The Officer and the Proper Lady

by Louise Allen

  ‘Is something wrong, dear?’

  ‘I was just thinking about Mr Smyth,’ Julia admitted.

  ‘I am sure he is about to make you an offer any day,’ her mother said, plunging her deeper into gloom. ‘Which is why I asked the baron if he might offer Mr Smyth a place in his carriage when we go to the races on Tuesday.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Did I not tell you, dear?’ Mrs Tresilian said. Her attempt to look innocent would, under other circumstances, have been amusing. Julia had been looking forward to that trip as a distraction from the increasing intensity of Mr Smyth’s conversations as they took their daily walks in the Parc. If he would only get on with it! she found herself thinking in exasperation one moment and then dreading the inevitable proposal the next.

  ‘No, Mama, you did not,’ she said with a smile. ‘What a good idea.’

  ‘And I have been thinking,’ Mrs Tresilian added, looking a trifle uncomfortable, ‘that perhaps you should have a new outfit for the race day. And there is Lady Conynham’s party on the forteenth and the Duchess of Richmond’s ball the night after and I really feel a new gown would be best for that.’

  ‘But, Mama—the money,’ Julia pro tested. More expenditure, another link in the heavy chain of duty and expectation around her neck.

  ‘It is an investment; we have said so all along. And if it helps bring Mr Smyth up to the mark, it will have been well worth while.’

  ‘Even if I am fortunate enough to be invited to the ball,’ Julia pointed out, ‘Mr Smyth will not be.’ She did not want a man who needed the stimulus of a new gown or bonnet to be prompted to declare himself.

  ‘But the colonel will, and other gentlemen you have not yet met. It is as well not to neglect any opportunity, just in case Mr Smyth proves a disappointment.’

  ‘Yes, but the cost—’

  ‘That had been concerning me a little, I confess. But I received a note yesterday from a dealer in jewellery. Here.’ She took a letter from the table by her side and handed it across. Julia spread it open. The heavy cream paper had an impressive engraved heading: Hebden. Jewellery of Quality bought and sold. ‘He sounds most respectful—but you read it, dear, see what you think.’

  …in Brussels for a short visit acquiring gems and jewellery for the London market…venture to approach ladies of quality as those most likely to have trifles of the nature in which I am interested…willing to give a fair price in sterling cash with the utmost discretion…

  ‘It seems straight for ward enough,’ Julia said, fingering the reassuringly thick paper. ‘And we have a good idea of the value of what we have, because of the valuation when Papa passed away.’

  ‘Obviously we would not wish to dispose of anything your dear father gave us, or family pieces,’ Mrs Tresilian mused. ‘But there are those ugly brooches old Miss Anderson left me and the chains from Cousin Maria. We never wear those.’

  ‘And that hideous tie pin that Papa never wore. I suppose there is no harm in seeing what this man would offer us, and making sure the money is paid at the bank so it can be checked,’ Julia added.

  ‘I will write to him at once,’ Mrs Tresilian decided. ‘It occurs to me that if Bonaparte does advance sooner than expected, there may be a flood of people trying to realize assets for cash. And the banks have closed at least twice in the past month in a panic.’

  Mr Hebden called the next day. Julia sat demurely beside her mother, the pieces they had selected laid out on the table and her notes from the valuation folded under her hand. She was surprised and unwillingly impressed by him.

  He was much younger than she had expected—not yet thirty she guessed—and quite un com fort ably attractive in a very physical way. Italian, she told herself, attempting to rationalise away the frisson of awareness that ran through her whenever he turned those dark, hypnotic eyes in her direction.

  To her surprise, considering how very attractive he was, he made no attempt to flirt or to charm the two ladies. His manner was serious, his tone respectful, but there was something in the way he handled the jewellery with his long fingers, the way he used his voice with its lilting accent, that left her in no doubt that he was utterly aware of her as a woman and knew that she was looking at him, assessing him as a man.

  ‘These would need reworking.’ He touched the three heavy brooches in turn. ‘The stones are good, but the settings are quite out of fashion. These chains are heavy for the current taste, but saleable in some quarters.’ He let them run from one hand into the other. ‘The pin is a trifle ornate, but saleable.’ He lifted his loupe to his eye and studied the enamelled centre of the pin. ‘French. I would be interested in making you an offer, Mrs Tresilian.

  ‘None of this is jewellery for a young lady about to marry,’ he added, slanting a look at Julia. ‘I am sure it will be better converted to some other use.’

  ‘Marry?’ Julia said sharply. ‘What do you know of my circumstances, if you please?’

  ‘I have offended you.’ The accent was stronger now as he turned fully to face her, the dark eyes smiling, his sensual mouth serious. ‘No dealer would do business without making a few discreet enquiries about those he hopes to buy from. It helps judge provenance, the likely quality of a collection, that is all. No-one would have any idea that I was intending to do business with you.’

  ‘And the rumour is that I am about to marry?’ Julia resisted the urge to smile back into his eyes.

  ‘Yes, although who the lucky man is, now that is undecided by the gossips. The reverend gentleman? The widower? Or the rake?’

  ‘Rake?’ Mrs Tresilian said sharply. ‘Which rake?’

  ‘The gossip must simply be the result of Major Carlow giving Phillip a ride on his horse after the review, Mama,’ Julia said coolly. ‘People will talk so.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Mrs Tresilian fanned herself, and Julia cast a suspicious look at Mr Hebden. Was he deliberately flustering Mama to take her mind off the price he was about to offer?

  He met her look with one of limpid innocence. The man was a rogue. ‘Well, sir? Are you able to give us a price?’ she asked.

  The amount he named was squarely in the middle of the range Julia had calculated. Less than she had hoped, more than she had feared. So, an honest rogue. ‘It is twenty guineas too little, sir.’

  ‘I can offer five more, ma’am.’

  ‘Fifteen, sir.’ She had to bite the inside of her lip so as not to smile. He really was outrageous with that wounded look.

  ‘Ten more, ma’am and that is the highest I can go.’

  Julia glanced at her mother. ‘We accept, sir. Shall we go to the bank now?’

  ‘But of course.’ He put the items back into their cases and stacked them for her.

  The walk to the bank was not a long one, and Mr Hebden made no attempt to carry the small valise with the jewel cases in it. Julia had been prepared to contest the point if he had offered, her suspicious nature envisioning him escaping with them once outside the house.

  But the transaction passed off smoothly: the bank approved the guinea coins and transferred them to Mrs Tresilian’s account, and the three of them were outside again within half an hour.

  ‘Ladies. A pleasure to meet you.’ He raised his hat and was gone, vanishing into the crowd on the pavement like a fish slipping into the current of a river.

  Julia raised her parasol. ‘Well, Mama. That was very satisfactory, do you not think?’

  ‘Perfectly, I—’

  ‘Miss Tresilian!’ Hal Carlow skidded to a halt in front of them from a flat-out run. ‘What the devil were you doing with that man?’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Major Carlow,’ Mrs Tresilian said in freezing tones. ‘What conceivable business is it of yours with whom we associate?’

  ‘Ma’am, I apologise.’ Hal was frowning in frustration as he craned to see where Hebden had gone. ‘But the man is known to me. He is dangerous.’ He glanced up to see they were standing beneath the bank’s engraved sign. ‘Have you done any business wi
th him?’

  ‘Well, really, Major—’

  ‘Yes,’ Julia cut across her mother’s indignant words. ‘We have just sold him some items of jewellery and have had the money he paid us checked by the bank before parting with them.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ He jammed his shako back on his head. ‘Do you have an address for him?’

  ‘Of course,’ Mrs Carlow said, still thoroughly affronted. ‘I do not do business with someone off the street.’

  ‘Ma’am, I am sure you do not. But he is not to be trusted and has done my family a great deal of harm.’

  ‘The Hôtel de la Poste,’ Julia said. ‘He was very charming and gave us what I know to be an honest price.’

  Hal’s face was set, his jaw formidable. ‘Yes, his charm is part of his stock in trade. If you will excuse me, I will go to that hotel, although I doubt he will return there. The man is like mist. Have nothing more to do with him, do you under stand me, Julia?’ She nodded. ‘Nothing.’ And then he was gone, cutting through the crowd, heading for the steeply sloping streets down to the Lower Town.

  ‘Well really!’ Mrs Tresilian fumed. ‘Of all the abrupt, outrageous—and he called you by your given name!’

  ‘I think only to emphasise the importance of the matter, Mama,’ Julia soothed. Trying to sound calm was an effort. She felt flustered and…aroused. There was no other word for it. Hal, urgent and forceful and powerful. Oh my, she thought faintly. It made her feel so…Julia groped for the right word. Female. ‘I am sure Major Carlow’s judgment is to be trusted. We should have nothing more to do with Mr Hebden.’

  ‘You will have nothing more to do with Major Carlow, my girl! That is rather more to the point. Nothing—do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, Mama.’ As Julia said it, she meant it. Whatever the mystery behind Hal’s vehement attack on the gem dealer, she was never going to find out what it was. By the end of the month, she was going to be another man’s affianced wife, she was certain of that.

  ‘There’s a lot of money on you,’ Captain Grey re marked as Hal ran his hand down the bay gelding’s fetlock. ‘Most of it mine.’

  ‘Is that a plea or a threat?’ Hal enquired, straightening up. ‘Put fifty on for me, will you?’ The animal fidgeted, tossed its head and rolled its eyes. ‘Stand still you daft lump,’ Hal murmured, and the twitching ears swivelled to listen. ‘You are big and you are beautiful and no-one is going to beat you, do you hear me?’

  ‘Under stands every word you say, does he, sir?’ the lanky trooper holding the gelding’s reins enquired.

  ‘Every word.’ Hal narrowed his eyes at the man who stared back. The pock marked face was un familiar. ‘Where’s Trooper Godfrey?’

  ‘Saw ’im over by that tent, sir.’ The man jerked his head towards one of the beer tents that was doing a roaring trade in half a dozen varieties of Belgian beer. ‘Castin’ up ’is accounts. Sick as a cat he was, said to come over here and ’old the ’orse, sir.’ He shifted under Hal’s stare. ‘Trooper ’arris, sir. Just transferred from the Ninth.’

  ‘Right.’ Hal told himself he was being jumpy, but the fleeting appearance of Stephen Hebden had him checking every shadow. And the damn man had been with Julia. He was gone from the hotel when Hal reached it, of course, and there had been no sign of him since. He tried to tell himself it was coincidence; after all, the man genuinely was a gem dealer when he wasn’t pursuing his vendetta against those he blamed for his father’s death. And just now, Brussels was full of people with debts to pay and jewellery to dispose of.

  Hal turned his attention back to the gelding, his second-string horse. Too young and nervy for battle yet, it had a turn of speed that was breath taking. He’d hoped to keep that a secret, but word seemed to have got around, unless of course they were simply betting on him as a rider, which was flattering.

  ‘Carry on, Trooper Harris. Walk him slowly, and keep the flies off him. The start’s in half an hour.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Drink?’ Will suggested.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Given it up for Lent?’ his friend enquired.

  ‘It isn’t Lent.’ Hal strolled through the crowd, studying it as he might scan a hillside for enemy snipers. The consciousness that he was being watched had him turning, but there was only Trooper Harris, leading Chiltern Lad towards a clump of shade trees.

  The truth was, he wasn’t sure whether it was Hebden or the fact that he hadn’t touched anything stronger than ale since Friday that was jangling his nerves. And he wasn’t even sure why he had stopped drinking, other than a vague feeling that Julia would prefer it if he didn’t. Which was absurd, as he had promised himself to stay away from her and if ever there was a reason to drown his sorrows, that was it.

  ‘Major Carlow. Captain Grey.’ A feminine voice.

  Hal stopped so suddenly that Will ran into the back of him. ‘Miss Tresilian.’

  ‘Good morning, Major. Captain.’ She stood there with Miss Marriott, pretty and poised, twirling her parasol, and tricked out in a gown so frivolously delightful it should have been illegal anywhere near susceptible bachelors. She did not look particularly pleased to see him. In fact, her face in the shade of her bonnet brim was a trifle pale.

  ‘We were wondering where the best place was to watch,’ her friend said.

  Will, at least, appeared to have the power of speech. ‘To watch the start or the finish, ladies?’

  ‘All of it, I suppose.’ Miss Marriott was batting her eyelashes at Will. ‘I suppose we ought to go and watch from the carriages.’

  ‘You are with the baron?’ Hal managed to get his brain and his vocal cords under some sort of control.

  ‘I am,’ Julia replied. For a moment, he thought she was going to turn on her heel and walk away, then she sighed, as though in resignation and added, ‘With Mama and Mr Smyth. Did you say something, Major?’

  Hal un clenched his teeth. ‘No, Miss Tresilian.’

  ‘Do you have a suggestion for us to place a bet,’ she persisted, her brown eyes just hinting at a smile at last.

  ‘You can’t do better than to put it on Carlow, ladies,’ Will Grey said before he could answer. ‘Chiltern Lad in the third race.’

  ‘You are riding? Then of course.’ Julia dug into her reticule. ‘Will you put it on for me, Captain?’ She handed over a half sovereign and beamed at Will, the long Pomona green ribbons on her bonnet fluttering in the light breeze.

  ‘May I beg a token for the race?’ Hal asked, the words out before he could stop them. Miss Marriott’s eyes widened in de lighted horror.

  ‘A token?’

  ‘The major means a favour, like a knight had on his lance. His lady’s handkerchief,’ her friend said, giggling.

  He might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. ‘One of those green ribbons?’ Hal suggested.

  ‘Very well.’ The tip of her tongue just brushed her lower lip in fleeting un certainty. Hal swallowed, hard. ‘Miss Marriott, can you find one of the long ones attached to the crown? I think they are only lightly tacked on.’

  Amid much giggling on Felicity’s part, a ribbon was detached. Julia held it out.

  ‘You must tie it around my arm, I believe, ma’am,’ Hal said. Anything to have her touch him.

  She was blushing now, delightfully, her cheeks pink as she stepped forward and tied the long ribbon around his right biceps leaving streamers floating in the breeze. ‘You will ride in uniform, Major?’ Julia asked as she stepped back.

  ‘Yes. Without my sword and shako and in lighter boots. I will not need to disturb your handiwork.’ He touched the knot and she blushed more deeply. As though I had touched her, he thought. What was the matter with him? How long was this infatuation going to last?

  ‘Good luck then. Felicity, we should get back.’

  Hal watched her retreating back, the ruched hem of the Pomona green gown flirting away over the deeper hue of the grass, the dainty white parasol twirling as she fidgeted with the handle. It seemed he had no will power as
far as Julia Tresilian was concerned, whether he was drunk or sober.

  ‘When are you going to ask her?’ Will enquired. ‘You might as well carry a placard, the pair of you. She blushes, you are tongue-tied—’

  ‘Never, damn it! And don’t suggest such a thing when anyone else can hear either.’ He swung round and glared at his friend, his hand tightening instinctively on his sword hilt.

  ‘Hey!’ Will took a step back wards, hands raised in a fencer’s gesture of surrender. ‘I won’t say another word. I’ll just go and get this money on.’

  Aware he had revealed far more than he wanted, Hal strode back to Chiltern Lad. Horses, at least, were straight for ward. Unlike emotions.

  The baron knew just where to place his barouche, Julia realized. They had only a distant view of the start, but by standing up in the carriage they could see clearly the main part of the track running across a broad meadow, looping around a spinny of trees and then finishing with a short straight right in front of them. The men, perched on the driver’s box and the footman’s stand at the back, had an even better view.

  The baron had placed money for both Mrs Tresilian and Julia, answering their protests with the airy explanation that it was no fun at all watching races when you had no interest in the outcome.

  His choices were placed first and second in the first race and nowhere in the second, but the excitement of jumping up and down and cheering on your favourite in a most un lady like manner infected even her mama, much to Julia’s amusement.

  But she had an unpleasantly hollow feeling of guilt in her stomach when she contemplated the next race. She really should not have allowed Captain Grey to place a bet for her, and she most certainly should not have given Hal her ribbon. Her first instinct when she and Felicity had virtually run into him was to turn and walk away, to put an end to this by cutting him dead.