by Mary Nichols
Mr Devonshire had taken hold of her as if he meant to kiss her, but he had desisted. It might have been because he thought better of the impulse or it might have been because he saw James in the distance before she did, but either way, she had felt strangely empty when he had moved away from her, as if something pleasurable which she had been about to grasp had been snatched from her. 'And you should not have been spying.'
`Spying?' he reiterated, his voice suddenly cold with suppressed anger. 'I hope you will not repeat such an accusation in company, it might be misconstrued.'
She looked up at him, wondering about his sudden change of mood, but then decided she must have imagined it because he was smiling blandly at her, apparently perfectly relaxed.
In repose, he was a handsome man, Juliette acknowledged, but he was so rarely in repose that she did not think of him as especially good-looking. Against Philip Devonshire's languorous nonchalance, he was a firefly, always on the move. It was as if he was afraid to be caught doing nothing for fear that others might realise he had nothing of consequence to do.
`I think we have exhausted Mr Devonshire as a subject of conversation,' she said, holding out her empty glass to him. 'Would you please fetch me another lemonade?'
`Certainly, I will. Please forgive me. I will not mention the gentleman again.' He took her glass and went off to find a waiter to have it refilled, leaving her to nibble at the tartlet and look around the overheated room. Philip Devonshire had left Lady Grainger's side and was helping himself to a glass of punch from the bowl on the table. James passed him on his way back with her lemonade, but the two men did not speak.
James returned to her side and spent the remainder of the interval telling her amusing anecdotes of his time at Cambridge, where he had, as a result of the Viscount's generosity, spent three happy years. It was as if there had never been any discord between them; he did his best to be charming and attentive, but she was left with the impression that it was something of an effort for him.
She was glad when it was time to return to the music room for the rest of the concert, where Philip Devonshire stood at the back, chatting to Lord Cavendish. She would have much preferred his company to that of James and wished he would come and talk to her, but all he did was to bow civilly across the room to acknowledge her and she solemnly inclined her head towards him in response. Grand passions were not made of such mundane gestures.
The following Sunday, a perfect blue and gold of a day, Juliette was one of a party of young people riding out to Richmond for a picnic. The ladies and their chaperons were in carriages, escorted by the young men on horseback. Juliette and her mother went with Lady Carstairs and Lucinda in a barouche with Mr Devonshire riding alongside, clad most devastatingly for Juliette's peace of mind in close-fitting buckskins, top boots of shining brown leather and a riding coat of Bath cloth. Mr Boreton, on a chestnut, stationed himself on the other side of the carriage and set out to be agreeable to Miss Carstairs.
A second carriage followed with more picnickers and escorted by other outriders. Ahead of them - a long way ahead - was a lumbering town chariot carrying several hampers, two maids and a butler who were supposed to seek out a suitable picnic spot and have everything prepared by the time they arrived.
James Martindale arrived at the rendezvous driving a high-perch phaeton drawn by a pair of spirited bays and was keen to show off their paces. 'Miss Martindale, will you ride with me?' he asked. 'It is perfectly safe, you know.'
`I am sure it is,' she said. 'But if you do not mind, I will stay where I am.'
`Pudding-heart,' he said cheerfully and, whipping up the bays, he rattled off, taking the bend ahead of them at breakneck speed and was soon lost in a cloud of dust.
`I do hope he does not overturn that contraption,' Lady Martindale murmured. 'It looks decidedly dangerous to me.'
`Oh, it is safe enough in experienced hands, my lady,' Philip said. 'I do not suppose it is the first time he has taken it out.'
`Have you driven one?' Juliette asked him, her imagination conjuring up a picture of him sitting like a god high above ordinary mortals and ordinary carriages, the reins in one hand and a whip in the other, his fine figure outlined against a deep azure sky. It was a very disturbing image.
`Yes, on occasion, but the vehicle is not to my taste. It is too ostentatious by far.'
The vision faded. How silly of her to think he would do anything so exciting, so frivolous, as to drive a high-wheeled phaeton! No man had a right to look so dashing and behave so sedately; it upset all her preconceived ideas that a man's looks should mirror his character.
If he were to behave like he looked, he would have kissed her in the park. Was he afraid to? She would have been obliged to be outraged if he had, of course, but what was that to the point? He had not even given her the opportunity to be angry with him. Why she wanted to be angry with him, she had not the least idea.
`We shall find him in the ditch before we ever reach Richmond,' Lady Carstairs murmured as they continued on their stately way. 'What I cannot fathom is where he found the money to pay for it. Last week he was trying to dun Carstairs for his rent. That's the trouble with the slip-gibbets these days, they think buying horses is more important than paying for a roof over their heads.'
`He told me he had prospects,' Juliette put in. 'Perhaps they have materialised. A win at cards perhaps, or a profitable transaction on the 'Change.'
She heard a gentle chuckle just behind her and swivelled round to see Philip Devonshire smothering a smile. She could not think what he found so amusing, but she would not give him the satisfaction of asking. Instead, she began a discourse with Lucinda on the merits of Miss Austen's second book, only just out, which she held was much superior to the first and they arrived at the picnic site in Richmond Park without incident to find James idly leaning against a tree. His horses, still in their traces, were gently cropping the grass.
The servants had everything arranged, with rugs and cushions and tablecloths laid upon the grass and the wine bottles cooling in the brook. They feasted on capons and ham and pies and tarts, with green salad, washing it down with the wine and lemonade.
Afterwards, the older members of the party dozed on their cushions while the young men played cricket, watched by the young ladies, who spent much time comparing the relative merits of those close to their hearts, while pretending to be entirely indifferent.
Juliette, try as she might, could not be so light-hearted. Marriage was much too serious to be a subject for jest, especially if you felt you were being pushed one way when you most decidedly wanted to go the other. And the memory of her parents wrangling over it just would not leave her.
She watched the game for half an hour, then strolled off alone, taking the towpath beside the river. It was a warm cloudless day and very peaceful beside the lapping water. A pleasure boat full of young people was being rowed downstream; a small sailboat with a single occupant tacked its way towards Kingston; a dog snuffled along the grass beside the path followed by its owner with a sporting gun tucked under his arm, its barrel bent.
On the other side, a barge loaded with osiers was being towed by a single plodding horse; a skylark hovered, afraid to return to its nest while danger lurked. This was England at its best, she thought, and stopped to breathe deeply and lift her face to the sun.
The Season was well advanced, many of the unattached young people had already attached themselves, amid congratulations and wedding plans, but here was she with two apparent suitors neither of whom had yet declared his hand. She wished wholeheartedly that she were not an heiress, then she could marry for love.
She did not love James Martindale, who unsettled her with his swings of mood and flickering eyes, and Philip Devonshire had shown no sign of wishing to have her as his wife. She told herself he was a cold fish, ignoring the fact that he had almost kissed her. Almost.
Pierre had kissed her. Poor, defeated, humiliated Pierre, who had nothing to gain, had kissed her because his instinct h
ad told him to. For the pleasure of it. He was not concerned with dowries and settlements, land and buildings and the niceties of propriety and etiquette. And it had meant nothing to either of them, she knew that now. Beside Philip Devonshire, he was no more than a boy playing at being a man.
It was as if they were all being cold-bloodedly manipulated. But by whom? Her mother? Her father? By other considerations such as the size of her dowry? Or was it Fate who held the reins? Were they all waiting for something to happen that would make everything clear? Perhaps she ought to make it happen, then she could release the tension which seemed to be all around her, especially in her mother. Mama was like an overwound clock. One day the spring would break and the works fall out. In all her life Juliette had never known Lady Martindale to lose her temper or to appear even a little ruffled. Now she started up at the least little thing, snapped at her husband and found fault with Juliette as if she had done something terribly wrong for which Lady Martindale could not forgive her. If only she knew what it was!
At the far end of the park, she turned to go back, striking out across the grass to cut off the corner and thus return to her starting place. Ahead of her she could see a group of trees and a white building surrounded by an overgrown garden that she needed to pass. She approached carefully, wondering if it were inhabited and if there might be ferocious guard dogs.
There were no dogs, but there were two men standing beside a large pond on which a family of ducks swam. The men had their backs to her and were deep in conversation, but she recognised James Martindale as one of them; the other she did not know. He was most assuredly not one of their party, being unshaven and dressed in an ill-fitting greatcoat with torn flap pockets and layers of shoulder capes. Beneath it she glimpsed grubby blue trousers.
Half-afraid to be seen, she darted behind the shelter of an oak and peered out to watch them. She saw James hand the man a bundle of papers and receive in exchange something that looked remarkably like banknotes which he stuffed into his coat pocket. They spoke for a few more minutes, then James strode off and the man scuttled away in the opposite direction.
Juliette waited several minutes before coming out from her hiding place and following James, who was undoubtedly returning to the picnic. That money had changed hands she was certain, but for what reason she could only guess - a gamble won, a debt repaid, though it seemed inconceivable that James should gamble with such a one, or lend him money; he had looked decidedly shifty.
She thought of bribery and blackmail and spying, and though she told herself such ideas were absurd, they stuck in her mind. The idea of the picnic had only been mooted three days before, so how had the man known James would be at that particular spot at that time? And then she remembered it had been James's idea in the first place. `Let's all go to Richmond on Sunday,' he had said, when she and Lucinda, escorted by Philip, had met him in Hookham's Library. 'I am advised it will be a fine day and we could take a picnic.'
It had taken little persuasion and the party had soon grown to include several of their friends. 'The more the merrier,' James had said jovially. He had even refrained from grumbling when Mr Devonshire had asked to be included.
According to Lady Carstairs, James had been trying to borrow from her husband a week ago and since then had acquired a top-of-the-trees equipage. Had he taken money from the man before? Was that how he had paid for it? It was all very curious and worrying. Ought she to tell someone? But who? Philip Devonshire came immediately to mind, but that would seem as though she were playing one man against the other and she did not want anyone to think that. Besides, family loyalty forbade it. Or was she making something out of nothing? Just because she was not enamoured of her cousin, did not mean lie was the kind to consort with criminals, did it? But deep inside her, she felt a quiver of apprehension and fear which she could not shake off.
Immersed in thought, she did not hear the footsteps behind her and the voice made her almost jump from her skin. 'There you are, Miss Martindale, I had thought you might have lost your way. I came to find you.'
She twisted round, her heart pumping at twice its usual rate. `Oh, Mr Devonshire, you startled me.'
He fell into step beside her. 'I beg your pardon, but you know you should not wander off alone. There are some very unsavoury characters about these days.'
`Did Mama send you to look for me?' she asked, wondering if he had also seen the man with James and that had prompted his reference to unsavoury characters. She was tempted to ask him, but his next words drove all thought of her cousin from her head.
`No, I missed you.'
He had missed her! If there was ever a time to declare himself it was now. Her heart missed a beat and she stumbled. He put out a hand to steady her, but did not speak.
`I have not been far,' she said, endeavouring to control the tremor in her voice. 'I wanted to walk and everyone else was otherwise disposed.'
`I would have accompanied you, had you asked.'
She gave a cracked laugh. 'You were busy hitting a cricket ball all over the place and if I had mentioned a walk everyone would have decided to come.'
`You did not wish for company?'
`No. I wanted to think.' .
`Oh. A knotty problem to solve?'
`Yes.'
`And have you the answer?'
`The answer seems to be to go back to Hartlea and pretend we never came to London.'
`Have you not enjoyed your stay in town?'
`I might have done if...' She stopped. If he had obeyed his instinct and kissed her, instead of drawing back? If James was not so obviously after her dowry?
`Oh, I do not like the marriage mart. Marriage should come as a result of two people finding they have everything in common, a meeting of souls, a feeling in each that to live without the other would be unbearable.' She stopped and laughed in an embarrassed way. 'Now tell me again I have been reading too much fiction.'
`No, I would not do that,' he said softly. 'I find myself in agreement.'
She turned startled eyes on him. 'You are?'
`Oh, yes.'
`Mr Devonshire, you surprise me. I had thought you might be a man of the world.'
'And may a man of the world not fall in love?'
`Are you in love?'
`I think, perhaps, I might be.'
`Does the lady know of it?'
`There are reasons why I cannot offer for her. One day perhaps...' He stopped speaking suddenly.
She held her breath waiting for him to go on, wanting him to explain himself, to tell her why he escorted her so frequently when he could not make an offer. Could he possibly be acting under instructions? Was he part of what she saw as a conspiracy to keep her away from the French lieutenant? She could not imagine him agreeing to that; he was too independent to be coerced, too honourable to deceive a lady in that fashion. She smiled inwardly, wondering what had given her that impression. Could it be that he had refrained from kissing her when he might have done? She had behaved badly herself and he could have been forgiven for thinking she had wanted to be kissed. Was she falling in love with this enigmatic man? It was too soon, too soon after the incident over the portrait to unscramble her feelings, but of all the men she had met, he was the one she felt she could lean on, knowing he would not let her down. Was that the beginning of falling in love? She wanted desperately to find something light to say, to diminish the huge knot of confused thoughts and emotions which constricted her chest, so that she could breathe easily again, but nothing came out of a mouth which had suddenly gone dry.
Neither spoke and the silence stretched between them like a tangible thing, a taut wire that, if it were stretched too far, would break and whirl about their heads, cutting them to pieces. She dare not speak and he would not. The moment had gone. Suddenly a cloud obscured the sun and made her shiver.
`You are cold, Miss Martindale?'
She pulled herself together. She was reading too much into what was, after all, a perfectly ordinary conversation. Only a little.'
He took off his jacket and put it across her shoulders, leaving him in his white linen shirt and kerseymere waistcoat. His touch was like fire, even through the cloth of the coat. How could she admit even to herself that the sign she had been waiting for, the knowledge that here was a man she could fall in love with, had come and passed like a flash of lightning and now nothing would ever be the same again. He had found the woman he wished to marry and it was not her or he would have declared himself. She did not have two handsome men vying for her hand, only one. And it was the wrong one! She did not love James Martindale, could not even begin to think of him as a husband while this disturbing man was anywhere near her. All at once she felt tears prick her eyes and she had to turn away from him.
They returned to the picnic spot without exchanging another word. Juliette retrieved her shawl from her mother and returned the coat with a polite 'Thank-you.' The servants packed up the napery, the cutlery and the empty dishes and set off in the town coach back to London.
The cricket bat and ball were retrieved from under the tree where they had been discarded; coats, bonnets and hats were donned, shawls and reticules gathered up and everyone climbed into their carriages or saddles for the return journey.
Juliette, sitting beside her mama in the barouche, found herself watching the straight back of Philip Devonshire as he rode alongside, with a huge feeling of loss. Her stomach was tied into a hard knot of discomfort, which she could not persuade herself was anything to do with eating on the ground. It was made up of disappointment and not a little anger that she should have allowed herself to believe that he was interested in her. His interest in her was no more than his way of executing the task her father had set him, to keep an eye on her. Well, he need not bother!
As the cavalcade drew up at the junction of Park Lane and Mount Street from where everyone would disperse to their homes, she noticed James had remained demurely with them the whole way. Perversely she smiled at him and he jumped down from his phaeton and strode over to her.