Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (9 page)

The conversation turned to horses, and Lord Burke
was, he declared, shocked to discover Isobel had not been at Ascot.
Lady Julia proved knowledgeable on the subject and soon engaged
Lord Burke and Mr. Swaffing in a heated debate over a horse Lord
Burke claimed to be worth its weight in gold. He professed to be
stunned, therefore, when the earl announced he owned the fastest
filly in the empire, bar none. “You do not know what you say!” he
cried.

Mr. Swaffing was strangely quiet.

“
A thousand pounds says my Gazetta
outruns your nag, Burke!”

“
Done!”

Mrs. Vincent, during all this, did her utmost to be
charming to Lord Hartforde, who, it seemed to Isobel, was spending
a great deal of time leaning her way. Lord Hartforde smiled when
Mrs. Vincent avowed she simply did not see the sense in racing,
though she would allow a race could be an exciting thing to
see.

Lord Hartforde thought Mrs. Vincent was an extremely
pretty woman, and he glanced around the table to confirm his
estimation that she was the handsomest woman present. He would go
so far as to admit the earl’s daughter was practically lovely, and,
though she was rather too slender for his taste, he did not fail to
note her figure was not in the least displeasing. He considered
Chessingham to be a good friend and an important ally in the House,
but he had absolutely no doubt that he was hoping for a match
between them, and no matter how advantageous such a union might be,
he had no desire to be married again. Once had been quite enough
for him, and he could not help but believe his wife’s death had
been a blessing in disguise. They had all too soon discovered they
detested each other. He was in no particular hurry to beget an heir
while there was still so much time left in which to accomplish the
deed.

The conversation turned to the opening of Parliament
the next week, and Lord Hartforde was impressed to find Miss St.
James knew something about English politics. He laughed when she
turned to him after demanding to know Lord Burke’s political
leanings and bluntly asked, “Of course, you are a Whig, are you
not, my lord?”

“
Naturally, Miss St. James,” he
responded. “And yourself?”

“
As you know, all women are
disfranchised so I can be neither Whig nor Tory,” she said
tartly.

“
But if you were?” he
insisted.

“
A Whig. And I should work
tirelessly to see that all English people, men and women, have the
right to vote!”

“
Your daughter certainly sounds
like one of those dashed colonists, Chessingham!” He turned away
from a pair of flashing eyes.

Not long afterwards, the earl asked Lady Julia for
any suggestions she might offer to ensure the success of the ball
he meant to give for Isobel. Lord Hartforde tried to hide his
amusement when he saw the look Miss St. James gave her father for
changing the subject. The topic next was society, and, though he
had turned his attention to the delightfully ignorant Mrs. Vincent,
from the corner of his eye he watched Miss St. James lean back in
her chair and push her untouched veal around her plate with the tip
of her knife. She listened to Lord Burke with an air of utter
fascination, while she absently poked holes into the chop until she
had almost shredded it. She looked down at her plate, evidently
surprised at what she had done, then looked guiltily at her father.
There was such a touching mix of apprehension and affection in the
look that Lord Hartforde thought to himself, Why, she is quite fond
of him! And for some ridiculous reason, when she smiled at her
father he felt a familiar tightening in his belly. He was staring
at her so intently, wondering what made him react that way, that
when Mrs. St. James asked him a question, he had to ask her to
repeat herself.

By the end of the evening, when the men had joined
the women in the drawing room, Isobel and Lady Julia had agreed to
meet the next day for a ride in Hyde Park, Mrs. Vincent having
begged off by virtue of a prior engagement.

“
May I have your permission,
Father?” Isobel looked at him, wondering if he would refuse her
again. To her relief, he nodded his agreement. “At last!” she
cried. “I have a lovely riding habit I thought was going to be out
of fashion before Father allowed me out of the house! I am given to
understand the design is French,” she told Julia. “All I know is
that it is exceedingly uncomfortable and it matches my
eyes!”

Lord Hartforde smiled at her sally, but he politely
refused his sister’s entreaty to join them, though Lord Burke
readily agreed. He knew his sister too well not to think she wasn’t
already scheming to throw Miss St. James in his way. Julia had
taken a liking to the girl, and he knew she would be matchmaking in
no time. It was a shame he had no intention of marrying again,
because Miss St. James was a very fascinating and beautiful young
lady.

I

Julia liked Isobel from the moment she saw her
standing at Lord Chessingham’s side looking a little nervous but
determined to put a brave face on it. The close friendship that
sprang up between them was aided by Lord Hartforde’s London house
being just down the street at number 10 Albemarle Street. There was
a strength about Isobel that fascinated Julia. She had always
thought Lord Chessingham a hard man, yet he seemed softened by his
daughter, and Julia thought anyone who could accomplish such a
thing was worth befriending. She had not been disappointed. She was
pleased to find she and Isobel thought alike on many subjects and
that their tastes in all things were remarkably similar.

The earl encouraged their friendship. He knew very
well how important it was for someone with Lady Julia’s connections
to be seen with his daughter. He hoped curiosity about Isobel would
be brought to a pitch by the time he formally introduced her to
society. And, if the truth be known, he hoped Lord Hartforde might,
by reason of their being previously introduced, feel he had a
better claim to her than anyone else. That Isobel should marry
Hartforde was Lord Chessingham’s fondest wish. It was much to the
earl’s delight, therefore, that he began receiving numerous
inquiries about whether his daughter was “out” or not. Until then,
it was not proper for a gentleman to speak with her. Only Hartforde
and Burke had that privilege.

Julia expected to be surrounded by men when she and
Isobel went abroad, whether it was to a concert, an at-home, riding
in Hyde Park, or walking at Kensington Gardens, but Isobel, she
knew, was ill at ease. Her friend’s awkwardness, however slight,
was a source of great concern to her. She was very anxious for
Isobel to make an impression in society. She was beautiful enough
and her manner natural enough that her lack of polish could be
overlooked, but Julia was determined Isobel should acquire it, for
she had decided that Isobel should marry her brother. She knew
precisely the kind of woman who might entice him into an offer of
marriage, and Isobel possessed all those qualities but one. Julia
meant for her brother to fall hard and she devoted herself to
seeing that Isobel quickly acquired the sophistication provided
only by associating with people of fashion.

Julia’s campaign to make Isobel into a woman of
irresistible charm proceeded well. She quickly mastered the art of
the noncommittal response, and it was entirely due to her own
kindness that she listened to less than scintillating
conversationalists with an air of avid interest that early gained
her the reputation of being a fascinating young woman. Julia soon
decided it was time to make the pilgrimage to Chelsea so Isobel
might see, and be seen at, the gardens of Ranelagh.

Lord Burke was easily persuaded to escort them, and,
as he plunked down the admission price of half a crown for each of
them, he proclaimed it a small price to pay for the privilege of
accompanying the two most beautiful women in London. Isobel was
quite taken with the gardens, and while they walked along the
canal, both Julia and Lord Burke were pleased to hear her praise.
The three wandered through one of the pagodas until Julia suggested
they have coffee and rest for a few moments. They had arrived
early, and while they walked, more and more people began filling
the gardens. Couples strolled arm in arm down the paths, groups
formed and reformed, and unattached men and women looked out for
someone to whom they might become attached, however briefly. Isobel
had been rather enjoying herself during the afternoon. It was
beginning to dawn on her that she was attractive to men, and the
interested looks sent her way as she walked with Lord Burke and
Julia did much to increase her confidence. From time to time they
were joined by acquaintances of Julia’s or Lord Burke’s. Julia
assured her there would be no great harm done if she found herself
participating in conversation. Two or three times she even ventured
to express an opinion, and once, to defend it heatedly.

The crowd became quite thick as they made their way
toward the coffeehouse, and by the time they reached the bridge
Isobel was distinctly uncomfortable. A boisterous party of some
fifteen or twenty couples was just coming off the bridge, oblivious
that they were blocking the way for people headed in any direction
but their own. Several of the party were shouting, and the men who
weren’t were waving their handkerchiefs as they listened to a
handsome blond woman sing the last refrain of a song so off color
one wondered at its being sung in public, let alone in mixed
company. When the group continued down the path toward them, Lord
Burke briefly let go of Isobel’s arm to chastise a fellow who had
jostled Julia, and that was enough for Isobel to be separated from
them. Though she tried to keep sight of them, after she had shaken
off a too familiar hand and disentangled herself from the group, it
was some minutes before she had regained the bridge. She could see
Lord Burke and Julia nowhere. She walked for a while in the
direction where she thought the coffee house might be, but it was
soon evident she had not gone the right way. When she realized that
she had got completely turned around, she looked about, trying to
suppress her growing panic. She had no idea how to get to the
coffeehouse, nor even how to get back to the entrance, and she had
so hopelessly lost her sense of direction she had no clue as to
which way she had first come. She shut her mouth firmly but felt
unwanted tears when she briefly closed her eyes.

“
Forgive me if I am forward,”
someone said, “but might I be of assistance?” Isobel turned to see
a handsomely dressed gentleman standing to one side of her. “Mr.
Rupert Selwynn, at your service.” He bowed, smiled kindly, and
smoothed his moustache.

Mr. Rupert Henry Selwynn was a gentleman of some
five and thirty years with reddish-blond hair and a moustache of a
slightly darker hue, which he was in the habit of stroking. He was
of average height, about five feet and seven or eight inches, and
he held himself in a soldierly posture so as to appear taller than
he actually was. He kept six horses, had two very fine carriages,
and a German valet who barely spoke a syllable of English but who
had absolutely mastered the art of arranging his employer’s hair.
Mr. Selwynn knew appearances were everything, and, therefore, he
adeptly hid a black heart and the soul of a libertine under a
veneer of gallantry. He spent six hundred pounds a year on clothing
alone. He had a house in the vicinity of Tottenham Court Road, and
there was a steady parade of chambermaids through its elegant
doors. He was a halfhearted Whig who secretly agreed with the
Tories that something ought to be done about the disgraceful
increase in the numbers of vagabonds and beggars, chiefly in the
shape of more workhouses where they would learn the value of a
day’s honest work. He hedged his bets and had memberships in both
Whig and Tory clubs. Mr. Selwynn, Sr., was a tobbaconist who, when
he died at the age of eighty-five, left his only son a fortune of
one hundred ninety-five thousand pounds, 6s, 8d, by which Mr.
Selwynn, Jr., was almost able to sever himself completely from the
stigma of his connection with trade. Rupert Selwynn had never
worked a day in his life. He had three children, none of whom he
spent a farthing to support, their mothers being, respectively, a
chambermaid, a parson’s daughter who had made an ill-advised trip
to London to visit her best friend, and the sister of an
impoverished Grub Street hack. He was unmarried and likely to
remain that way. He went often to Ranelagh, and when he saw Isobel
he was immediately struck by two things: she was devilishly pretty,
and she looked as though she was about to burst into tears.

“
Oh, please, sir, I am lost!” She
knew she ought on no account speak to a stranger, but, when faced
with the prospect of staying lost, she decided propriety might this
once be disregarded.

“
Permit me to escort you from this
den of iniquity.” He held out an arm for her to take. “And whom
have I the pleasure of rescuing from such a terrible distress?” He
stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket.

“
Please, sir, I am with a party,
and I must rejoin them before they miss me! They were going to have
coffee.” She took his arm.

“
You are an angel of incomparable
beauty, Miss…?” When she did not fill in his pause with her name,
he continued in a languishing tone: “I must know who you are, my
dear little beauty!” He was certain she was the daughter of some
merchant who had brought his child to London in order to find her a
husband. That she was so willing to trust him spoke volumes for her
innocence. It also suggested she had not been brought up as
strictly as she might have been. Indulgent fathers had been the
ruin of more than one young lady visiting London for the first
time. He covered her hand with his and began strolling in the
direction of one of the more remote corners of the
gardens.