, damn it, and jolted him into noticing her. As a woman. Which was certainly odd, because innocents like her usually left him cold. He liked more earthy, older women. It struck him, too, now that he thought about it, that she had remarkable presence of mind, given the fact that he had handled her. He cast a surreptitious glance at his palm. The teeth marks stood out, a clear circle of red.

‘If you are planning to call on Miss Swifton, I would be happy to accompany you,’ he said.

His mother threw him a quizzing look.

‘If she is to help me uncoil this mess, I need to talk to her about it,’ he said, surprised to find a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. Devil take it, he didn’t need to explain himself. ‘Anything wrong with that?’ he said, voicing it as a challenge.

She smiled, one of those knowing smiles mothers seem to have. ‘Nothing at all,’ she said. ‘I will be glad of your company.’

Julia shifted her legs from under her and looked up from reading
Persuasion
. Lady Bullfinch, of course, was reading a philosophical work by Voltaire, whom she adored, all the more so after she had had a fierce argument with him at a
salon
in Paris.

‘It always amazes me how society is so taken in by scoundrels like Mr Elliot,’ said Julia. ‘You would think someone would have exposed him long before.’

Her grandmother furrowed her brows. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘But scoundrels are generally tolerated
by society if they come from a prominent family.’

Julia sighed. ‘And yet the smallest transgression on our part becomes exaggerated beyond belief.’

Lady Bullfinch shrugged. ‘That has not always been the case. In my day, young girls were expected to have a romp before they settled down and married, and we had none of this ridiculous white muslin.’

Julia smiled. ‘Far better these light muslins than the heavy brocades and hoops you wore. I don’t know how you were able to move with all that weight.’

‘We didn’t think much of it at the time, believe me. I suppose each generation sees itself as more fortunate than the one before,’ she said.

‘Still, one thing remains consistent,’ said Julia. ‘In each generation rakes and scoundrels prey on the innocent.’

Grandmother eyed her steadily. ‘You mustn’t always think of your mother,’ she said, gently. ‘True, she suffered a great deal when your father abandoned her, but not all gentlemen are like him. Some are quite … exciting.’

Julia’s cheeks burned, as they generally did, when Grandmother started to talk about her love affairs. There was no convincing her that this topic was considered inappropriate for maidenly ears.

The clunk of the knocker reached her.

‘Odd time for someone to come calling,’ said Lady Bullfinch, straightening herself. ‘I hope it doesn’t mean dinner will have to be delayed. Cook will be livid.’

Rumbert appeared in the doorway, a gaunt-looking man who had been the butler since Lady Bullfinch’s marriage at twenty. ‘Lady Thorwynn and Lord Thorwynn wish to speak to you. Shall I show them in here, or would you prefer to receive them in the
drawing room
?’

Julia threw a sharp look, but her grandmother shrugged and shook her head in denial. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Lord Thorwynn himself should seek them out. Not after Grandmother’s ultimatum.

‘In here,’ she said to Rumbert. ‘If they call at such an hour they cannot expect to be formally received.’ The butler bowed. ‘And bring some tea and refreshments.’

Julia went to the mirror, tugged her hair back into its pins and
smoothed down her Turkey-red cotton day dress. They were not receiving that day, so she had not given any thought to her clothing.
I really am bird-witted, just as he said.
She was actually preening herself to meet him, a practised rake who had seized her in the park and then walked off with the most casual apology. To make matters worse, the image of the cherub flashed before her, so neat and tidy even after her fall.