Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley (11 page)

Cecile looked astonished. “He took you to the library to chide you?”

Maggie coloured. “And to kiss me – but then he ruined the whole by bringing up England.”

She had believed herself quite grown out of such nonsense, but here she was, agonizing over Hart as she had done so often over the years.

Cecile looked hesitant a moment, before appearing to make up her mind to speak.

“Perhaps he cannot help himself, and is conflicted. Certainly, his sudden shift in feeling must seem unconscionable to him because of how he had perceived you before. But you have changed since coming to Paris: you have moved out of reach and become unpredictable – a challenge!”

“A challenge,” Maggie echoed. Such a notion had never occurred to her. Surely it could not be – did Hart spend as much time wondering about her as she did him?

“Sporting men always love challenges,” Cecile confided. Then she gave Maggie a mischievous smile. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to run into Sir Lucian Blake again…”

In fact, Maggie found it surprisingly easy to run into the distinguished Sir Lucian.

He seemed to attend all the same soirees and she even met him walking in the park – which she might have believed deliberate if it had not been obvious that he had been there long before she had arrived. He was an also an excellent dancer: his waltzing was soon proclaimed the best in Paris by a number of besotted admirers.

Thankful for her immunity to the speechlessness which seemed to strike other young ladies in the baronet’s company, Maggie found his friendship refreshing. It was very easy to talk to him, and their conversation had none of the overwhelming tension which always flared up when she spoke to Hart. It was wonderful to have friends at last, many and varied, after her quiet country existence.

Maggie was very pleased when Sir Lucian came to call on her at avenue de Richelieu. His card arrived on a silver tray, delivered by her butler precisely at the appropriate calling hour. Cecile had left early to await the delivery of some very dear ostrich feathers and Maggie had been seated in the drawing room by herself, occupied with some stitchery, when she was informed of her guest.

“Sir Lucian!” Maggie exclaimed as she examined the card. His name and address were printed on a tasteful cream card, which was framed with a border of dark green ink.

“Just so, Madame,” said Duby.

Maggie had found that the butler was an invaluable source of information on just about any person of consequence in Paris, and she could have sworn furthermore that the man found her own so-called intrigues extremely amusing.

“Very well, please show Sir Lucian in.”

“Very good, Madame.”

She felt rather fidgety as she waited for him. There was nothing particular in the visit, of course, Maggie thought. Only she was still entirely unaccustomed to her new role as a member of Parisian society and she couldn’t quite believe so august a figure would care to include her in his round of morning calls. Imagine, being admired by so distinguished a person as Sir Lucian, she thought, fighting the girlish urge to peer at him through the curtains.

She almost wished her aunt could have been there to witness her triumph! Surely Aunt Verity would have been proud of her, even if she had never finished reading the awful etiquette tome.

Setting aside her sewing and replacing her scissors into the
broderie
box, Maggie endeavoured to look calm as a footman showed the handsome composer into the yellow room.

“Good morning, Madame. I trust I find you well?” the baronet asked with a friendly smile, bowing to her, and waiting to be invited to take a seat.

“Very well. Please, do take a chair. Might I send for some tea?”

“Ah, yes. Tea would be just the thing – you are most kind.” He sat opposite her, so that she could not help looking into his sublime eyes and wondering yet again why she did not feel the least attraction to the man.

Maggie rang for the tea, before turning her full attention to her guest.

“I’m afraid you only just missed my cousin – though she would have dearly liked to meet you.” Cecile had been asking very pointed questions about the composer, and coming to puzzling conclusions which she utterly refused to explain.

“A great shame. She does not seem to have much interest in society?”

“No, she is an artist like yourself, and she is very bookish. Currently, I cannot imagine anything that might have the power to tear her away from her work.” Maggie tried not to smile as she recalled the vehemence with which Cecile had insisted that she could imagine nothing more unpleasant than an evening spent making small-talk with some crusty viscount – especially when she had an autumn selection of gowns to prepare.

The composer nodded seriously. “Then she is very fortunate. What did you make of last night’s card party?”

“Oh, I thought it quite splendid, for a card party. I could not believe it when they set the cake on fire. What a notion. I’m sure that would never hold under the aegis of an English cook. But it was an awful crush, wasn’t it? I am given to understand that
that
is the surest sign of success. And, of course, your playing was sublime as always.”

“You are very kind,” said Sir Lucian with a warm smile. “I understand ladies often prefer balls to musicales and card parties – one cannot dance at a musicale, after all!”

“That is true – but they are such different things. And one should always have varied entertainments. Monotony, Sir Lucian, is the dreariest thing of all.”

The baronet gave her an interested look. “It seems to me you speak from experience.”

“I do. I have lived in the country for some long time, and I have never been happier then when I quit it. I only wish that I might someday travel the world as you have done.”

“What a wonderful sentiment. I have never met a young lady who thought like that. I am confident that you will one day have your wish. But, in the meanwhile, perhaps I may be so bold as to claim your first two dances at the next ball, Madame? Will you be at Mademoiselle Lery’s little gathering next week? I am certain society is on tenterhooks to see what offering of Madame Finette’s you will wear next.” He smiled to indicate that he was only teasing her.

Maggie laughed at that. “Indeed, I daresay it shall be a most diverting evening. I believe that Madame Recamier
and
the celebrated Mademoiselle de Lamartine shall be in attendance. Can you imagine? And the melancholy Comte de Vigny, too, of course – if he can spare the time.”

The Mademoiselle Lery was known as a daring leader of fashion in Paris, and her ‘little gathering’ was anticipated as one of the most celebrated social events of the summer, with a guest list boasting the most lauded faces presently in Paris. Maggie had been astonished to find that the baroness de Gramont warranted an invitation. She suspected that Marie-Josette might have had something to do with that.

“Well, I am very pleased that you mean to attend. You will brighten the conversation with your lively discourse.”

Maggie was touched by his words: especially because they seemed to have been delivered with a most characteristic earnestness and no hidden purpose.

“Oh, do stop, Sir Lucian! Now it is you who is much too kind,” she chided good-naturedly.

“Ah, very well, but only because it would be cruel to put you to the blush. Did you say Vigny? The young poet?” asked Sir Lucian curiously.

“The very same. Do you know him?”

“I have heard him read one of his compositions. He has a very modern turn of mind, I believe. I find I have little patience for poetry that is purposely austere,” the gentleman said.

“Then we are of like mind in that, also. Poetry must ever be beautiful and joyful. Or even melancholy. But never grim,” Maggie agreed. “It is unfortunate that the fashion does tend towards very distressing verse of late.”

“It is why I now prefer to spend my time in museums rather than poetry readings.”

“I must shamefully own that I have yet to explore a museum since I arrived here,” Maggie admitted. “One does so get caught up in things that it is difficult to find the time.”

The baronet shook his head. “That is not to borne! One must always find the time to visit our finest repositories of knowledge. The situation ought to be remedied as soon as possible. Perhaps you would permit me to escort you to the
Jardin du Roi
and the National Museum of Natural History? There is a fascinating botanical exhibition of roses, though it tomorrow will be the last day. The exhibition is a fine example of the genius of modern botany. I have always had a great interest in the natural sciences, so I visit the museum whenever I am in Paris. It would make for a very fine outing while the weather holds warm, don’t you think? And there are other amusements to be had at the
jardin
, of course – the walks are lovely and there are many beautiful and medicinal plants. There is even a labyrinth.”

“A labyrinth? I certainly cannot refuse that. Well, then the matter is settled. We shall go.” They exchanged smiles.

A labyrinth was terribly romantic, Maggie thought. As was a whole garden full of roses! If Hart had offered to escort her to such a place, her soul would have been singing with hope and romance. Sir Lucian’s offer, which would surely have thrilled any number of his ardent admirers, merely pleased her as a very fine way to pass an afternoon.

She wondered idly if she might have loved him in a different world where she never set eyes on the Marquess of Hartley. Perhaps Hart had forever ruined her for all men.

She was comforted, however, that Sir Lucian seemed no more besotted than Maggie did – his offer had held not a hint of nerves, of hesitation, or courtship.

It made matters a lot easier.

The
jardin
would be an excellent way to keep from brooding over the infuriating Lord Hartley. She was certain that if she spent much more of her time agonising over his behaviour, she would end up in Bedlam. It would be extremely pleasant to wander the gardens with the handsome baronet on a bright summer’s day.

She wondered what the Maggie of a few months ago would have made of her, gallivanting about town with famous composers and kissing Hart in the library. And who would ever have thought the timid Miss Dacre would ever venture the
montaignes russe
?

“Only, you must promise not to laugh if I say something silly – for you are a scholar, it seems, but I know nothing of botany,” Maggie was saying with a twinkle, just as Duby returned, announcing another caller.

“Lord Hartley is desirous of speaking with you, Madame,” he said, as Maggie curiously examined the card. It did indeed belong to Hart, as the modest script announced in black ink. She had never seen his card before, she thought in surprise.

“How peculiar. I wonder what it should be about.” Maggie contemplated sending him away, before remembering Cecile’s suggestion that she let him see her in the company of Sir Lucian.

“Thank you, Duby. I shall see his lordship. Do direct him to this parlour.”

The marquess paused a moment in the doorway when he saw that Maggie already had company. For a moment, his eyes flashed fire, just as they had done that night at the library, before he gave a stiff bow.

“Good day, Madame, Blake,” he said.

Maggie and the composer rose to their feet.

“Lord Hartley, what an unexpected surprise. I trust all is well with your aunt?”

Hart affected surprise. “Unexpected? But did I not say I should call on you in the morning? My aunt is as well as she ever is, thank you. She means to spend the day at her harp, I am told.” His eyes flicked to the composer, and Maggie knew he was once more preparing to be disagreeable. If she denied any knowledge of his intention to call, it would only look all the more peculiar to Sir Lucian.

The strange jealousy was a side of Hartley she had never seen before – in her experience, he had always been full of camaraderie.

She reached for her fan and flicked it open for something to do with her hands. “Of course. It seems I had forgotten. My apologies. Would you care for some refreshments perhaps?”

“Thank you, no. ”

Maggie wondered a moment what she ought to say next before she remembered that she was meant to be a skilled and celebrated hostess. She would certainly not let one man ruin that, no matter how much his touch made her tremble with delight.

“Sir Lucian and I were just discussing the charm of the
Jardin du Roi,
Lord Hartley,” Maggie said, reasoning to herself that not even Hart could find something snide to say about roses.

“The gardens?” If anything, he sounded incredulous.

“Indeed,” said the composer. “There is currently a charming rose exhibition on and tomorrow is the last day. Perhaps you have had occasion to see it? I have some interest in botany, you see.”

Hartley raised an eyebrow. “Botany? I own that I know very little of that field. You are a man of many talents, Blake. And here I thought your interest rested solely with quartets and operas.”

The composer smiled self-deprecatingly. “Alas, no – I only dabble in botany. When one is a baronet, regrettably one cannot
truly
be anything else besides – though I do my best. But the exhibition should be quite fascinating.”

“The roses will be positively beautiful, I’m certain! And I am very curious about the
orangerie
,” said Maggie, relieved that the conversation was flowing more smoothly now.

“
Oragnerie
? I had no notion you were interested in gardens too, Madame. Do you mean to visit this exhibition?”

There was a mocking smile in Hart’s eyes, though he presented the very picture of social ease to anyone who did not know him well. It grated on Maggie’s already strained nerves.

“Sir Lucian was so good as to offer to accompany me. I think you will find I have many interests of which you were unaware, Lord Hartley.”

“Yes, I expect you are very right. Embroidery is your other passion, as I recall? But I am being rude to Blake!” Hartley exclaimed with such abashed good breeding that Maggie instantly recognised it for a sham. “You see, my good fellow, I have known Madame for a number of years, though only passingly.”