A Desirable Husband

by Mary Nichols

  ‘No, not at all.’ She sat up and put her bonnet straight. ‘I landed on you. Are you hurt?’

  ‘No.’ He scrambled out of the basket and held his hand out to help her. Then he replaced his jacket round her shoulders and turned up the collar before hurrying her away from the inquisitive reporters who clamoured to know her name, where she lived, why she volunteered, had she been afraid. She answered no to the last question, before Felix placed himself between them. ‘Don’t answer,’ he told her. ‘It will only encourage them.’

  Somehow he made a way through them, shielding her face with his jacket. ‘Keep going,’ he said, making her run. ‘I left my cab on the carriageway. I only hope the driver obeyed my instructions to wait.’

  To his intense relief it was still there and he lifted her into and jumped up beside her. ‘Go down Piccadilly,’ he instructed the driver.

  ‘But that’s the wrong way,’ she protested.

  ‘We need to put them off the scent. We can’t have them following us to Trent House, can we?’

  ‘What about Rosemary? I left her in the park.’

  ‘I am sure she will have seen what happened and had the good sense to return home incognito.’

  A half hour later after a ride in a cab that took her all over the west side of London, he instructed the driver to make for Kensington and she arrived home to find he had been right. Rosemary had waited until she saw her sister safely on the ground again and had crept away. To say she was displeased would be an under-statement; she was furious. She managed a grudging word of thanks to Felix at the same time as she berated him for not making her sister come out of the basket before it took off.

  ‘I might, if I had been given the time,’ he said evenly. ‘But no sooner had I stepped in than we left the ground. There was nothing I could do after that until we returned to earth.’

  ‘Which we did with a bump,’ Esme said, refusing to be cowed, though she realised she had frightened her sister to death.

  Rosemary gave her a withering look and turned again to Felix. ‘My lord, I thank you again, but I will take care my sister’s feet remain firmly on the ground from now on. You do understand?’

  ‘Yes, my lady, I understand. Good afternoon.’ He bowed formally. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Esme.’

  As soon as the front door had closed on him, Rosemary turned on Esme. ‘I never felt so humiliated in my life,’ she said. ‘I know you are up to all sorts of tricks, but I never thought you would be so mad as to deliberately get us separated so that you could embark on that imbecile adventure. Anything could have happened, you could have been carried away, hurt, even killed….’

  ‘But I wasn’t. It wasn’t dangerous at all. You should have come, too, you could see for miles and miles.’

  ‘Certainly not. Just look at the state of you. Your hair is all over the place and there is a tear in your skirt. If it wasn’t dangerous, how did that happen?’

  ‘Oh, I expect when we landed. The basket turned over, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all! It will be all over the papers tomorrow.’

  ‘No, it won’t, they have no idea who I am. Lord Pendlebury shielded me from the reporters when we landed and the cab brought us home by a roundabout way.’

  ‘Let us hope you are right. Heaven knows what Rowan will say.’

  ‘I suppose it is no good asking you not to tell him?’

  ‘No good at all.’

  But for some reason she did not say a word. It might have been that Rowan was too busy with his campaign to have the Exhibition stopped, which was gaining momentum day by day, and was not in a mood to listen to domestic problems. He made no comment at all when the exploits of an unknown young lady who had dared to ascend in a balloon pushed the Exhibition and the arguments for and against off the front pages. Headed, ‘The Mystery of the Lady Balloonist’, the report went on, ‘The young lady was dressed in the latest mode, certainly not equipped for a journey aloft. Mr Hurst, the balloonist, told us he did not know her name, but she spoke in the refined accents of the gentry. All those who witnessed the ascent were left speculating on her identity. We think she was perhaps an actress, someone known to Mr Hurst, paid to drum up business. If that is the case, it was a highly successful venture. The balloon went up and down many more times, with each passenger paying a guinea for the privilege, until nightfall brought it to a halt.’

  Felix read it and smiled. They had not discovered who she was and for her sake he was thankful. It was not the sort of notoriety a young lady ought to attract in her first Season. But, oh, he admired her courage. Her shivering had not been entirely caused by cold, but when he suggested looking down at the ground so far beneath them, she had done so, even pointed things out and asked questions. Many a chit in those circumstances would have sat down and screwed up her eyes and refused to open them until they were safely down again.

  It was purely fortuitous that he had been coming along the carriageway in a cab when their way was impeded by crowds of people on foot. Standing on the cab step to see what it was all about, he had been astonished to see Lady Esme Vernley approach the balloonist, amid cheers from the onlookers. Then it was a matter of racing the others to the basket. Had he meant to persuade her not to go? He was not at all sure. In any case, he had told Lady Trent the truth: the basket had left the ground as soon as he was on board. And, oh, how he had enjoyed the experience, standing side by side with the liveliest, the bravest, the loveliest young lady he had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

  He knew perfectly well what Lady Trent had meant about keeping her feet on the ground. She would be accompanied and watched everywhere from now on and he might not enjoy another such encounter. But perhaps it was for the best. He was becoming far to wrapped up in her.

  Esme never saw Felix in the park again, but she did encounter him several times in the homes of Rosemary’s friends when they went calling or attended evening functions. Courtesy forbade Rosemary to ignore him, so she would pass the time of day politely when they met in a group and that meant Esme could speak to him, too. But they were never alone and never mentioned the balloon flight, both realising they might be overheard and the secret would be out. It was most frustrating and he never again even hinted at meeting in the park or anywhere else.

  But that did not alter the fact that she was acutely aware of him whenever he was nearby. If he was talking to someone else, she longed for him to turn and notice her. If he happened to be speaking to her, she was so breathless she could hardly answer him and if the subject of his conversation was something like the weather or what the government was up to or the ongoing argument about the Great Exhibition, she wanted to turn it to a more personal level, to find out how he was feeling, why their earlier rapport seemed to have disappeared. She had not changed, except to try to heed Rosemary’s advice and be a little more circumspect, a little cooler in her demeanour.

  ‘Be proud,’ Rosie had told her. ‘You are the daughter of an earl, a Vernley, one of the oldest and most respected families in the kingdom and you can choose whomever you wish to marry, even without a dowry. But that does not mean you can behave like a hoyden.’ She never missed an opportunity to lecture and Esme knew she was not going to be forgiven for that balloon ride.

  She could not marry whom she wished because if she could she would choose someone like Lord Pendlebury and Rosemary considered him unsuitable. ‘He is in trade,’ she had said scornfully, repeating her earlier objection when Esme ventured to ask her what she had against him. ‘A manufacturer of glass. Of all things! And his background is suspect.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘His father made his fortune in India, trading with the natives, and was ennobled while out there, goodness knows what for. He amassed a fortune that enabled him to return home and buy an estate and live like a real aristocrat while his son roamed all over Europe and fell in with some very unsavoury characters.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Rowan made inquiries.’

  �
��Why?’

  ‘A newcomer in our midst, whom no one knows, will always merit investigation. There are some blackguards about masquerading as gentlemen.’

  ‘Oh, surely not Lord Pendlebury.’

  ‘Why not Lord Pendlebury? Esme if you have developed a tendre for him on the strength of one highly improper episode, I suggest you stifle it. There are others more suitable….’

  Esme did not comment on that, instead, she said, ‘Whatever he has done in the past does not seem to have dented his popularity; he is everywhere we go.’

  ‘A handsome face and an even handsomer fortune make some people blind.’

  Rosemary’s scathing opinion did nothing to change Esme’s feelings towards the gentleman, unless it was to make her even more curious about him. Unsavoury characters—what unsavoury characters? He did not strike her as dissolute, though perhaps she was not knowledgeable enough to recognise that trait if she saw it. She could not believe a man with such a fine talent at his fingertips would use it for anything but good. She began to scan the newspapers looking for the result of the competition to design the Exhibition building, wanting him to win it, though that would hardly raise his standing in Rosemary’s eyes. Rowan was still stubbornly against anything to do with the project, calling it an abomination to all right-thinking citizens.

  He would have gone home to Larkhills, Felix told himself, except that he had made little progress with his work for Wellington, though in his spare time he dressed as a working man and haunted the taverns and meeting places of the low life of the city. His other reason, that Moorcroft had asked him to look out for Esme, was a sham. She did not need him; she had a perfectly good watchdog in Lady Trent. Esme’s own conclusion that it was a lady keeping him in town, was nearer the truth, even if she did not know the lady was herself.

  He battled with himself over it. His vow that he would never allow himself to be ensnared by a woman again was in grave danger of being broken. Lady Esme Vernley enchanted him, but he was only too aware of how false enchantment could be. In some hands it was almost a lethal weapon. It could attract in order to cut. He ought to keep clear of it. But though he tried, he found himself accepting invitations he never would have accepted before, simply because she might be there and he could get a glimpse of her, perhaps exchange a few words. His weakness annoyed him until he was face to face with her and drinking in the sight of her while apparently talking of nothing at all and then he was glad he had come.

  It worried him that she seemed a little paler, a little less animated, and he guessed it was the repressive influence of her sister, whom he called the dragon, and he wanted to bring the old Esme back, the one who was ready for any adventure, who said straight out what she thought, who quizzed people because she wanted to know answers. The only question she had asked him lately had been a formal, ‘How do you do?’ How did he do? Abominably.

  It became worse when the Season got under way and the grand houses of the West End were opened up for the aristocracy coming from their country homes. The round of party going, soirées, pleasure outings increased, to the evident satisfaction of the dragon. He watched as Esme was pushed in front of every young blade with a title and a moderate fortune and wanted to scream at her not to be bullied into accepting any of them. He was, he realised, losing his battle to remain aloof.

  He consoled himself by drawing her, trying to recreate her figure, her oval face, her wayward curls, her small, expressive hands, but that was equally frustrating. He could not get it right whether she was walking, riding or sitting decorously with her hands in her lap. Paper was a flat medium—she needed substance, something three-dimensional. A sculpture, perhaps. But in London he did not have the materials for making one.

  Esme and Rosemary hardly had an evening at home, unless they were entertaining, themselves. Everywhere they went, they met the same people and before long Rosemary was pointing out more young gentlemen she considered suitable husbands, whom Esme could safely encourage. Esme was polite to them, smiled at them, danced with them, but when she compared them with Felix Pendlebury, she found them sadly lacking. Not one was as handsome, not one as talented, not one could make her heart beat faster, or make her laugh in quite the same way he did. Laughter was a spontaneous and joyful sound when shared with Felix, a mere politeness when acknowledging the inane joke of any other young man. She no longer thought of him as Lord Pendlebury. None of her new acquaintances merited a Christian name in her head.

  She dreamed of him, she dreamed of being in his arms, of being kissed by him and though she tried to imagine the sensation, she had only her reading of the latest novels to go by and was not sure she could trust them to be accurate. The very fact that she wanted it to happen must surely signify something was going on in her heart that needed clarification. She could not ask Rosemary and Miss Bannister insisted she knew nothing of such things being an elderly spinster. But she said it with a smile that seemed to indicate that she did know and she did understand.

  Esme’s spirits took an upward turn one day in early May when she and Miss Bannister were walking alongside the river at Chelsea, shading themselves from the sun under parasols. They had gone along the towpath as a change from the park and to give Esme fresh impetus to illustrate her letters to her parents which were full of where she had been, whom she had met, the latest gossip and fashions. Mama liked to know all that and she appreciated the little drawings Esme included. Naturally she had not been told of the balloon ride and Lord Pendlebury’s name was not mentioned except in passing, when she wrote the names of people who were present at a particular gathering.

  They came to a spot where an oak tree on the bank hung over the water and shaded the grass beneath it. Sitting on the ground with his back against the trunk of the tree was the man who filled her dreams. He had taken off his jacket, which lay discarded beside him with his hat on top of it. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and though there was a pad of paper on his knee and a pencil in his hand, he did not appear to be doing anything with either. His eyes were half closed, a blond curl fell over his brow. A man in repose or a man with a great deal on his mind? She was not sure.

  Their feet made no sound on the grass as they approached and they were on to him before Esme’s shadow fell over him and he became aware he was not alone. He opened his eyes and began to scramble to his feet, but she stopped him. ‘Please do not get up, my lord. You look so comfortable there.’ And then she surprised him by dropping down beside him.

  ‘My lady. Miss Bannister.’ Having deliberately avoided the park in case he should meet her and have all his self-control fly away, fate had taken a hand. She was here, sitting beside him, her wide pink gingham skirts spread around her, a smile of delight on her face. The fight went out of him. He gave in, surrendered to her charm, discounting the possible consequences. ‘What a delightful surprise.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ She looked from him to Miss Bannister who was standing over them, uncertain how to proceed. She could not bring herself to sit on the ground, knowing it would bring on her aches and pains and it would be a struggle to rise again. But she could not stand there like a sentinel. ‘I shall go and sit on that log over there,’ she said, indicating a fallen tree a few yards away. ‘When I am rested, we shall resume our walk.’

  ‘She is a dear,’ Esme told him when the old lady was out of earshot. ‘She should have been retired ages ago, but I think she would fade away if she did. She persuaded Mama to let her maid me, though she is a very educated lady and instructed us all as children. Lucy, Rosemary, me and young Johnny.’ She smiled suddenly and the last vestige of his vow crumbled to dust. ‘I have to take account of her age and infirmity and we stop frequently when out walking.’

  ‘She is tactful,’ he observed.

  ‘Yes. So we may speak freely.’

  ‘Don’t you always do that?’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, and perhaps when I ought not to. Do you often come this way?’

  ‘Occasionally, when I want to be alone to think.’
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  ‘Oh, and I have interrupted you. I am sorry.’

  ‘I cannot think of anyone I would rather have interrupt me. A man would have to be made of stone to prefer his own company to yours.’

  She was delighted by the compliment. ‘That is kind of you. I have been looking for an announcement that would tell me you had won the competition for the Exhibition building. Has it been judged?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I saw a picture of one of the designs in the Illustrated London News yesterday.’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘No, I do not. It looks to me like a cross between a brick-built cathedral and a railway station. Dark and forbidding on the one hand and all bustle and noise on the other.’

  He laughed. ‘I could not have described it better.’

  ‘Why did they choose it?’

  ‘Because they did not like any that were submitted to them.’

  ‘Not even yours?’

  ‘I haven’t finished it yet.’

  ‘So what are you drawing now?’ She indicated his pad. He held it out to her. ‘But it’s me! It is me, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘Why not you?’ He answered her question with another. ‘I began it when I met you in the park, but I don’t seem able to finish it. Just when I think I have it right, some feature, an expression, a line even, eludes me and it lacks something.’

  ‘Animation, I expect. A drawing does not live and breathe, but I would say you have got as near to it as anyone could.’

  ‘But now the real thing is beside me and I am content just to look.’

  ‘My lord, I do believe you are flirting with me.’

  ‘No, I am sincere.’

  ‘No one has ever told me anything like that before.’

  ‘Not even your new beaux? Whenever I see you in company, you are surrounded by eager young men.’