"Miss Paley, do you not find the caryatids under the pediment on the right side of the frieze to be a remarkable example of the Perseid period in Greek art?" he inquired, closely observing the frieze through his quizzing glass.
Isobel gaped at him in amazement, then, recollecting herself, lowered her eyes and schooled her expression. What possible response could he be expecting to this farrago of nonsense, she wondered. There were no caryatids on the frieze, and certainly there had never been a Perseid period.
"Lord Francis, I fear that your questions go far beyond my poor ability to interpret this work. My knowledge of Greek art is not so remarkably informed as yours," she replied demurely.
"Surely not, Miss Paley! I believe you once mentioned that you assisted in the design of a classical folly. Perhaps your sketches will assist in some future effort. Do you not think that the repetition of the Corinthian elevation found on the plinth in the ornamentation of the entablature is charming?" Lord Francis turned his quizzing glass towards her, as he uttered this ridiculous string of words with a pronounced drawl and an expression of the utmost sincerity.
Isobel gritted her teeth and responded lightly. "Lord Francis, I must allow my taste to be guided by one who is clearly far more versed in the vocabulary of classical architecture than I."
"To be sure, madam," responded her tormentor. "Allow me to educate you further. I would say that the Spartan influence is pronounced in these carvings." He pointed the chased end of his glass towards the center of the frieze. "The attention to detail seen in the center piece speaks eloquently of it."
Isobel could take his nonsense no longer. "Lord Francis, do you take me for an idiot?" she burst out. "Surely you are aware that Sparta is some two hundred miles distant from Bassae, and was famous for the plainness and lack of ornament of its civic architecture. The citizens held that such fripperies detracted from the military might of the city and contributed to softness among the soldiers."
The quizzing glass fell, and Lord Francis turned an expression of exaggerated surprise towards her. "My dear Miss Paley, only a moment since, you protested your ignorance of classical architecture. From whence comes this sudden knowledge?"
"My dear Lord Francis, only a moment since you made an observation which none but a ninnyhammer could allow to pass without comment," she answered acerbically
"I hardly think that a familiarity with the effect of civic culture on the art of ancient Sparta is required to prevent one from being characterized as a ninnyhammer," he protested mildly. "I venture to guess that if one were to query those assembled at a fashionable gathering, that not one person in ten could speak with authority on the subject."
Isobel had to laugh at his expression of injured innocence. "Lord Francis, you are in a very quizzing humor, I fear," she said. "Pray, why do you plague me so?"
He returned her smile. "I am curious merely. Miss Walcott tells me you are forever viewing 'grubby bits of stone,' yet you disclaim any particular knowledge of Grecian antiquities. You are clearly engaged in a detailed reproduction of this frieze, yet you profess ignorance of classical architecture. However, when I express an opinion on the matter, you issue a sharp correction. It is rather puzzling, you know."
"Very well, if you must know, I am copying this frieze for my cousin, who is too busy to visit London and has a great desire to see my sketches. I wish to oblige him, as he has been kind to me, so I come here to make the requested drawings. It is quite simple, really."
"Ah, the cousin whose paper you were copying when I stayed at Kitswold. You must be on excellent terms with him."
"I believe you could say so," Isobel responded.
"I suppose that your relationship with Alexander is quite close," Lord Francis pursued. "You spend a great deal of time engaged in his activities."
"I am certainly very fond of Mr. Paley. One must do as much as possible to assist in the acquisition of knowledge by those who can truly appreciate it."
Isobel felt that the conversation was now straying towards very dangerous ground indeed. "Oh, how late it is growing," she cried with a feigned start. "I really must return to Clarges Street, Lord Francis. We are dining with Lord and Lady Ansgrove this evening before going on to the Opera."
Isobel turned and beckoned to her maid, who was disappointed that her afternoon of reading was to be cut short. Lord Francis gallantly offered her his escort, but the presence of the maid meant that further conversation beyond the barest generalities was quite impossible. However, Lord Francis had seen enough to be certain that Miss Paley hid a vast knowledge of antiquities under her fashionable surface. He was uncertain why she was so determined to hide this, and precisely what use she made of it, but his interest was certainly piqued.
Chapter 13
Isobel was in a pleasant humor as she deftly turned her phaeton into the gates of Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five-o-clock. Although she was quite a pretty whip, she was nonetheless cautious, and she had made sure that her groom had driven her pair of matched black horses daily since she had come to town. Now she felt confident that they were sufficiently accustomed to the traffic and noise to be safe for her to handle. She was wearing her plainest carriage dress, a fawn merino trimmed with knots of forest green ribbon, and serviceable york tan gloves. Her phaeton boasted sleek lines, but was not the high perch variety much favored by the Corinthians. Isobel accounted herself an excellent horsewoman whether riding or driving, but she had no wish to emulate the notorious Letty Lade, and settled for an elegant, rather than a sporting, equipage.
Neither Lady Morgan nor Harriet had chosen to join Isobel, Miss Walcott having a terror of open carriages and Letitia pleading weariness from the many engagements of the previous days, so she was accompanied only by John Harrison, the groom who had put her up on her first pony, and taught her all she knew about horses. She threaded her way through the throngs promenading in the Park, saluting her friends with a nod and a smile and surveying the pleasant scene presented by the cream of the fashionable world. The track was crowded with the barouches of fine ladies, numerous dashing phaetons and tilburies, and Tommy Onslow was present in his curricle. There were also any number of elegant ladies and gentlemen mounted on fine horses, the ladies clad in dashing riding habits of every hue.
Isobel picked up her friend, Mrs. Ravenhill, who was strolling with her sister, and took her for a turn about the Park. They compared opinions on the amazing bonnet sported by Lady Walshingham, Mrs. Ravenhill deeming it to be very pretty, while Isobel found it striking, but lacking in taste. Shortly after she had restored Mrs. Ravenhill to her sister, she saw Lord Francis Wheaton standing among a small party of officers. He waved to attract her attention, and although Isobel remained concerned about the wisdom of encouraging Lord Francis in any way, she could not ignore him, so she prepared to pull up to speak with him.
As she did so, a young man garbed in an excessively sporting riding costume impinged on her vision. Unfortunately, his exaggerated shoulder padding, and nipped waist could not disguise the fact that the legs covered by his riding breeches could only be described as spindly, nor did his very high shirt points and spotted Belcher neckcloth adequately distract an observer’s attention from a complexion that clearly showed the ravages of a previous case of adolescent spots. He bestrode a beast of similar character; a showy chestnut, which rolled its eyes and snorted in an apparently spirited way, but the expert eye could see that it was built down hill, was tied in at the knee, and might even suffer from heaves. With a slightly sinking feeling Isobel realized that he was the Mr. Braithwaite she had danced with at Almack’s some nights before, and though he bowed and smiled at her in an exaggerated fashion, she gave him only the slightest nod in return.
She was just squeezing gently on the reins to bring her horses to a halt so that she could take Lord Francis up with her, when the flashy horse ridden by Mr. Braithwaite took violent exception to a feather that had made its escape from the turban of a matron riding in a neighboring carriage. The breeze blew
it across his path, and the frightened beast shied halfway across the track. Rather than responding in a soothing way, its rider foolishly chose to punish the poor animal with his whip, slashing at its flank, and it bolted blindly with him, making directly for Isobel’s phaeton. With the surrounding press of equestrians, carriages, and pedestrians, there was little Isobel could do to maneuver her way out of danger. She dropped her hands, hoping to move forward enough to get her horses out of its path, but her well trained pair, already coming to a halt, did not move quickly enough. The chestnut ran into her blacks, and in an instant, Isobel was fighting to prevent catastrophe, as one horse sought to bolt, while the other seem to be intent on removing the floorboards from the phaeton with its hooves. The chestnut reared, dislodging its rider, and leaving him on the ground perilously close to the plunging, whinnying horses.
Harrison had jumped from his position at the back of the carriage the instant that it became apparent that the feckless rider would cause an accident, but was unable to quiet both of Isobel’s horses, especially when the chestnut became tangled in the traces. Isobel, face white with anxiety, tried desperately to keep from completely losing control of her pair.
"Harrison, I can manage them for a few moments more," she cried. "You must move that young man before he is trampled."
Harrison swore violently; his first duty was to his mistress, but Mr. Braithwaite was in imminent danger of being killed, while Isobel, for the moment at least, was unharmed, though in a dangerous and frightening situation. He looked about in a harried way and was relieved beyond measure to see Lord Francis race up. His lordship ran to the heads of Isobel’s pair, jerking downwards on the bits.
"Harrison, leave that idiot lying where he is," he shouted. "And get that chestnut untangled from the lines, and away from him. Then I will be able to settle Miss Paley’s pair."
Harrison obeyed with alacrity. With Isobel’s and Lord Francis’ combined efforts, the pair could be steadied, and once the chestnut was removed, he knew that the danger would be gone. In short order, Harrison had the chestnut tied to a tree, and its rider arrayed on the ground at some little distance, while Lord Francis competently brought order to the chaos between the traces of the phaeton. Harrison returned to the carriage, where Lord Francis was assessing the damage, and Isobel sat white and shocked, reins slack in her fingers.
"Shot in the neck, my lord," grunted Harrison, jerking a thumb at Mr. Braithwaite.
"I'm not surprised," responded Lord Francis, a look of distaste on his handsome face as he surveyed the unconscious man. "I suppose he rented that nag from one of the livery stables nearby," he continued. "Miss Paley’s pair appears to be unharmed, and I think that in a few moments I will have them quiet enough to drive home. The damage to the carriage is superficial, and I hope that bandaging will prevent any soreness in the horses. Find the stable that the chestnut came from and return it. Then you can obtain that young man’s name and direction and ensure that he is returned to his lodgings. I will engage to bring Miss Paley home."
"Aye, my lord," answered Harrison, responding instinctively to the authority in Lord Francis’ voice.
A little crowd had gathered when the accident had first occurred, but since quick action on the part of three of the four principals had averted an injury, there was now little to see and the usual promenade continued. Lord Francis leaped onto the seat next to Isobel and took the reins from her.
"My dear Miss Paley, are you all right?" he inquired with concern.
Isobel’s face was still pale, and her lips trembled as tears threatened to well from under her eyelids. "There is nothing amiss," she maintained resolutely. "I am perhaps a little shocked, merely, nothing more."
"You are very brave, and it is fortunate that you are an accomplished whip," said Lord Francis. "If you had panicked instead of remaining calm, a nasty accident could have become a tragedy."
"My efforts were not what saved us," replied Isobel. "Without your assistance, I believe that nothing that Harrison and I could have done would have averted injury to that unfortunate fellow."
"That unfortunate idiot will be sorry that he tried to cut a dash while in his altitudes and riding a horse that he couldn't control, when I have finished with him," snapped Lord Francis.
His tone was so severe, and his expression so cold that Isobel shivered and thought that she was exceedingly glad that she would not have to listen to the blistering lecture that his lordship would undoubtedly read Mr. Braithwaite. Instantly, Lord Francis was all concern.
"We must get you home immediately. It is a wonder that you are not having the vapors."
Isobel laughed shakily. "I am not so poor a creature as that, Lord Francis," she said. "Vapors are never attractive, even when they might be called for."
"I can only agree with you, ma'am, and be grateful that you feel this way," replied Lord Francis. "For while I feel perfectly capable of attending to frightened horses, weeping females quite unman me." This was said with such a ridiculous expression of horror on his face, that Isobel gave a genuine gurgle of laughter despite her distress.
"Do not laugh," continue Lord Francis. "I assure you that I am utterly sincere."
"So the great soldier quails before a mere woman?" inquired Isobel, momentarily diverted from her shock by his lordship’s comical terror.
"Not merely the great soldier but all men!" answered Lord Francis. "But now, I must not be telling you our secrets, or you will use them against us."
"Indeed," said Isobel. "It seems I must cultivate tears and hysterics if I am to have my way."
"Perhaps, but tears and hysterics would have availed you naught a few moments ago. If you had not had such a cool head, neither Harrison nor I would have been of much help. I salute you for remaining calm and thinking quickly; the finest whip in London would not have envied the situation, and your handling of it was remarkable."
For the rest of the short drive back to Clarges Street, Isobel was uncharacteristically silent. She had received a severe shock, and was having difficulty regaining her usual clarity of thought. She noticed Lord Francis' strong hands on the reins, and had to be very thankful that they had been present in her moment of need. When they pulled up in front of her house one of the stable boys was waiting to take the horses, and she leaned on Lord Francis’ arm as she walked to the door.
"Pierce, have the footman summon Miss Walcott and Lady Morgan immediately," rapped out Lord Francis as they entered. "Miss Paley has suffered a very nasty shock and is in need of their attention."
Harriet and Letitia appeared moments later, and after Lord Francis had apprised them of the circumstances of the incident in the park Harriet burst into a confusion of speech and action.
"Oh my dear, whatever shall we--I must tell Babbidge--are you quite sure that you suffered no injury? We must put you to bed--I do not know--" Harriet turned to and fro as each fragment of speech emerged, so that she looked rather like a music box doll jerking through its paces, until at last she expressed a single coherent thought. "Charles, tell Babbidge that she will be needed immediately, and have a bed warmer and a tisane of chamomile sent up to Miss Paley's bedchamber," she said to the footman.
Isobel, who was by now suffering the letdown that often follows cool behavior in the face of an emergency, was looking quite ill, and Letitia was hovering over her, untying her bonnet and helping her with her driving gloves.
"Isobel, you look dreadful," said Harriet.
Isobel had to laugh weakly at this. "Really, Harriet, to endure what could easily have been a fatal carriage accident, and then to have you cast aspersions on my appearance is outside of enough."
"But I never meant to, you know Isobel that I would never, it is merely that I am so overset with worry for you that I simply cannot, for you must know that when I was visiting my sister-in-law Emily, that would be my brother Mr. George Walcott's wife," she added for Letitia's and Lord Francis' benefit, "we drove into Meresham, and saw the most dreadful mishap, with a carter's leg broken, and
one of the bystanders covered with blood, that I have never really recovered from it and whenever I go for a drive I cannot help recalling it, but there--here is Babbidge now, let us take you upstairs, for I will not rest until I see you abed."
"And if that is not a sufficient threat to make you go quietly, Miss Paley, I will ask her for details about the exact circumstances of the accident," Lord Francis murmured to Isobel with a mischievous smile as Harriet turned away to favor Babbidge with her opinions about what exactly must be done for Isobel's comfort and well-being.
"Indeed, I had no intention of doing otherwise, Lord Francis. I fear that I am a poor creature indeed, for I find that I have no inclination to do aught but seek my bed."
"It would be quite wonderful if you did. I trust that when we next encounter each other you will be in much finer fettle, Miss Paley." As Letitia helped Isobel mount the stairs, Lord Francis bowed gracefully to Harriet and departed.
Letty hovered about as Babbidge efficiently removed Isobel's carriage dress and swathed her in a lacy nightrail and peignoir. A white lace bed cap covered the auburn curls, and once propped against the overstuffed pillows with the sea green coverlet pulled nearly up to her chin, Isobel looked like a child lost in the enormous bed.
Letitia curled up on the side of the bed, and smiled at Isobel as she drank her tisane. "How lucky you were, Isobel, that Lord Francis was there to save you," said Letty with a meaningful glance.
"Well, as to that Letitia, I am sure that any gentleman with a cool head and a way with horses would have served as well," Isobel replied.
"Oh no, Isobel, you do not mean that. Such coarse sentiments do you no credit." Letitia looked so distressed, that Isobel had to look a little discomfited.
"I do sound an ingrate, do I not?" she said. "'T'is not what I meant. In fact, I must admit that Lord Francis' prompt actions and extreme solicitude for my welfare was excessively comforting. I suppose that he must have often had occasion in his military career to encounter situations far more distressing than this, but I have seldom been more distraught and truth to tell, cannot think of another gentleman whose assistance could have been more welcome to me."
A Lady of Passion: Isobel's After Dark Regency Romance Page 10