An Improper Suitor (5 page)

‘Leaving so soon, Lionel?’ His mother raised a disapproving brow, while one of the old witches surrounding her – he had no idea who she was – raised her quizzing glass to fix her glance on him.

‘I have other engagements, Mother.’

‘Call on me tomorrow, then.’

He smiled, and bowed. ‘I will.’ She needed a full report, and he was obliged to give it. If their strategy to stem the gossip had failed, they needed to discuss a new approach.

It took him forever to reach the entrance. He paused in the
doorway
to lean on the doorframe and take a few breaths of the pleasantly cool air. A hand landed on his shoulder. He swirled round and peered into his friend’s face.

‘Oh, it’s you, Benny. Terrible timing, I’m afraid.’

‘You’re foxed,’ said Benny. ‘It won’t do, you know, not at a Society ball.’

‘That’s what she said,’ he muttered. ‘The part about being foxed. Not the part about the ball.’

‘What happened?’ asked Benny. ‘I thought we pulled the whole thing off nicely. I told the story to everyone in the card room, with some embellishments of my own. But I think it will be exceedingly hard for anyone to pin the Neville incident on you.’

Lionel tried to remember what the Neville incident was about. The name certainly rang a bell.

He thought of Miss Swifton, turning her back to him.

She would dance again with Neave, he was sure of it. It all came down to Neave, as always. His life seemed to be haunted by him. ‘It’s Neave again. He’s decided to attach himself to Miss Swifton.’ He turned his head and stared into the street. It blazed with lanterns that floated to and fro in the wind. He followed the motion of one of them, back and forth, feeling his eyes blur. ‘And, as you know only too well, whenever Neave touches something, he destroys it.’ He clenched his fingers into a fist. ‘I won’t let him do it this time, Benny.’ 

Julia surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked different today. Her brown-green eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth curled upwards of its own volition. Even her hair seemed to have an extra sheen to it, with little fiery pinpoints dancing in the bright daylight. The excitement of the ball last night lingered. She had enjoyed the company of not one, but three gentlemen, all of them appealing in their own way.

Remarkable, that during two whole seasons of balls and routs she had not found a single gentleman who had not caused her to gaze out of the window, longing for escape. Once the novelty wore off, she realized that the balls were endless repetitions of the same dances, glasses of ratafia, and uninspired conversation. Last year she had refused to attend any but a very select few, those thrown by particular friends of her grandmother that she favoured. She far preferred to attend musical soirées, or the few old-fashioned salons that the older
émigrés
from France still held from time to time. The debates there were lively, at least. Though, of course, there was an inconvenience to it, too. Some of the old
roués
made her the object of their attentions, since she was the only lady under forty who attended.

But last night, she had actually found Mrs Wadswith’s ball
pleasurable
. She relished every minute talking to Lord Benedict, and she found Captain Neave’s boyish chatter amusing.

To her annoyance, each time she tried to conjure up either
gentleman
, she saw Lord Thorwynn’s face. What was more irksome, she saw him as he had looked when she had fired that passing shot at him.
She knew very little about rakes, having made a point of avoiding them. However, she always vaguely thought that men
liked
being thought rakish. She did not expect that he would be genuinely wounded by the accusation.

She must have mistaken the matter. The candlelight had misled her, flickering in reflection when their glances met. In any case, there was no point in pondering that topic.

She righted a curl that had come loose and went to the window. Captain Neave had invited her for a drive in the Park. He would be here any moment, and she had not ridden with a gentleman for a long time. The day had started with a crystal clear blue sky, a good sign, surely, and no clouds threatened on the horizon. The smell of oak blossoms hung in the air.

A shiny two-seat phaeton clattered to a halt in front of the
townhouse
. Neave swung down nonchalantly, not waiting for a footman to appear. He ran his fingers through his locks, and pulled down his waistcoat. Apparently satisfied that his appearance was adequate, he strolled towards the townhouse.

She moved away from the window. After all, it was hardly
appropriate
for him to discover her watching him.

Julia received Neave very properly in the drawing-room with Lady Bullfinch present, a major feat in itself. She refused initially, saying she did not believe in such nonsense. If she couldn’t trust her own
granddaughter
for a few minutes alone in the drawing-room with a
gentleman
, then she had no business letting Julia go anywhere. Julia had finally convinced her that it was not a matter of trust, but a matter of appearances.

‘He might get the wrong idea,’ said Julia.

Gran snorted, but agreed to act as chaperon.

Now, however, Julia was faced with a new problem.

‘But how is my maid to accompany us when it is a two-seat carriage?’ said Julia.

‘I believe it is perfectly proper to drive in Hyde Park in a high perch open carriage,’ replied Neave. ‘Now a closed carriage would be a different matter,’ he said, with a smile. The dimples in his cheeks emphasized his boyish appearance. He turned to her grandmother.
‘However, if Lady Bullfinch finds the idea objectionable, I will accept her judgment.’

Grannie would not object to such an outing any more than she would object to finding Julia rolling on the floor with a gentleman with half her clothes missing. She frequently recounted stories of her own youth when she had indulged in precisely such liberties.

Julia sighed and looked at her.

‘I suppose’ – said Lady Bullfinch, at her most arrogant – ‘I suppose that I will give my consent. Though I can’t say I like these newfangled high perch phaetons. I am convinced they cannot possibly stay upright. How anyone manages to control them I cannot understand. And I can’t help but think that anyone who chooses to drive them is rather reckless.’

‘I assure you, Lady Bullfinch, one cannot be reckless driving at the fashionable hour in Hyde Park. It is far too crowded. And the phaetons are quite safe.’ When she did not object further, he rose and bowed. ‘Thank you, Lady Bullfinch, for granting your permission.’ He smiled and kissed her hand gracefully. Then he extended his elbow to Julia. ‘Miss Swifton. Are you ready?’

She had thought her grandmother facetious when she talked about the high perch phaetons, but as they set into motion, she realized there was something reckless about them.

‘I must confess,’ she said, enjoying the sensation, ‘I’ve never ridden so high off the ground before. I suppose riding on the box of a post must be the only similar thing.’

Captain Neave threw her a quick smile, then returned to the
delicate
task of manoeuvring the team through the thronging street. She studied his gloved hands as he handled the horses. His technique was good, though perhaps rather careless. ‘I’m delighted to be the first to provide you with such an experience,’ said Neave. ‘I hope you’re not one of those giddy ladies who are afraid of heights.’

‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘In fact, you’d better not get me too used to riding a high perch, or I’ll be asking for a turn with the ribbons before you know it.’

‘I’d be delighted to tutor you,’ he said, casting her an admiring look. ‘I like a lady with spirit.’

‘I’m thought quite skilled with a four-in-hand,’ she said. ‘Our coachman Evans was much admired in his youth for his skill. When I was eight I kept begging him to teach me his technique. He refused for a while, but I was so persistent he eventually agreed. I’ve driven a two-horse phaeton, but I’m afraid my grandmother won’t approve of me buying a high perch.’

‘Understandably,’ said Captain Neave. ‘I’m sure she’s concerned for your safety.’

‘Well, she needn’t be. I never take on something I can’t handle.’

As they reached the park, three gentlemen-about-town came riding up to them. Although they were in their late twenties, similar in age to Captain Neave, all three of them were dressed as the Pinkest of Pinks, their clothes conspicuously fashionable, their collars riding high up their cheeks, and their cravats puffed out in front of them like whipped cream. They surrounded the phaeton. One of them, a tall man with icy, sky-blue eyes, heavily pomaded hair, and an elaborate waist coat of bright orange and gold, leered up at Julia, his eyes running down her body and resting on her right ankle, which protruded slightly from under her gown. She quickly tucked the offending ankle away. He noted the gesture and smiled mockingly.

‘Nice day for a drive, Neave,’ said the one of the gentlemem.

‘Yes, indeed,’ said her companion, drawing the carriage to a halt. ‘I told Marker I’d exercise the horses.’

The three gentlemen examined the horses and gazed admiringly at the phaeton. ‘Beautiful steppers,’ remarked the ice-eyed man. ‘No chance Marker’s selling, is there?’

‘No chance at all. He’s full of juice. Doesn’t need to sell.’

Neave made no effort to introduce her to his companions, and, after that initial inspection, and a number of assessing glances cast her way, they ignored her completely.

Julia felt herself left out, and strangely outnumbered. The sensation was uncomfortable, and for some reason she felt unnerved.
You’re imagining it
, she told herself firmly. They were in the middle of Hyde Park, surrounded by people, and it was broad daylight.

Eventually, they began to move away, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Don’t forget,’ said the ice-eyed man. ‘You have two weeks.’

‘I’m hardly likely to, since you keep reminding me,’ said Neave, cheerfully.

But as they rode away he watched them. He did not move the phaeton immediately. Instead he sat slumped a little in his seat, his hands twisting and turning the reins, oblivious to his surroundings.

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said Julia.

He looked up immediately. For a moment, she thought she saw despair in his eyes. Then, as he registered her presence, he smiled. ‘I beg your pardon. I was wool-gathering.’

Whatever he had been pondering was far from wool-gathering. But it was not her concern, after all.

‘What would we do without wool-gathering?’ she said. She sounded too bright, too brittle. Strange. Nothing had occurred, yet something undefined had changed between them.

He threw her a sidelong glance, then focused his attention on the horses. He watched them for a while in silence as they moved, then seemed to reach a conclusion.

‘May I confide in you?’ he asked.

He must be in dire straits if he needs to confide in me
. He scarcely knows me
.

‘Certainly,’ said Julia, sitting up straight and preparing to listen.

‘I know we are still little more than strangers, but from the moment I met you I felt an affinity with you, as if I have known you all my life. I feel somehow that I can trust you.’

She nodded. She understood the sensation. She had experienced it herself. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You can be sure that nothing you say will go further than this carriage.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, pressing her hand briefly in gratitude. He turned his face away. She thought she saw tears in his eyes.

The hint of tears reached into her and pulled at her heart. ‘You
must
tell me what’s wrong,’ she said, emphatically.

He attempted a weak smile. ‘You must be an angel,’ he said, ‘sent to save me, and I do not deserve it.’

He paused, clearly struggling to put his thoughts together. Then he said, his voice trembling slightly ‘My father was a harsh man. I was his only son, but he had certain idea of what a son should be like. I know it’s hard to imagine, as a woman, the pressure that a boy can
have growing up, but he expected me to be like him – hunting mad, obsessed with outdoor activities, fishing, boxing, fighting all day. I was never physically active. I was an indoor person. I liked to snuggle up near the fire, curl up my legs, and read. My father would have none of it. He forced me to leave the house every morning. If he caught me reading, he would whip me. Hard. I still have the marks on my back.’ He looked down at his hands.

Julia exclaimed in horror.

He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this. I know I
shouldn’t
.’

He turned away. ‘I’ve said enough.’

‘No,’ said Julia. ‘
Please
go on.’

‘Well, the short of it was, I tried my best. I really did try to become the kind of boy my father would like. But I couldn’t. I did not enjoy hunting. I did not enjoy fishing. The only thing I excelled in was riding. Fortunately.’

He paused. She waited expectantly as the silence lengthened.

‘One day my father decided he had had enough of me. I was a disappointment, you see. So he bought me regimentals and sent me to the Continent. “If anything can teach you to be a man, being a soldier will”, he told me.’

Again, a long silence.

‘It didn’t. I hated the blood. I hated the killing. I could not endure it. But I had no choice. My father cut off my money, every penny of it. I was forced to live on an officer’s salary, such as it is.’

Julia knew the salaries were small, though many officers had done very well with prize money once the war was over.

‘After the war, I returned to find him still unwilling to receive me, and still unwilling to provide me with funding. I’m lucky enough to have friends who have helped me. And I am still received in society, in spite of my father. I am his heir after all, and he is a viscount with a large fortune,’ he said bitterly. ‘But meanwhile…’

She felt indignant on his behalf. It was true: society would receive him because of his position. His family was powerful and well
established
, but without money he could not continue his lifestyle.

It occurred to her suddenly that she could be a solution to his
problem
, if he married her. Coldness crept into her heart. Was all this a prelude to a proposal?
As if reading her mind, he said, ‘I know the solution to my
problem
would be to marry into money. Despite my impoverished state, I still have a chance to marry an heiress. But such a thought is
abhorrent
to me. I can’t imagine living my whole life with a wife I do not love, and who does not love me.’ He smiled at her, a self-mocking smile. ‘Besides, oddly enough, I have my pride.’

The coldness that had gripped her disappeared. Relief flooded through her. He was not a fortune hunter, after all.

‘Your feelings do you credit,’ she murmured, sincerely.

‘You can’t imagine how helpful it is to have been able to talk to you this way. Just saying things out loud makes them seem less dire. Already the future looks brighter,’ he said. His eyes sought hers. She could read the gratitude in them.

Then his gaze moved from her face to something behind her. He stiffened, and his face turned bland, emotionless.

‘Are you well acquainted with Lord Thorwynn?’ he asked, his voice formal now.

She started at the name. ‘I hardly know him,’ she said. ‘I met him just yesterday.’ Was it only one day ago? It seemed like much longer.

He nodded.

‘I know it is not my place to offer suggestions—’ Silence.

‘Please continue.’ He needed encouragement. And she wanted to know more about Lord Thorwynn.

‘I would not want you to be hurt. He is a charming man, with easy manners. I admire him in more ways than one. But he has an eye for women. You are too tender-hearted, and I would hate to see him – how shall I put it? – toy with your emotions.’