Anne Barbour (7 page)

“Tally, please don’t fly into the boughs. You’d think we were suggesting you join the muslin company! We only want what’s right for you — you must know that.”

“Oh, of course I do, dearest Cat. But cannot you see that I couldn’t let you...”

“Would you consider a loan, then?”

Tally remained silent.

“Look at it this way,” continued Cat. “For a while, at least, you will be appearing at social events under our sponsorship. Your appearance will reflect on us.”

At this Tally sat up very straight.

“Cat, is that what this is all about? Are you ashamed of me?” Tears shone bright in her eyes.

“Oh, don’t be such a widgeon. Of course not. It was the only thing I could think of that might sway you.”

“But, you’re right,” murmured Tally after a few minutes’ thought. “People will wonder that the exquisite Mrs. Richard Thurston would be entertaining a perfect dowd.”

Suddenly she pictured herself, beautifully gowned and coiffed, soaring about the dance floor in the arms of Jonathan, the Viscount Chelmsford. Not that new feathers would make her anything but the brown wren she was, but—well, why shouldn’t the wren at least make the most of what she had?

She turned to face Cat.

“I think I should probably do something about my hair, too, don’t you think?”

Cat broke into a delighted burst of laughter. “Definitely we’ll do something about your hair! For too long have you gone about looking more like some small creature of the forest peering through a hedge than the attractive young woman you are. We’ll
start out the first thing in the morning, and…”

“Oh, no,” Tally broke in nervously. “Not first thing, that is. I have an—an engagement, you see. To go riding,” she added, in response to Cat’s look of inquiry.

“But that’s wonderful,” exclaimed Cat. “With whom? Is it Ceddy? He’s always very quick off the mark. Or, no — it must be Lord Shingleton. He seemed quite smitten with you, I thought. Oh, tell me!”

“No! No—it—it’s nothing like that. I just—that is, I was telling Lord Chelmsford how much I enjoy a good gallop early in the morning, and he suggested I join him. It’s nothing—really.”

Cat’s face fell ludicrously.

“No, I shouldn’t think it would be. He obviously took a liking to you, and it’s just like him to befriend a stranger in our bewildering metropolis—he has the kindest of hearts, you know. Well,” she sighed, “it’s early days yet, and I’m sure that in no time at all we’ll have gentlemen lining up at the door to take you riding in the Park.”

Tally returned Cat’s good-night hug with a wan smile and, after her friend whisked herself out of the room, she lay staring into the darkness.

“
He has the kindest of hearts, you know
.”

Cat’s words rang in her ears. How could someone as cold and supercilious as Lord Chelmsford have won a reputation for kindness?

Her innate sense of fairness surfaced at that point, and she was forced to admit that the Lord Chelmsford with whom she had conversed tonight bore little resemblance to the monster of arrogance with whom she had held so many mental confrontations during the past few years. She could hardly believe that the fingers which had brushed hers so softly over the punch cups a few hours ago had once gripped her unmercifully, preventing her intemperate flight. She could not imagine that the voice which had once scarred her very soul with its harshness could speak with such warmth and charm.

Resolutely, she thumped her pillow. She was willing to admit that Jonathan possessed charm in abundance. Kindness of heart she was not yet willing to concede. Still, the image of those gray eyes smiling into hers stayed with her and drifted annoyingly in and out of the landscape of her dreams.

Chapter Six

Jem, the Thurstons’ second undergroom, rubbed the last of an all-too-short night’s sleep from his eyes and assisted Lady Talitha into her perch on what Jem privately considered a mare entirely too tricksey for such a little dab of a woman. He hoped he would not be called upon to perform any rescues this morning, his head being what it was after too much Blue Ruin at the Running Footman the evening before.

Jem sighed and heaved himself onto the back of his own steed. Warily, he followed his master’s guest at a respectful distance. He relaxed after a few paces, noting the mare’s stately gait and my lady’s dignified demeanor. This state of affairs lasted until they reached the Park. Then, upon turning onto a long stretch of tanbark, my lady bent to whisper in her Blossom’s ear. With a flick of her tail, the mare hurtled down the path, mane feathered in the wind, and harness ajingle with a joyous abandon reflected in the rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes of her mistress.

With a start of horror, Jem urged his mount forward, fearing at any moment to see her ladyship spilled lifeless upon the tanbark. Much to his surprise, the little dab of a woman seemed to experience little difficulty in managing her steed. Still, he was vastly relieved when at that moment an elegant male form appeared at the far end of the bridle path. Lady Talitha, evidently brought to a sense of her transgression, drew up sharply.

Tally’s first thought on seeing Jonathan was that he looked magnificent in his admirably tailored riding coat of blue superfine. Doeskin breeches molded themselves to his powerful thighs like smooth bark to a tree. Tally blushed at her wayward reflections. And what must she look like, with her windblown hair, and her neckcloth askew? As though she’d been pulled through a bush backward, no doubt. Not that she cared what sort of impression she made on him, but she was aware that her habit, the only item in her wardrobe that she had not replaced, was six years old. It was faded and threadbare in spots; it fit a trifle too snugly around waist and hips, and it curved much too tightly about her chest.

“Good morning, my lord,” she cried, rather breathlessly, as she drew abreast of Jonathan’s mettlesome stallion. “What a magnificent animal! He quite takes the shine out of poor little Blossom.”

“Good morning to you, Lady Talitha,” answered Jonathan, “although I thought we were to dispense with tiresome formalities. And my magnificent animal thanks you. His name is Horatio, after the Hero of Trafalgar, but I’m afraid it is a misnomer, for he is the most complete humbug. He shies at squirrels and will grovel shamelessly for a lump of sugar.”

As he spoke, Jonathan surveyed Tally briefly. He had not realized that she possessed such a lithe, trim figure. Nor would he have believed that flushed cheeks and a sparkle in those enormous brown eyes could make such a difference in her appearance. What was there about her, he wondered, that made him want to discover the unexplored facets of this seemingly unprepossessing little female. He smiled as Tally stroked Horatio’s nose.

“There,” she crooned to the magnificent animal, who apparently did not draw the line at groveling for some praise and a good scratch, either. “Did you ever hear such calumny? You’re obviously a pearl among horses, and it’s a great pity your master does not appreciate your true worth.”

Jonathan joined in Tally’s laughter, and they turned to canter in silence for a few moments before Tally lifted her head in a sidelong glance.

“How—how does it happen, my—Jonathan, that you chose such an unusual, um, hobby?” She rushed on in response to a questioning lift of his dark brows. “I mean, a man of your rank certainly needs no profession, so I must conclude that writing is an amusing pastime for you.”

“Yes, I suppose you might consider it so, but I work at my--hobby with the dedication of the most serious author, I assure you. And you, Tally—what is your purpose in taking up an artist’s pencil? George Mapes tells me you are intent on making a career of your work.”

Tally read in his tone a note of derision, and she stiffened. Did he view her as one of those aristocratic women who busied themselves in meaningless pursuits, simply to ease the endless boredom of their pampered lives?

“Let me assure you, sir, that unlike yourself, my work is not a hobby, but my career. I intend to support myself with my earnings as a caricaturist.”

Jonathan could not have been more startled if the young woman had suddenly announced her intention of flying to the moon in a balloon.

“But you are...” he began.

“Yes, I know,” finished Tally wearily. “A gently bred female, which, of course, makes it completely unsuitable for me to consider making my own way in the world. I must not put my talent to profitable use, but must repose by the window with my embroidery, waiting for some male whose desire to marry into a titled family outweighs my lack of dowry.” She did not add the words “and my plainness of face” for fear of the agreement she might find in the viscount’s eyes.

Jonathan was taken aback by the unmistakable note of bitterness in Tally’s voice. He admitted to himself that he had never considered the plight of the battalions of young women who appeared in London every year for their Season. What must it be like for those who were endowed with neither wealth nor beauty? For, undoubtedly, the maiden who did not “catch” was doomed to a dreary existence as a spinster, living on the sufferance of her relatives.

He kept his voice matter-of-fact as he answered.

“Mmm, yes, I can see your point. Such a situation would be intolerable to one of your extraordinary ability, married or not. I have found my own situation to be somewhat of a burden at times. Do you know…? He turned to her with that treacherously warm smile. “…there are days when I think how pleasant it would be to be plain Jonathan Jones, writer-to sign my own name to my work, and accept the acclaim of the masses for my brilliance?”

“Have you written other works for publication besides
Town Bronze
?”

“Oh, yes. Under various
noms de plume
I’ve written political satire, sporting news, and the occasional thoughtful piece on current events.
Town Bronze,
however, is the first novel I have attempted. Actually it’s not so much a novel as a collection of observations on the London Scene. Mapes seems to think it might see some success.”

“Ah.” Tally laughed delightedly. “I don’t know how I shall contain myself when the doings of Clifford and Clive are on the lips of every important personage in town. I’ll want to stand up and shout, “I know who wrote it--I know who Dash really is!”

“Mmm. If it creates the reaction that Mapes hopes for, you may well cower in a closet when it comes out, hoping no one will connect you with a piece of rank libel. Particularly, I might add, if the illustrations of said piece contribute to its libelous nature.”

“Which I certainly hope they will,” added Tally with a demure smile.

Jonathan threw back his head in a shout of laughter, giving Tally ample opportunity to reflect that it was no wonder this man was the catch of the marriage mart. It simply wasn’t fair for one man to possess wealth, and charm, and a face that belonged on a Greek vase, to boot. What a good thing it was that she had seen this deity’s true aspect—his abominable rudeness and his icy disdain—his utter disregard for the feelings of others. If only she didn’t have to keep reminding herself of that other aspect. She was much too prone to enjoy the viscount’s charm.

In the next instant Tally’s mind flicked back to Lady Jersey’s soiree the evening before, and the moment when Jonathan and Clea had swept from that little alcove. Jonathan had been unwilling to leave her until he had ascertained that she had a dinner partner. Was this the act of a man who was in the habit of running roughshod over the feelings of others?

Giving herself a little shake, Tally abandoned this line of thought and concentrated on what Jonathan was saying.

“... which brings me to the point of this morning’s jaunt. How are we to conduct our, er, collaboration without it seeming to others that we are sitting in each other’s pockets?”

“I’ve been giving that some thought,” replied Tally slowly. As you know, I’m staying with the Thurstons.”

Jonathan nodded.

“You see, Cat and I have been friends for years and years. I know her to be the soul of discretion—when it’s necessary. And Richard works with important State information. He certainly knows how to keep a secret.”

“Are you suggesting...?”

“Yes. I’ve already told them that I have been hired to illustrate a soon-to-be published satire — by an anonymous author—and they have both promised not to utter a word.”

“Yes, but....”

“Now, you and Richard are friends. If you are willing to trust him—and Cat—we could work together in their home. You could, perhaps, find some pretext to further your acquaintance, um, such as working on some public charity together. No one would question your visits, and, of course, we shall probably not need to meet that often, anyway.”

She raised her eyes to Jonathan’s, and found his expression dubious.

“I don’t know,” he mused softly. “I have been so careful. I rarely appear at the publisher’s, and except for Mapes himself, the staff believes that I am simply a bibliophile who has retained the firm to seek out rare old books for me.

“I’ve had my desk moved into my room, and the chamber maids are under threat of a punishment too terrible to mention if they so much as whisk a dust clout near it. Even my valet is unaware of my double existence, though I’m sure he’s wondered at the puddles of candle wax he finds in the morning.”

“Yes,” responded Tally, But I certainly cannot come to your home, and that leaves us the option of meeting elsewhere; Mapes’s perhaps—but then I would have coachmen and grooms to contend with, plus that odious Porlock, whom I do not think I trust at all. We certainly can’t continue meeting in the Park at the crack of dawn, and....”

Tally was interrupted as a thud of hoof beats announced approaching horses, and in a moment a pair of riders swung into view. One of them, to Tally’s surprise, was Lady Bellewood, wearing a fetching habit of midnight blue, with a hat of the same shade perched rakishly on one side of her head.

Catching sight of Jonathan, Clea drew to an abrupt halt, and for an instant, moved as though to turn back the way she had come. Her companion, a tall, slender gentleman, dressed in elegant, if somewhat showy riding attire, placed his hand on her bridle, and bent to whisper in her ear. Straightening, Clea waived gaily to Jonathan and approached at a smart trot.