My Wayward Lady (27 page)
Harriet wrinkled her brow in thought. It was a considerable challenge, but one she looked forward to. The challenge she was not equal to, however, was one she could not even bring 249
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herself to admit to avoiding—which she most definitely was. She must eventually deal with her own reactions to the events of the day, the loathing and disgust she had felt at the touch of Sir Neville and her equally disturbing reactions to the marquess. Harriet shook her head. No, she would not, she could not entertain the dangerously seductive memories of a strong male body pressing close to hers, evoking responses in her that she had never known existed until now. Resolutely putting such alluring thoughts from her head, Harriet picked up a discarded copy of
The Times
she had left lying on the floor and did her best to divert herself by reading the deadly dull account of Parliament's debate over the income tax.
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Though his note to Alicia had put off a confrontation for the moment, Adrian knew there was no avoiding it forever; therefore, the very next day he offered to escort his betrothed and her mother to the exhibition at the Royal Academy by way of apology. Alicia was far too well-bred to mount a direct attack on her fiancé for his blatant dereliction of duty, but she could not refrain from commenting sweetly as the carriage made its way through the press of traffic in the Strand, "We were sorry you were unable to accompany us to the park yesterday, my lord. Undoubtedly there was some urgent problem requiring your attention?" There was no mistaking the question in her voice, nor was there any ignoring it. "Yes. An old friend was in desperate need of help and I was fortunate enough to be able to render assistance."
"I should say, rather, that your friend was the fortunate one. It was a close friend, and a matter of some severity, I trust?"
With an effort. Lord Chalfont kept his temper in check. He had never answered to anyone for his actions before, and he was certainly not about to begin to do so now. "It was a most private affair. I am sure you can understand my not wishing to discuss it with anyone," Adrian replied in a level tone. But anyone who cared to observe would have noticed the muscle twitching in his cheek that gave ample evidence of the tight rein he was keeping on his annoyance.
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A prudent person would have left well enough alone, but Alicia, serenely unconscious of anything but her own claims on his attention, persisted. "Not even with your affianced wife?"
"Not even with her." Adrian responded tersely. It was as close as the marquess had ever come to snapping at her, and though the edge in his voice was nothing compared to what he was feeling, and his tone was more restrained than it would have been with anyone else, Alicia took instant exception to it. "I am not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner, Chalfont," she responded frostily. "As your future wife, I expect more courtesy." Adrian controlled himself with an effort. He did not ask much of Alicia in terms of intelligence—certainly she was no Lady Harriet—but he did expect her to be clever enough and well enough versed in the ways of gentlemen to know that where affairs of honor were concerned there was a strict code of silence to be maintained. Without question Harriet would have grasped such a thing instinctively and would have immediately dropped any discussion the moment she detected any reluctance on his part. Alicia was not Harriet, however, more was the pity. "Then there is an end to it." There was a note of finality in his voice that was obvious enough to warn even Alicia that there was to be no further debate on this particular topic.
She sniffed audibly, but ventured no response, turning instead to her mother. "I wonder if the Willinghams will dare show their faces in the park this afternoon now that it is generally known that Evelina has run off with her half-pay 252
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officer. How she could be so dead to all sense of family feeling, much less propriety, I cannot fathom." Lady De Villiers smiled weakly at her daughter and nodded in agreement. Dear Alicia was so firm in her opinions and such a high stickler herself, but her latest interchange with Lord Chalfont had given her mother pause. After years of marriage. Lady De Villiers knew that it was unwise to provoke a gentleman the way Alicia had provoked the marquess. Men had their own peculiar notions of conduct and were notoriously stubborn about sticking to them; take her own husband, for example. His concept of honor was very rigid indeed which was perhaps where Alicia had gotten her own iron will. Lady De Villiers had seen the irritated expression on Lord Chalfont's face, even if her daughter had not, and she knew it behooved Alicia to tread carefully. In part she was to blame for she had indulged her beautiful daughter to such a degree that Alicia could not conceive that anyone might find fault with her conduct, though she always felt completely justified in voicing her own criticisms wherever she saw fit.
The marquess was far too honorable a man, and the relationship too longstanding for him to do anything as drastic as crying off, but he certainly could seek solace elsewhere, and he very likely would. Everyone knew that gentlemen had
other interests
and it was almost expected that they would court an opera dancer here and there, but Alicia's obdurate behavior might very well force him into a dalliance with one of the
ton's
more sprightly matrons, such as Sally Jersey, and 253
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that would never do. Alicia's pride would never withstand such a blow.
Making a mental note to discuss this with her daughter, Lady De Villiers allowed herself to be helped down from the carriage and led through the magnificent vestibule of Somerset house to the doorway that led to the Royal Academy's exhibition.
The gallery was so thronged with the
ton
that to all intents and purposes it might have been another squeeze held by one of society's more fashionable hostesses, Adrian thought cynically as he gazed around. In fact he appeared to be the only one at all interested in the paintings on display. Lady De Villiers being too concerned over the impression her daughter was making, and Alicia far too interested in nodding and smiling at the appropriate people to have much time or effort to waste on the pictures themselves. Alicia, however, did pronounce several landscapes to be rather pretty and one or two portraits to be a most remarkable likeness. In less than an hour. Lord Chalfont found himself thoroughly bored and longing for some excuse to escape. It was not that he failed to appreciate the display for he enjoyed paintings as much, if not more, than the next man. To him, appreciating a work of art required such an emotional and intellectual investment on the part of the viewer that it was not something to be entered into lightly, certainly not like this with so many pictures and so many people jammed together that observation and discrimination were utterly impossible. He found himself wondering what Harriet would say about it all and whether she liked the dramatic canvasses of Turner or 254
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preferred the more meticulous representational style of Constable. Though he felt reasonably certain he could guess which she would choose, he longed to debate their merits with her and then tease her about her opinions, for undoubtedly she would be most passionate in defense of her taste.
Adrian glowered at the sweeping landscape before him. He must stop these accursed thoughts and comparisons, forget that Harriet gave energy and meaning to every aspect of life while Alicia rendered everything, even art itself, trivial. He squared his shoulders, admonishing himself severely for this lapse. He was a soldier, after all, trained to endure hardship whether it was the physical challenge of a forced march across unforgiving terrain or the emotional one of endless hours on watch or waiting for the orders to engage the enemy. He comforted himself with the thought that dull as Alicia's world was, it could never surpass the numbing boredom of a night watch.
Smiling grimly at his own ironic humor, Adrian nodded and responded mechanically to Alicia's chatter as he escorted her and her mother back to the carriage. Yes, he could do it, he could bear this just as he had borne the privations of army life; and in time it would become just as familiar and easily dealt with as they had been.
With the army still on his mind. Lord Chalfont was quick to notice the green uniform, dusty and tattered though it was, of the beggar who approached them just as Alicia was settling into her seat. The marquess had always held the men of the Ninety-fifth Rifles in high regard after having shared action 255
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with them at Salamanca, Vitoria, and Waterloo, and it grieved him now to see one of the proud regiment rendered so destitute that he was reduced to asking help from the passersby.
"A penny for a poor soldier, if it please you, sir." The halting, diffident voice told Adrian that the poor fellow was unaccustomed and ill suited to an existence that depended on the bounty of others. He hung back, almost as though he wished not to be heard, but one glance at the gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes was enough to show the marquess that the soldier's need was all too real. The beggar had already begun to turn away when Adrian pulled out his purse and handed it to him.
"Bless you, sir, but I have no need of all that." The soldier drew himself up proudly. "All I wish is just enough for a bit of grub until I am back on my feet again." Adrian smiled. He had known that this was no ordinary beggar and it pleased him to have his good opinion of the Ninety-fifth borne out. "Very well. But I can do better than that. Perhaps I can find a place for you in my household. If you take this"—Adrian, who after years in the field was never without the means to send a message, pulled pencil and paper from his pocket and scrawled a few words—"to my lodgings in Mount Street, you will find that my batman will be happy to make you comfortable and you will also find that Richards holds the Ninety-fifth in as high esteem as I do." The man's eyes filled with tears that he hurriedly blinked away. "Bless you, sir. I thought there was something of the 256
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military in your bearing or I never would have approached you. I will do anything. I can—"
But Adrian, laying a hand on his shoulder, cut him off.
"Think nothing of it. You go along and fill your stomach and then we shall talk."
Recognizing the voice of command, the soldier touched his forehead and with another, "Bless you, sir," hurried off down the Strand in the direction of Mount Street, his gait almost jaunty at the prospect of a good meal and a sympathetic reception.
Lord Chalfont gazed after him, frowning thoughtfully until an audible sniff from Alicia brought him back to his senses.
"Really, Chalfont, it is too bad of you to keep all of us waiting for it is decidedly chilly today. Surely you do not plan to stop and offer assistance to every beggar who accosts you. At that rate we shall never get home."
It was with great difficulty that Adrian held his temper in check as he climbed into the carriage and took his seat across from her. Her supercilious air so infuriated him that it was some minutes before he could trust himself to reply civilly as she sat there smugly, gazing disdainfully over the sea of humanity thronging the Strand. For the briefest of instants, he longed to wrap his lean brown hands around the slender throat and squeeze it until she knew, however momentarily, what it was like to face death as he and thousands of other soldiers had done in the Peninsula and Waterloo. Even that would give her no sense of the years of danger and hardship they had all suffered together. Even if he were to shock her out of her complacency, she would never understand anything 257
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but the world as it revolved around Alicia De Villiers, and certainly she would never have a particle of sympathy for anyone but Alicia De Villiers.
Again the image of a vivid face, the blue eyes shining with interest and compassion, rose before him and he found himself having to swallow a lump in his throat before replying firmly, "I shall endeavor to give aid to anyone who truly needs it, particularly fellows such as he who devoted their lives to their country, so you might as well resign yourself to it."
Alicia had never before had her wishes so completely disregarded. Her eyes sparkled with anger as she opened her mouth to reply, but turning to speak to her betrothed, she observed the grim look of determination on his face and thought better of it. Alicia had occasionally suspected that Lord Chalfont, unlike the rest of her admirers, did not live in fear of her slightest frown. In fact, lately she had become uncomfortably aware that her future husband had a great many other interests in his life besides herself and though he was willing enough to act as her escort when the situation demanded it, he did not live to indulge her every whim. It was a sobering thought, and an entirely new one for a beauty who had been deferred to her entire life. Of course Alicia was determined to change all this, but though she was confident of eventually reducing Lord Chalfont to the slavish devotion demonstrated by the rest of her cicisbei, she realized that it might take her longer than she had expected and that at the moment, it behooved her not to press.
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They rode in silence until they reached Bond Street when Alicia, unable to bear the lack of conversation any longer, decided to try a new approach. "You shall soon need a much larger establishment, my lord, if you are to give employment to every old soldier who requests your aid." She tapped him playfully with the ivory handle of her parasol, smiling coyly up at him and peeping out under her lashes in a manner she knew to be utterly bewitching.