A Desirable Husband

by Mary Nichols

  After her bath, she returned to her room and Miss Bannister helped her into her underclothes, her three petticoats, one of which had a padded hem. ‘There now,’ Banny said, as she slipped on a blue silk peignoir. ‘All we have to do now is put your gown on after the hairdresser has been.’

  ‘I don’t know why I need someone from outside to do my hair. You always do it very well.’

  ‘I can’t do anything elaborate.’

  ‘I don’t want anything elaborate. All I want is—’ She stopped, fighting back tears.

  Banny rushed to comfort her. ‘I know, my cherub, I know, but you must stiffen your back and smile. You are the daughter of an earl and must remember your rank and not let your feelings get the better of you.’ She turned to answer a knock on the door. A maid stood outside, accompanied by a gentleman with a beard and flowing locks dressed in a suit of black clothes and a huge floppy red cravat. He carried a bag. ‘Ah, the hairdresser.’

  ‘Coiffeur,’ he corrected her, and came into the room to stand and stare at Esme, who was sitting at her dressing table with her golden locks falling almost to her waist. ‘Ah, my lady,’ he said, talking to her reflection. ‘I think we shall ’ave to use the scissors.’

  ‘No, you do not.’ She rounded on him. ‘No cutting. Just put it up and be done with it.’

  He sighed melodramatically and set to work, pulling, twisting, looping until he had, with the aid of half a pound of pins and several combs, tamed her hair into an artistic creation, into which he threaded gold ribbon to match the embroidery on her dress. It took nearly two hours, after which he took himself off to Rosemary’s boudoir and Esme was left to finish dressing.

  In spite of her worry over Felix, she could not help a frisson of excitement when she put on the lovely ball gown. Rosemary—or was it Rowan she had to thank?—had been generous to a fault. The bodice of the dress, in heavy brocade, embroidered in gold thread interspersed with little pearls, was close fitting, with a deep boat-shaped neckline and narrow sleeves to the elbow, which ended in a flounce of lace. More lace bordered the three tiers of the heavy silk skirt, which, thanks to the underskirts, stood out from her feet and swayed gently as she moved. Her only jewellery was a single rope of pearls Myles had given her, especially for the occasion.

  By the time she was dressed and Banny had done fussing round her, Esme could hear the orchestra tuning their instruments and the front door knocker being repeatedly answered. ‘It’s surely not the guests,’ she murmured. ‘It is too soon.’

  The old lady left the room to find out, but was soon back, accompanied by two footmen. ‘No guests yet,’ she said, ‘But messengers bringing flowers. Look at them all.’ She signalled to the footmen to bring them in and put them round the room. ‘You are a very popular young lady, you know.’

  Esme had never thought of herself as graceful but, as she moved about the room examining the cards that accompanied the flowers, she felt almost regal. She had been transformed from the wayward and excitable young miss into a gracious lady, a true daughter of her father. Whatever happened tonight, she must maintain that poise and if her heart was heavy with longing, no one would know of it.

  There was a huge bouquet of white lilies from Edward Gorridge, whose heavy scent was overpowering. She did not want them in her room and asked Miss Bannister to take them back downstairs. The others were from well-wishers and the corsage from Toby Salford, who still believed he was in with a chance. But the posy attracted her attention because it was so simple, a bunch of yellow rosebuds tied with a gold ribbon. She pulled one of them from the bunch to hold to her nose, which dislodged a card nestling in its centre. She saw at once it was no printed card, but a little drawing. Snatching it eagerly from the flowers, she sat on her bed, holding it in her hands, while her heart rejoiced that he had not forgotten her. Savouring the moment, she held it unopened in her hands. The picture was of her, standing alone, dressed in a softly flowing Grecian gown, which clung to her figure and swirled at her feet. One hand was at the back of her neck underneath her hair, which was lying loosely on her shoulders and topped with a circlet of wild flowers. The other hand was hanging by her side, holding a posy with the flower heads facing downwards. It made her look fragile and beautiful. No one could have sent her a better present, however much it cost.

  Slowly she opened the card and read the message. ‘My beloved Crystal Girl.’ Why Crystal Girl? she asked herself. He had never called her that before ‘All is well, but I must speak to you before the ball begins. I have something to show you and something to ask you. I shall be at the back gate of Trent House at half past seven. If you love me, be there.’ She glanced at the clock. It was twenty-five minutes past. Before Banny could return and stop her, she was flying along the corridor to the back stairs, skittering down them in her haste, the gracious lady completely forgotten. Through the conservatory she went, hardly noticing the banks of flowers or the dank smell of warm wet earth, and out of the door into the garden. Lifting her heavy skirts in both hands, she ran down the garden and wrenched open the gate that led onto the mews. The lane was empty; he had not yet arrived.

  Felix had had an exhausting day, beginning with the journey from Luffenham, which was tedious in the extreme because he could not wait to get back to Esme. He had taken a cab from Maiden Lane station to Bruton Street, changed his clothes and set off for Trent House, only to be refused admission because the lady of the house was not receiving on account of preparing for the ball. When he said he would return later, he was told in no uncertain terms by the footman on duty he would only be admitted if he had an invitation.

  He had gone back to his house for the little drawing of Esme, written his message and then bought the posy from a flower girl standing on the corner of Piccadilly. Dressing himself in his servant’s clothes, he had returned to Trent House and acted the part of a messenger, hoping he might be allowed to take the flowers in and catch a glimpse of Esme, might even, with a little cunning, have a word or two with her. But it was not to be. The posy had been taken from his hands by the same footman and the door shut in his face.

  Frustrated, he had gone to Apsley House, where he had found the Duke of Wellington preparing to go out but, on learning who his visitor was, ordered him to be brought to his dressing room. Here, Felix found the great man in breeches and shirt, without shoes or cravat, still tall and upright in spite of his advancing years. He listened attentively while Felix reported all he had been able to discover about the Revolutionaries and in conclusion humbly begged to be relieved of his duty. ‘Connelly has been taken, your Grace, and no doubt he will squeak loud enough if he thinks it will get him off.’

  ‘On the contrary, he will not utter a single squeak, my friend. He is dead. Murdered in his cell.’

  ‘Good God! Do we know who did it?’

  ‘According to reports, you did, or commissioned it to be done.’

  ‘Me? You cannot possibly believe that.’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Then I beg you to exonerate me publicly. I believe it might be the work of Maillet or those in his pay.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He explained the snatch of conversation Esme had overheard. ‘I reported it to the Commissioner of Police and he said he would look into it.’

  ‘Why did you not tell me directly?’

  ‘You were not at home and could not be reached. I understood you were at the Palace. I had business outside London and I thought while the man was safely in prison he would come to no harm. Evidently I was wrong.’

  ‘Yes, it is a pity; he will tell us nothing now, but if we can find Maillet, we might yet learn what is afoot.’ He rang a bell to summon a servant.

  ‘He might be in disguise. I have been told he had an English mother; he certainly speaks perfect English. He could easily pass himself off as an Englishman.’

  The Duke sat at a desk, drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write rapidly. ‘Describe him, if you please.’

  ‘Of medium height, well dress
ed. I should think his tailor’s bill is prodigious. Black hair, probably dyed, black side whiskers and a slight limp. I would put his age at about fifty.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The Duke wrote on. A manservant arrived as he finished and was given the note to take to the Commissioner of Police with his Grace’s compliments.

  ‘Now, Pendlebury,’ he said, after the man had gone. ‘You may go about your business. Shall I see you at the Trent ball? I intend to put in an appearance for the young lady’s sake. Lovely girl. Have an interest in her, do you?’

  ‘Yes, your Grace. But as for the ball, I do not have an invitation.’

  ‘No invitation! Why ever not?’

  ‘On account of my involvement with the aforementioned shady characters and others of like ilk. That is why I need your public support.’

  ‘You shall have it, young man, but after we have Maillet safely in custody.’

  The proviso annoyed him, but he knew it would do no good to argue. He wondered if he had better go and look for Maillet himself, but decided he must see Esme first. If she had heard the rumours surrounding Connelly’s death and his supposed involvement—and he did not doubt she had—he must put her mind at rest. He hoped fervently she had read his note and that no one else had seen it and stopped her coming to meet him. And because he also hoped the Duke might persuade her guardians to let him into the ball, he intended to be suitably dressed. He returned home to change yet again. To find Juliette reclining on his sofa as if she belonged there was the last straw.

  ‘I ’ave been waiting for you, Felix, chéri,’ she said.

  ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘Your man let me in.

  ‘I’ll have his hide.’ He came and stood over her, wanting very much to pull her to her feet and bundle her out of the door.

  ‘Oh, do not blame ’im. I told ’im you ’ad asked me to come and wait ’ere for you.’

  ‘Why would I do that? After our last encounter I would have thought even you would understand I did not wish to see you again.’

  ‘Ah, but I know you did not mean it, you were—’ow do you put it?—peeved with me and now you are no more peeved, we can ’ave the civilised conversation. I ’ave finished with those people—’

  ‘Which people?’

  ‘The ones you warned me about.’

  ‘Among them Connelly and Maillet, I suppose?’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘You know very well who they are. You introduced Edward to them.’

  She shrugged. ‘Can I ’elp it if ’e is a poor player? ’e is short of the money and ’e thought ’e could beat them.’

  He sighed. ‘What do you want, Juliette? I have already made it plain to you, I want nothing more to do with you. Now, will you please leave? I have to change to go out.’

  ‘To the Trent ball.’ She laughed up at him. ‘You will never get in. I think perhaps you will be arrested as soon as you show your face.’

  ‘Nonsense! I have done no wrong, broken no law, which is more than I can say for you, entering a man’s home without a by-your-leave.’

  ‘I ’ad to see you.’ She stood up then and tried to wrap her arms about his neck. ‘Let us forget them, mon cher, they are not important. I ’ave repented of my folly and we can go on as we did in the beginning in France, when life was good.’

  He took her hands away from his neck and pushed her away. ‘No, Juliette. I advise you to return to France before you are arrested along with your friends. Connelly is dead, probably killed by his own people and you, too, could be in danger.’

  ‘But you could save me, Felix. You ’ave only to—’

  ‘No!’

  Furious, she ripped at the bodice of her dress. He grabbed her hands and tried to stop her. ‘If you think that will work, madam, you are mistaken.’

  They wrestled together for several seconds, while he tried to restrain her without hurting her, but when she became hysterical, he felt obliged to deliver a smart slap. She stared at him in astonishment. Her face was bright pink, his white with anger. He took her by the upper arms and sat her in a chair. ‘Now sit there and do not move.’ She sat sullenly silent as he rang the bell for a servant and when the man arrived, ordered him to find a cloak to cover her torn garments and hire a cab to take her home.

  It was several minutes before that was accomplished and by that time he was very late indeed. He gave up the idea of changing his clothes or even putting on a hat and dashed from the house.

  Esme had been pacing up and down for over a half hour, becoming more and more concerned. Something must have happened to him, something dreadful to keep him from her. She was about to give up in despair, when she saw a figure hurrying towards her wrapped in a cloak. She ran forward, but stopped when she realised it was not Felix, but Victor Ashbury.

  ‘Lady Esme,’ he said, stopping to bow. ‘Are you perhaps waiting for my cousin?’

  She was unsure what to answer, but he had approached her openly, as if he had expected to find her there and only Felix could have told him that. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Still at home, I am afraid. He has been away and has only just been advised that he is wanted by the police in connection with the death of Mr Connelly. It would be unwise of him to walk the streets and so he sent me to fetch you. Will you go to him? I have a cab waiting at the end of the street.’

  She hesitated only as long as it took her to realise if she did not see and speak to Felix before the ball, she would go quite mad with anxiety. And she wanted to find out if there was anything she could do to help him clear his name. ‘Yes, I’ll come.’

  She hardly had the words out of her mouth before he strode off up the mews, trusting that she would follow him. ‘Wait,’ she called after him. ‘I must write a note, or at least leave a message for my sister.’

  ‘No time.’ He turned and took her arm. ‘Hurry up. He could be arrested, even as we speak.’

  She pulled herself away. ‘There is no need to manhandle me, Mr Ashbury. I have said I will come.’

  She climbed into the cab and he followed. They were instantly borne away. Only then did she begin to doubt the wisdom of going with him, asking herself if Felix would have trusted his cousin, whom he did not hold in any great regard, with such an errand. Her fears were confirmed when, instead of continuing along Piccadilly, the cab turned into Park Lane and then into Upper Brook Street. ‘Where are we going?’ she demanded.

  ‘To meet your lover. That is what you want, isn’t it?’

  ‘But he lives in Bruton Street.’

  ‘He would be a fool to go there, don’t you think? It is the first place the Peelers would look for him.’

  The cab drew to a halt and he helped her down. She looked up at the house and realised suddenly she had been here before. It was Gorridge House. She looked back in desperation; the cab was pulling away. Victor took her arm. ‘Come on, he is waiting.’

  ‘Just who is waiting?’

  ‘My cousin, I told you.’

  It was then she realised how she had been duped. Before she could do anything but struggle ineffectually, the door was opened and Edward stood waiting to welcome her, a sickening smile on his face. ‘My dear Esme, welcome once again to my humble abode.’

  She stopped struggling suddenly, realising it would be better to be compliant and then she might be able to persuade him to go to the authorities and explain that money draft. She stepped into the hall. He stood back to admire her gown. ‘Beautiful, beautiful,’ he said. ‘And all for my benefit.’

  ‘It is for my ball. Everyone will be wondering where I am and when I cannot be found, a search will be made for me.’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ He motioned Victor away and took her hand to lead her into the drawing room where a table had been laid for supper and a bottle of wine decanted. ‘But they will discover that note and conclude you have met my not-so-esteemed cousin and he has abducted you. One more nail in his coffin.’

  ‘How do you know about that note?’ She realised suddenly
that she had taken the card with her into the lane and had dropped it somewhere. Its loss was a blow, but Lord Gorridge must have known about it before that.

  He smiled, baring his teeth. ‘A certain footman with a grudge. You would be surprised how many discontented servants there are about town. A little flash of coin, especially gold coin, and they fall over themselves to oblige. He has been keeping me well informed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To keep ahead of the game, of course. Now, sit down, my dear, supper will be served shortly and in the meantime we will enjoy an aperitif.’ He poured two glasses of wine.

  ‘What game?’ she demanded.

  ‘Why, the game of cat and mouse, my dear. It added greatly to my enjoyment to know that Viscount Trent and my cousin Pendlebury are at daggers drawn over the Exhibition. I did not know that before I came to town, of course, and when I did find out, I made full use of it.’

  ‘To discredit Lord Pendlebury.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Why do you dislike him so?’

  ‘I do not dislike him particularly, but he stood in my way and that I could not abide. When I want something I have to have it—it is my way, you see. And I wanted you.’ He raised his glass to her and took a mouthful. ‘To my beautiful bride.’

  ‘Whoever she might be,’ she said tartly, refusing to pick up the other glass. ‘It certainly won’t be me.’

  ‘Oh, I think it will. I have the whole evening and the night as well to convince you.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘I need to marry and you are by far the most suitable of this year’s crop of débutantes: daughter of my father’s old friend, the Earl of Luffenham, comely and young enough to mould to my ways. And it gives me a certain satisfaction to have revenge for my exile. I think we shall deal very well together.’