An Improper Suitor (3 page)

Perhaps he was coming to apologize. But somehow she doubted it. It was far more likely he was being pressured by his grandmother. With Grannie’s blessing.

Julia did not know what irritated her more – the fact that she was not better dressed, or the scheming.

The moment the door closed behind Rumbert, Julia turned to her. ‘I hope you have not spoken to Lady Gragspur already. If you have, you are betraying the terms of our agreement.’

There was no time for an answer. The door opened and Rumbert announced the Thorwynns.

Lady Thorwynn did not resemble her son. There was nothing in her colouring to suggest the piercing blackness of his eyes. Nor in her slight, trim figure to suggest his lithe athletic frame. But they both moved with a fluid grace that made watching them a pleasure. Even if it was rude to stare.

He took her hand, gazed directly into her eyes, and murmured his delight at seeing her for the second time that day. He had the satisfied look of a cat who had stolen a fish out of a tank, as if she had
somehow
engineered the situation. The impulse to remark that she had invited neither encounter was very strong but she restrained it.

Lady Thorwynn quickly fell into conversation with Lady Bullfinch. Since it involved common acquaintances, friends of Julia’s mother whom she did not know, she could not participate. Which left her to entertain Lord Thorwynn.

She knew nothing about him, so she chose the most innocuous topic she could think of. ‘Do you often ride in the park early in the morning, Lord Thorwynn?’ she asked. To her astonishment, the
question
seemed to throw him into confusion.

‘Yes, that is – not often.’

For heaven’s sake, she was not asking him to give away government
secrets. She tried a different direction. ‘Did Miss Neville arrive home safely?’

This time he put his tea down with a clatter. ‘I believe so,’ he said, looking towards his mother for help.

Such a notorious rake could not be tongue-tied. Clearly their visit involved more than a social call. However much she racked her brain, she could not think of a reason.

‘And I have heard about your charming granddaughter,’ said Lady Thorwynn. She turned in her chair. For a long moment she studied Julia’s face, her clothing, and her figure, down to the puce shoes she wore that did not match with her dress.

Would you like to see my teeth, too?
Julia submitted to the scrutiny, willing herself not to shuffle her feet and twiddle her thumbs. She kept her eyes on the gold-leaf pattern around the
fireplace
. What she really wanted to do was wring Grannie out like a wet cloth.

‘Which brings me to the purpose of our visit,’ said Lady Thorwynn, nodding in a satisfied way. Had Julia won her approval? Heaven forbid. ‘Which is, in fact, to enlist your help, Miss Swifton.’

That took her by surprise. In fact, Lady Thorwynn could have knocked her down with one of the ostrich feathers in her turban. Her curiosity running rampant by now, it took remarkable effort to reply calmly, ‘I’d be happy to be of assistance, my lady.’

Lady Thorwynn smiled. ‘Wait until you know what is required. It is a matter of delicacy. There is perhaps some risk to your
involvement
.’

Julia did not like risks. In fact, she positively disliked them. Especially if they involved rakes. She glanced towards Lord Thorwynn. He was staring into his teacup like a fortune-teller, trying to read the future. In the growing dusk, she realized there was
something
gypsy-like about him, with his long black locks tumbling on to his face. She had known a band of gypsies that had frequented their land every year in her childhood. She could imagine him laughing with the women around the camp-fire, his teeth flashing in the
moonlight
.

He looked up, and their gazes met. He smiled, a small reassuring smile, and without thinking, Julia smiled back. Then she realized that
Grannie was watching, so she turned her attention back to Lady Thorwynn.

Lady Thorwynn explained the situation quickly, with a few
interruptions
from her son.

‘So you see, as a witness to the whole affair, you are invaluable in countering the rumours. We must circulate the correct story.’

Julia threw a glance at Lady Bullfinch. For the briefest of moments, she thought of saying no. After all, if he married the cherub, then her grandmother could no longer use him as a threat to force her to marry.

But, to Julia’s surprise, Grannie objected. ‘You are asking us to circulate a story which may well compromise my niece.’

Lord Thorwynn shook his head. ‘That is the risk my mother spoke of. However, if we emphasize that your niece was in your sight the whole time, then there can be no problem. After all, you were only a few minutes behind us.’

Julia thought of the moments when they wrestled on their horses, hidden by the oak trees. It would take only one witness to that scene for a completely different story to circulate. But there could not have been anyone. She had searched for help and seen nobody.

Like a gambler staking his future on his winnings, Julia made her decision. After all, she did not think Lord Thorwynn and the cherub would suit each other at all.

‘The rumour is completely unfounded,’ she said. ‘Neither Miss Neville nor Lord Thorwynn can be sacrificed to such an absurd
interpretation
of the situation.’

Grannie threw her a complicated look that held both surprise and warning. ‘I hope you are fully aware of the risks involved,’ she said. ‘Think about it before you decide.’

Julia shook her head. ‘I am the only one who can help Lord Thorwynn, since I was the only witness to the events. It would be unconscionable to allow the rumour to spread without attempting to put an end to it.’ From the corner of her eye she saw Lord Thorwynn make some kind of a gesture. She ignored it, keeping her attention on Lady Thorwynn. ‘But we need a plan of action.’

She was amazed at her outer calm. Inwardly, she squirmed like a worm on a hook. She would aid Lord Thorwynn, because she was
duty bound to do so, but heaven help him if he tried to ply her with his charms, because she would expend all her energy to make sure he stayed out of her life.

‘You missed dinner,’ said Conrad, Viscount Benedict.

‘I know.’ Lionel wrinkled his nose. ‘I dined at my mother’s. She insisted.’

Benedict raised a thick red eyebrow, but said nothing.

‘By the way, I need your company tonight, Benny,’ drawled Lionel, spreading his arms on the back of the familiar settee, as far as his starched collar points would permit. The settee seemed almost moulded to his form – he always sat there when it was available. Brooks’s was his place of refuge, somewhere to enjoy a quiet interval before moving on to his next activity.

Today, though, Brooks’s failed to have that effect. Lionel had a prickling sensation between his shoulder blades. The impulse to look round to make sure no one stared was overwhelming.

He hoped he looked a great deal more at ease than he felt.

‘Certainly,’ said Benny, peering at him. ‘Something wrong?’

He did not fool Benny, of course, never could. Not even as a
thirteen
year old at Eton, where they had first met. Benny always saw through him.

Since nothing else would satisfy him, he explained the situation to Benny, glancing around to make sure none of the gentlemen lounging around them could be listening.

‘As far as I know, the rumour hasn’t reached White’s,’ remarked Benny, when he’d finished. ‘I was there earlier. I’ll keep a look out for you, though. Since you won’t set foot in the place.’

‘You know why,’ said Lionel, grimly. ‘There are certain … people
I wish to avoid.’

Benny looked pained. ‘I’m very well aware of why you don’t go to White’s.’ His tone made it clear he did not want that particular subject opened. ‘I haven’t heard anything here, either. So no one’s heard at the clubs yet. Perhaps there’s nothing to it.’

‘Dash it, Benny,’ he said. ‘If my mother’s heard it, you can be sure there is something to it. It’ll be in the betting books by tomorrow. “Will I, or will I not, salvage Miss Neville’s reputation?”’

‘Is she an antidote?’ asked his companion.

An image of blonde ringlets, blue eyes and parchment skin rose up and disappeared. ‘No, she’s quite presentable, in fact.’ He considered, rubbing the tip of his nose with his thumb. ‘She’s pretty enough, but much too debutante for my taste.’

Benny swirled his brandy and nodded. ‘Still, better than a girl with a squint.’

‘Confound it! I’m not planning to marry her. That’s where the Swifton chit comes in. And where you come in.’

Benny set down his glass. ‘You’re not planning to marry the Swifton girl?’

Lionel guffawed. ‘You haven’t met her, if you can ask that
question
.’ Unbidden, he recalled her penetrating hazel eyes, a
heart-shaped
face, and a mouth that was definitely kissable with a deucedly stubborn expression. ‘Wouldn’t marry me if I went down on my knees and begged. One of those ladies who don’t like marriage, I believe. A bluestocking, and a Wollstonecraft follower.’ She had never said anything like that, certainly never spewed anything about the Rights of Women during their brief interaction. But he knew her
grandmother
had been a friend of the notorious Mary Wollstonecraft, and been part of the group that supported her ideas. ‘For God’s sake, Benny, all this is beside the point. The point is’ – he cleared his throat – ‘you need to escort me to Mrs Wadswith’s ball tonight.’

Benny let out a bark of laughter and put his hand to his heart. ‘What’s the world coming to? A ball, for the famous Thorwynn! The Laughing Rake
par excellence
!
With a room full of debutantes! Coming it too brown!’

Lionel drained his glass. ‘Don’t rub it in.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to abandon my pedestal for the night and
come down to earth,’ he said ruefully. ‘A temporary condition, I hope. But very indicative of my dire straits.’

‘And you can’t do without my support?’

‘Your support is essential. If only to keep the match-making monsters at bay. The moment they realize I’m not going to marry the Neville girl after all, they’ll sink their claws into me, and I’ll be done for.’ He rose, noting as he did the smirk on Benny’s face. ‘You might think it funny, but it’s no laughing matter for the Neville girl, or for me, if we can’t squelch the rumours.’

Benny shrugged. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss the event for anything. It will be the height of amusement to watch you trying to extricate
yourself
from the old tabbies. And to see Mrs Wadswith’s face when she realizes you have chosen her ball to make your first appearance in society since your return from the Continent.’

Julia finished greeting the last person in the receiving line, an elderly man with a red nose and stays that creaked when he bent to take her hand. She surveyed the flamboyant ballroom. Clearly Mrs Wadswith had spared no expense to prepare for the party. She’d put into effect the latest fashion plates from
Ackermann’s Repository
, not on a dress, but on the ballroom itself. The dominant colour was Clarence Blue, with several rows of flounces lining the walls. Real wheat ears were set up in Grecian vases throughout the ballroom, and festoons of roses were suspended from the ceiling, windows, and doors. The idea certainly was original, but the execution made the ballroom look like an overcrowded woman’s court dress.

The worst of it was that half the hostesses in town would be
imitating
it.

‘You’ve got to stop fidgeting,’ said Grannie.

‘I’m not fidgeting.’ But her hands betrayed her. Her hands clasped and unclasped of their own volition. She could put them behind her back, she supposed, but it would present an odd appearance.

‘Do you want to help Lord Thorwynn or not?’ Lady Bullfinch’s voice was sharp. ‘You won’t pull this off if you look so anxious.’

Julia stretched her mouth into a broad smile. ‘Better?’ she said.

‘It’s lucky people don’t really know you, or they’d know that was a battle grin,’ remarked her grandmother sternly. ‘Remove that smile
from your face at once. You have to look like an innocent young debutante, excited at the chance to dance. Maybe you could manage to simper, as well. Anything other than your ferocious
don’t get closer
expression will do.’

Julia grinned, a real smile this time. ‘I
am
an innocent debutante. Not precisely young at three and twenty, but not yet on the shelf. And I love to dance.’ She could not resist teasing her. ‘But no one’s invited me yet. My dance card is completely blank.’

‘You’ve only just arrived. I’m sure you’ll be surrounded by
admirers
in a moment. After all, you do have some money to your name,’ replied Lady Bullfinch, her fierce black eyes twinkling.

‘How delightful to dance with the fortune hunters,’ replied Julia, still smiling, but rather more cynically.

A group of young bucks in bright waistcoats and heavily starched shirt collars standing in front of her moved away, no doubt eager to withdraw to the card-room. Lady Thorwynn came into her line of vision, languishing on a puce sofa, right in the centre of the matrons’ area. A garland of upside down roses dangled over her head. Lady Sefton and Princess Lieven, patronesses of Almack’s, sat close by, watching the younger guests with hawk eyes. Several other prominent personages were seated in the vicinity. She had certainly been able to gather some of Society’s most notorious scandalmongers around her.

‘Time for battle,’ said Julia, indicating Lady Thorwynn, raising her chin and drawing a deep breath.

Grannie reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘Everything will go well. It’s Lord Thorwynn’s future that’s at stake, not your own.’

‘As long as I don’t end up being compromised myself,’ she muttered. She had agreed, following the impulse of a moment. But her instincts were screaming for her to back out. The situation could easily veer off in the wrong direction, and she could quickly become the subject of malicious gossip herself.

If her name was associated too closely with the Laughing Rake, she could well find herself forced into the same marriage she was helping him get out of.

But no sooner had she started moving towards Lady Thorwynn when her progress was interrupted.

‘Good evening, Miss Swifton.’

An elongated, sausage-like face appeared before her. Mr Eckles was definitely not a fortune hunter, since he stood to inherit a substantial fortune. The matchmakers considered him a fine catch for the young debutantes. Unfortunately, however, his primary passion in life consisted of breeding hunting dogs, an interest Julia did not share.

‘Mr Eckles. How delightful to see you.’

‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he said, bowing. ‘Could I put my name down for a dance, perhaps?’

‘Certainly.’

He fell into step with her, exchanging pleasantries, and describing to her in great detail his acquisition of a curly-haired retriever. ‘Never seen a dog with such an exquisite sense of smell,’ he proclaimed, launching into an enthusiastic description.

The moment he realized where Julia and her grandmother were headed, however, he mumbled a quick excuse and disappeared. No young gentleman wanted to be ensnared by a party of matchmakers intent on marrying their charges. She could hardly blame him. She never approached the matrons herself without checking that she did not have a loose tendril of hair or a torn hem or a ribbon out of place. She imagined she would feel the same if she faced a panel of judges for some crime she had committed.

This time, however, Lady Thorwynn’s extended arm conveyed approval. She patted the sofa next to her for Lady Bullfinch to sit on, and tugged Julia forward with a warm grip.

‘I was just telling Mrs Sefton about the accident in the park this morning. I hope that poor girl wasn’t hurt. Miss Neville, I believe she is called. New to town, apparently. You must tell us all about it.’

The matrons closed in around Julia, but their expressions were friendly.

Here we go
, she thought. Choosing her words carefully, she launched into the prepared narrative, one in which Grandmother featured prominently.

A quarter of an hour later, Grannie waved her away.

‘Go find some of your young friends, girl. You shouldn’t waste the whole night dawdling with the matrons.’

Relieved that the first part of her ordeal was over, she put as much
distance between the matrons and herself as was possible in a crowded ballroom. An old friend of hers from school, Miss Willaby, waved at her, and she moved in her direction.

She was not destined to reach her.

The sudden change in the tone of the buzzing around her warned her immediately. Lord Thorwynn had arrived. Nothing in his
behaviour
, however, showed his awareness that he was the centre of
attention
. He would have been the centre of attention no matter what happened, even if this were an ordinary evening, since he had not set foot in a respectable ballroom for three years. The small smile
hovering
on his lips seemed genuine, and his dark eyes were amused. She scrutinized his appearance but found nothing to fault. His black curls were fashionably arranged, and his black suit impeccably tailored. He was like a Roman orator, suddenly transposed into modern dress.
A
toga would look good on him.
The idea brought a smile to her face.

He caught her examining him, caught her smile. She tried to pretend she was smiling at something someone had said, but since she could find no one to talk to in the vicinity she was forced to abandon the pretence. In two strides he was at her side.

The buzz followed him, growing louder as he approached. The bees were busy. She would know soon enough whether they would be contented with simply buzzing, or whether they would turn on him and start to sting.

‘Delighted to see you again, Miss Swifton,’ said the earl, taking her hand gracefully and bowing over it. ‘I hope you didn’t suffer any mishap after our rescue at Hyde Park.’ He pitched his voice so that it would carry.

The buzzing diminished to a soft droning. Clearly people were straining to hear her reply.

‘None at all,’ she said, beginning for some strange reason to enjoy herself. Perhaps it was the influence of her companion. ‘But it was extremely lucky that we were at hand to help the unfortunate Miss Neville when she fell.’

His eyes gleamed wickedly.

Buzz, buzz went the crowd around them. Some of the matrons, not Lady Thorwynn’s group, fluttered their fans like wings.

‘I’m very glad she did not break her … limb,’ said Thorwynn. ‘She
was certainly in pain. Have you heard anything regarding her injuries?’

‘I believe she has not suffered anything serious.’ said Julia. ‘My grandmother called on her this afternoon. It appears she hit her head and complains of a bad headache, but nothing more.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it. I hope your riding habit survived your kneeling on the wet grass to aid Miss Neville.’

She made a mental note to have a new riding habit made. It would not do to be seen in the old one after this. She gave a short laugh, ‘I’m afraid it’s beyond repair. Grass stains are very hard to remove.’

‘At least it was sacrificed in a good cause,’ he said, solemnly.

Julia had to control an impulse to laugh aloud. Luckily, she could allow the hint of laughter in her voice. ‘It gives me a perfect excuse to buy a new riding habit. I’ve been longing for one that I saw in the
Repository of Fashion
. I have the perfect excuse now. I am only sorry my good fortune is at the expense of
Miss Neville’s fall
.’ Her
emphasis
was slight, but it was a reminder to those who listened intently.

They were back on topic. ‘I wonder what could have caused Miss Neville’s horse to bolt like that?’ said Thorwynn, on cue, his eyes dancing madly, but his expression completely bland.

‘She told me she heard a loud crack, like a pistol shot. Her horse must be a nervous one.’

‘It’s difficult to keep horses properly exercised in London. Unless they are exercised regularly, they can become quite skittish. Especially if they are new to town and are not used to the noise.’ He launched into a loud discourse on the difficulties of keeping a horse in London.