The Chocolate Debutante (6 page)

And then she saw a gentleman driving toward her and promptly forgot about anyone and everything else. It was Lord Dangerfield. He slowed his team to a halt, and Harriet reined in her horse so that both carriages were alongside each other. He raised his hat. “Miss Tremayne, I hardly recognized you,” he said.

“Am I so much changed?”

“Very much for the better.”

He looked at Susan and gave a slow smile. “Will you not introduce me to Griselda?”

Harriet’s heart plunged sickeningly. “My niece, Miss Susan Colville, Susan, Lord Dangerfield.”

Susan flashed that brilliant smile of hers.

“London has seen nothing like you, Miss Colville,” said the earl. “You are already breaking hearts right, left, and center.”

“So it would appear,” said Susan with her faint lisp. “Do you think I will be all the rage?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then, that is good. For my aunt will get me off her hands very soon and she can be comfortable again. Aunt Harriet is not of a frivolous nature.”

His eyes sparkled with laughter. “Is Miss Tremayne
very
strict?”

“Oh, no. But Aunt Harriet has had a most fatiguing time what with having to teach me to read and write and choose clothes for me and go on calls and all that sort of thing.”

“You could not read and write before your aunt took you in hand?”

Susan gave a gurgle of laughter. “No, is it not shocking?”

“So now that you are literate and modishly gowned, all you have to do is look forward to all the balls and parties.”

“I suppose so. We are to go to the Marchioness of Trowbridge’s ball. Does she keep a good table?”

“Very good, Miss Colville.”

“Susan,” muttered Harriet warningly, but Susan appeared not to hear.

“I mean, does she have good confectionery?”

“Gunter’s will probably be doing the catering, and there will be ices and all sorts of delights.”

“Then I shall look forward to it. And you must dance with Aunt Harriet, my lord, for she has such a pretty ball gown and will look much too dashing to be confined to the rows of dowagers and chaperones. Besides, you and Aunt are of an age, I should think.”

“It will be my pleasure,” said the earl, ignoring the fulminating looks Harriet was casting on her niece. “I shall call on you, Miss Tremayne.”

He touched his hat and drove on.

“Susan!” said Harriet furiously. “Never again solicit any gentleman to give me a dance, and never, ever comment on his age.”

Susan sighed. “Such a lot to learn,” she said. “Had we not better move on? Have you noticed how everyone stares? Most rude.”

But another carriage had stopped beside them. Harriet recognized Mrs. Courtney, one of the hostesses Bertha had encouraged her to cultivate. A pleasant-looking young man was with her. Mrs. Courtney introduced him as her son, Charles.

After some bland exchanges of conversation, during which Susan remained mercifully silent, Harriet finished by saying she would be delighted if Mr. Courtney and his mother would call on her. She then drove Susan briskly once around the Ring and thankfully made her way home, wondering why her mouth was dry and why her heart was beating so hard. Stage nerves, she told herself severely. After the marchioness’s ball, Susan would be firmly on her way to marriage and all she, Harriet, had to do was to choose a suitable husband for the girl. Young Courtney would be ideal. He was only a couple of years older than Susan and he appeared good-natured and amiable.

But worries about Susan surfaced again. For as soon as they returned home, Susan tossed her bonnet into a corner, dropped her pelisse on the drawing room floor, stretched her length on the sofa, and fell fast asleep. Harriet gave a click of annoyance. Certainly she had planned no evening engagement. The Trowbridge ball was to be Susan’s first evening debut in society. But she had pianoforte scales to practice and more reading and writing to do. Susan’s ability to fall fast asleep at any given moment of the day bewildered the energetic Harriet.

Then there was the problem of Lord Dangerfield. Certainly he had not seemed struck all of a heap by Susan’s beauty. But he had said he would call, and Susan appeared to amuse and delight him. Bertha had told Harriet that Lord Dangerfield had a mistress, quite as if that were an everyday sort of thing. In her brain Harriet knew it was; in her heart she felt it diminished him.

Ladies of the ton had two main functions in life. One was to produce an heir and spares and the other, having raised the children to marriageable age, was to find husbands for the girls and brides for the sons. The master of the house stepped in to discuss marriage settlements. Girls had to be guided away from adventurers and sons from ladies who lacked suitable dowries. The Regency was an age of hard gambling, and therefore it was more important than ever to keep the family finances afloat by marrying well.

So it quickly went around that not only was Susan Colville surpassingly beautiful but possessed of a handsome dowry. Had she had little money, then her fair looks would have been branded as blowsy and unfashionable. But the men saw her as a goddess and the matchmaking mamas viewed her as a sweet, amiable girl who could be easily molded to the family’s ways.

So when Charles Courtney called the following afternoon, he was accompanied by his mother, his father being submerged in an armchair at his club with a bottle of burgundy.

Harriet sent the servants to fetch Susan and looked up in dismay when her butler returned to say that Miss Susan could not be found.

Then Lord Dangerfield arrived to find Harriet flustered and upset. She sharply told the butler to go and look for Susan again and search the house from attic to cellar. But again he returned and said there was no sign of her.

Mrs. Courtney and Charles took their leave. Lord Dangerfield looked at Harriet with some amusement. “Do not force yourself to make polite conversation with me, Miss Tremayne. You are obviously worried to death about your niece. Ask the servants if any of them saw her recently and where.”

Harriet rang the bell and questioned the butler. He withdrew and returned a few minutes later with a shamefaced footman who said that Susan had given him money to go out and buy chocolates for her. He had delivered the chocolates to her room.

When the servants had gone, Harriet said in a voice sharp with exasperation, “I told her that she must give up eating sweetmeats. She will destroy her complexion and her teeth.”

“In that case,” said Lord Dangerfield, “she probably found a hiding place where she could eat the chocolates without you coming down on her like the wrath of God. Come. Take me to her room. I do not share your worry and so can probably guess where she is. I feel she is hiding in the house, but it is clear to me that you are panicking and cannot think clearly because you fear she is wandering the streets of London.”

Harriet hesitated. “Come along,” he urged. “You must look on me as a friend of the family. After all, we have shared dinner and books.”

She led him up to Susan’s bedchamber. He stood in the doorway and looked around. There was a canopied bed, a toilet table, two easy chairs, a large wardrobe, and an even larger press.

As they stood together, looking around, a faint sound came from the press.

“Ah-ha!” He went and opened the door. Curled up on a shelf, her face smeared with chocolate, her thumb in her mouth, and fast asleep, lay Susan.

Harriet’s first feeling was of mild pleasure that this beauty should display herself to such disadvantage. She then told herself sternly that this was not because the girl had been discovered by Lord Dangerfield in such a state, but simply pleasure at finding her safe and well.

“Susan!” she said sharply. “Come out of there immediately.”

Susan slowly opened her beautiful eyes and blinked at Harriet and the earl. She unstoppered her mouth and grinned. “Now I am in the suds,” she remarked. She slid down from the shelf, and as she did so, her dress rode up, revealing a splendid pair of legs encased in silk stockings and embellished with pink frilly garters.

“Wash your face, miss,” said Harriet, “and present yourself in the drawing room. Mrs. Courtney has already called with Charles. It’s too bad of you, Susan. You must stop eating so many sweetmeats. You will ruin your complexion and your teeth.”

Susan yawned and stretched. “I never get pimples,” she said. “And my teeth are very strong. Yes, yes, Aunt, do take your beau away and I will join you as soon as I can.”

Harriet’s face flamed with angry color. “Lord Dangerfield is
not
my beau, Susan. What am I to do with you? Make yourself presentable as soon as possible. Come, Lord Dangerfield.”

When she and the earl were seated in the drawing room, Harriet said awkwardly, “I must apologize for my niece, my lord. As you can see, I have much work still to do.”

He laughed. “And I thought
you
were the Original. I never thought to see you behave like the veriest model of society matrons.” And Harriet felt staid and old and dowdy. She made rather stilted conversation, wondering why he did not take his leave. Calls were supposed to last only ten or fifteen minutes, and the time was stretching on to a full half hour. She made rather forced conversation about who was who at the Season and saying that Lady Dancer had been a great help in introducing her to the right hostesses.

“My lord,” she said at last. “I am afraid you must excuse me. I do not know what can have happened to Susan.”

“May I make a guess? Asleep again?”

“Surely not! I am sure she is making an elaborate toilet in your honor.”

“Nicely said, Miss Tremayne. But I wager you that she is asleep.”

“She cannot be!”

“You will find I have the right of it. What will we wager? I know, if I am right, then you will save the supper dance for me at the Trowbridge ball. And if I am wrong…?”

“Well, well, I must think of something.”

“Jewels? A fan?”

“No, I have enough of those. I know, you must give me your advice.”

“On what?”

“On a suitable partner for Susan. I have been out of the world for so long. My friend, Bertha, Lady Dancer, is very shrewd, but perhaps you would be able to spot someone unsuitable better than she. There are gentlemen of good fortune who might be cruel, or drunkards, or gamblers. Gentlemen appear to be on their best behavior when they are courting. But a man would know what they are really like.”

“Done! So let us go and see which of us is right.”

They went back up to Susan’s bedchamber. Harriet scratched at the door and then quietly opened it. Susan lay sprawled like a rag doll facedown on the bed and fast asleep again.

“The supper dance is mine, I think,” said the earl.

“What on earth am I to do with her?” wailed Harriet.

“Make sure she stays awake in the ballroom,” he said, “and let her beauty do the rest.” His harsh face softened as he looked at the sleeping Susan. “She is quite the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

“I think young Charles Courtney might be highly suitable,” said Harriet.

His eyes glinted down at her. “Perhaps an older man might be what she needs.”

Harriet led the way out of the bedroom. “I do not think so,” she said over her shoulder, trying to keep her voice light. He followed her to the drawing room and she wondered just how long he meant to stay. She found him disturbing and unsettling and had a sudden sharp longing for the quiet, placid days of her old life.

“Come for a drive with me, Miss Tremayne,” he said suddenly.

“Now?” She glanced at the clock. “It is not yet the fashionable hour.”

“We do not need to be fashionable. See, the sun is shining and it is quite warm.”

“But, Susan…”

“Miss Colville will no doubt sleep happily until our return. Besides, how can I present myself as a correct suitor if I do not gain your approval?”

She looked at him, startled. She wanted to cry out that never would she let such an experienced man of the world marry Susan. But Bertha and everyone else would think her quite mad to turn down anyone so eligible.

And yet she found herself accepting his invitation. She murmured that she would change into her carriage dress.

The earl nodded by way of reply and settled down to wait. The drawing room was restful, he thought. The long windows were open and a faint breeze stirred the lace curtains and sent them billowing out over the polished floor. There was a jar of potpourri on a side table giving out a pleasant scent, an apple-wood fire burned on the hearth, the clock ticked, and he had a feeling of being at home. He reflected that he had done nothing at all to the town house, or the country mansion, for that matter, leaving the pictures and furniture of his ancestors in place. His eyes roamed around the room again. There was a bowl of flowers, prettily arranged, and a piece of sewing lying on top of the work basket, books and magazines on a console table. A place to come home to. He was overcome by a temptation to flirt with the severe Miss Tremayne. He wondered idly what it would be like to kiss that passionate mouth and see those magnificent eyes of hers cloud with desire.