by Mary Nichols
They walked quickly round the side of the house and along the alley to the mews where his horse and phaeton were being looked after until he was ready to leave. He helped her in, climbed in beside her and picked up the reins.
‘I think the damage is already done,’ she said, when they had safely negotiated the line of vehicles waiting to be called up, and turned into the street. ‘I am sure Mama recognised me. She was certainly giving me some strange looks when I was dancing with the Marquis.’
‘It would be an unnatural mother who did not know her own offspring,’ he said, though secretly he thought the reason for the strange looks had another cause altogether. ‘But you will know soon enough. If I hear you have been locked in your room, then I shall know the reason.’
‘Mama would not be so cruel. After all, I have not spoiled her evening. She danced a great deal and I could see her fluttering her fan and enjoying the latest on-dit with other guests. Who was the older man she was dancing with just now? He seemed very attentive to her.’
‘That was Lord Brancaster.’
‘You mean Mr Bellamy’s father?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I think you were very rash to come tonight when you knew he could denounce you the moment you unmasked, if not before. I know Mr Bellamy knew you. You will be lucky if he has not pointed you out to his father.’
‘What has he to denounce me for? I returned his lordship’s coach and paid him for his inconvenience. And, like you, I have left before the unmasking.’
‘Why did you come? I was sure you would be on the open road again with Sergeant Upjohn.’
‘I think those days are numbered, Molly,’ he said, his spirits suddenly lifting to know she had been thinking of him. ‘A man must settle down some time.’
‘Oh.’ She was silent for a moment. Was that why he had been attending Society functions and, according to Mama, flirting with all the unmarried ladies in town? He was looking for a wife. Another Beth Gooderson.
‘Nothing to say, Molly?’
‘I wish you happy.’ It was said in a whisper, for she had suddenly realised she could not bear to think of him married to anyone else.
‘My happiness lies in your hands, Molly.’ He pulled up outside the house in Holles Street, but made no move to get out and help her down.
‘Mine?’ She was looking at him with those wide blue eyes, and a puzzled frown on her brow which made his heart lurch. Gambler he was, but suddenly he could not risk declaring himself. It was too soon, much too soon. And she still had not been invited to any Society gatherings and he was determined to see her wish granted.
‘Yes,’ he said, thinking quickly. ‘You will make me happy if you will consent to accompany me to Vauxhall Gardens on Saturday. I shall ask your mama’s permission, of course. She may like to come too. We will make a party of it.’
She had been holding her breath, but now she let it out in a great sigh of disappointment. He did not think of her as a wife at all; to him she was a hoyden, a fribble without a sensible thought in her head. And how could she blame him for that? It was exactly what she was; she had proved it over and over again with her madcap behaviour.
She pulled herself together and forced herself to sound light-hearted. ‘Oh, so many suitors, all clamouring to take me to Vauxhall, but you know you are too late, Captain. Mr Bellamy has already asked me. I am to meet him at the end of Holles Street on Saturday evening.’
‘Molly, you cannot mean to go in that havey-cavey fashion? It is unthinkable.’
His arrogant attitude annoyed her. Instead of telling him that she knew that perfectly well and had no intention of going, she demanded to know why she should not. ‘He is very attentive. He says I am beautiful and though I know that is a hum it is nice to be told.’
‘It is not a hum,’ he said softly. ‘You are very lovely.’
She turned in her seat to look at him in the light from the gas lamps that lit the London street, and was disconcerted to find him looking down at her with an expression in his dark eyes she could not fathom. Hurt? Disappointment? Tenderness? Amusement? But there was no laughter in his eyes. ‘You do not mean that.’
‘I am not in the habit of telling whiskers, Molly. Nor will I allow you to make a cake of yourself over that scapegrace…’
She laughed. ‘Listen to the pot calling the kettle black.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘Touché, my dear.’
He was ready to wager Bellamy had no intention of requesting Harriet’s permission, and asking Molly to meet him away from the house boded ill for her. But if he protested too much he would almost certainly throw her into the man’s arms, and once she had been compromised she would be at his mercy. ‘If he asks your mama first and you are well chaperoned, I suppose there is no harm in it,’ he said, pulling up outside the house in Holles Street. ‘But you are not to meet him clandestinely.’
Again she was disappointed. She realised she had only told him about Mr Bellamy to judge his reaction and all he had done was give her orders as cool as you please! ‘Who are you to say what I must and must not do?’ she demanded, scrambling down. ‘You are not my keeper.’ Without looking back she marched to the door.
He strode after her and took her shoulders in his hands, turning her towards him, resisting with a huge effort of self-control the temptation to shake sense into her. ‘Molly, don’t you realise the peril you are in?’
‘From Mr Bellamy?’ she asked. ‘Or you? I collect you are not averse to taking a lady by surprise…’
It was too much. He pulled her roughly to him and lowered his mouth to hers. It was a kiss that started in exasperation, even anger, and ended in sweetness and tenderness. He understood the reason for it, but did she?
She made no move to draw away, did not squirm in his arms or lift her hand against him. She settled herself against his chest, her head tilted upwards, and loved it. Loved him. Knew she loved him.
He broke away at last and stood looking breathlessly at her, wondering what to say and saying nothing. What good would words do? He had lost his patience and made a mull of it.
She was too confused to understand. She ran from him and pushed open the door, glad she had asked Betty to make sure it was left unlocked so she did not have to summon Perrins.
He watched her go inside and the door close on her and murmured, ‘Goodnight, my love,’ before reluctantly returning to his carriage. Harriet had been right; he had been so long out of Society, he no longer knew how to behave towards a young lady of tender susceptibility.
Chapter Eleven
Feeling nothing but contempt for himself, he returned to Connaught House. Birtwhistle admitted him, still fully dressed. ‘Oh, sir, I am glad you have come. Lady Connaught has arrived.’
He was startled. The last person he wanted to face was Beth. ‘Is the Earl with her?’
‘No, sir, I meant the Dowager Lady Connaught, not the Countess.’
‘Grandmama! Why, she hasn’t left Norfolk in the last ten years.’
‘She is here now, sir. Before she retired she left instructions that you were to present yourself in the library at nine in the morning.’
‘Thank you, Birtwhistle. Do you think you could rouse me at eight?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He went up to the room he had been occupying for the last ten days and went to bed. He had a very good idea why his grandmother had come to town, but it was no good losing sleep over it.
At precisely nine o’clock the next morning, he strolled into the library to find Lady Connaught sitting behind the great oak desk from which her late husband had directed the affairs of his vast estates. Besides Connaught House, there was a parcel of streets in the metropolis, bringing in considerable rents, Foxtrees and several surrounding farms, a hunting box in Leicestershire and a grouse moor in Scotland, besides Stacey Manor and its surrounds in Norfolk, which had been left to his wife without encumbrance.
She looked up as Duncan entered, noting his brown single-breasted f
rockcoat buttoned to the waist, his nankeen trousers which were strapped under the foot, his biscuit-coloured waistcoat and perfectly tied muslin cravat. He had shaved himself and his hair had recently had the attention of a barber for it was arranged in the latest windswept fashion.
‘Good morning, Grandmama,’ he said, kissing the back of her bejewelled hand.
‘Is it?’ she queried. ‘It is impossible to tell in this dreary city, what with the high buildings and the smoke and fog.’
Duncan had seen no fog, but he let that pass. ‘What brings you here, if you find it so little to your taste?’
‘You do. You seem to be in fine feather.’
‘I am, thank you.’
‘What have you done with that chit, Molly?’
‘I have done nothing with her. I took her to her mother, as I said I would.’
‘And what did Harriet say about that?’
‘She was hardly in raptures. Molly is kept closely confined and Harriet will not even acknowledge her as her daughter. It is monstrous the way she treats her and I do not wonder that Molly rebels.’
‘Harriet did not insist on you making an offer for her?’
‘No. On the contrary, she told Molly she would not saddle her with a rakeshame such as I am. She has her mind set on pushing her onto Andrew Bellamy.’
‘Bellamy. You mean Brancaster’s only son?’
‘Yes. We met him on the journey to London and since we arrived he has renewed the acquaintanceship, dancing attendance on her and paying her fulsome compliments, but I am prepared to wager that all he has in mind is carte blanche. Molly is a sweet and innocent child, a little spirited perhaps, but none the worse for that; she can have no conception of what the phrase means…’
‘I thought so,’ she said, nodding her head sagely. ‘A few weeks in her company and you have learned her true worth. I knew you would. Why have you not offered for her?’
‘Grandmama, have you forgotten I relinquished my inheritance, every last penny? I am a gambler and a scapegrace, as you yourself pointed out, and…’
‘It is not the least use you blustering.’
‘I have nothing to offer a young lady like Molly; I have nothing to offer any young lady.’
‘I have been thinking of that. I came to bring you this. It might help.’ She picked up a sheaf of papers which lay on the desk and handed them to him. ‘As you and your brother have exchanged roles and he has the Stacey inheritance, leaving you with nothing, you shall have what I intended to bequeath to him as the second son. And you need not wait for my death; those are the deeds of Manor Farm. You always said you’d like to breed horses and it is ideal for that. But you offer for Molly, do you understand? I want to see you settled before I hand in my accounts. I shall call on Harriet this afternoon…’
‘I hope you do not mean to press my suit for me,’ he said, and there was a warning in his voice she perfectly understood. He did not like being pushed even when it was in the direction he most wanted to go. If Molly ever got to hear of it, she would conclude he wanted to marry her for the sake of owning a farm and she would surely turn him down. She was too much of a romantic to consider wealth when choosing a husband, and she would expect the man she married to feel the same way.
‘Do you take me for a noddicock, that I should do such a thing? I shall suggest taking Molly under my wing for the rest of the Season. She can live here with me and you can move into Fenton’s Hotel; it would never do for you both to be under the same roof. Molly shall have her come-out; I know how much it means to her. What you do about it is entirely your affair. If you decide you would not suit, then find someone else.’
He smiled ruefully as she rose and swept from the room, her taffeta skirt rustling, leaving him to his thoughts. There was no one else; there never would be.
Molly spent what was left of the night in silent misery. She had been the worst kind of fool. Everyone at that ball had been talking about her; it was no wonder her mother pretended not to know her.
Duncan had rescued her, saved her from making a cake of herself, given her a little taste of what it was like to be the centre of attention, and for that she was grateful to him. More than that, she loved him. For one short minute, when he’d said his happiness was in her hands, she had thought he returned that love and was going to ask her to marry him, but he had not.
He had been no better than Andrew Bellamy, suggesting an outing which she did not think was at all proper. The fact that Duncan had said he would ask her mama and Mr Bellamy had suggested meeting him secretly she completely ignored.
Like Mr Bellamy, he had taken her for the kind of girl he could kiss with impunity. What was the phrase? A little bit of muslin? For all he pretended otherwise, he was a member of the aristocracy and he would not forget that when choosing a wife. She did not fit the bill.
She fell asleep as dawn lightened the sky and woke in the middle of the morning with a bad headache. She was not sure if it was caused by the unaccustomed champagne or the churning thoughts in her head, but whichever it was she could not lie abed.
As soon as she had drunk the hot chocolate Betty brought her, she rose and dressed in the plainest of her new gowns and went downstairs to eat a lonely breakfast. Then she went into the small parlour to finish reading her novel. But she could not concentrate and her mind kept straying to Duncan Stacey. Who would have thought that she would fall in love with a man who was not at all the lover of her dreams? Nor had she needed to come to London to meet him. But having met him, having melted under his kisses, having given him her heart, she had waited in vain to hear him speak of love.
All he wanted was an undemanding companion for whatever devious game he was playing, a ready accomplice. Once she would have been content with that, but not now. Now she wanted more. Don Quixote was not enough. She had grown up in the last few weeks and it was a painful business.
Going to that ball had been a mistake and now she would never have her longed-for Season. Not that it mattered any more. She would go back to Stacey Manor, which would please Mama, if no one else.
Harriet joined her at noon. Dressed in an undress gown of blue silk and with her hair loose about her shoulders, she sank onto a chaise longue in the small parlour with every appearance of exhaustion.
‘Did you enjoy the ball, Mama?’ Molly asked, affecting innocence. ‘Were there many people there? Did you recognise anyone in their costume?’
‘Oh, I knew most of them, they have been doing the rounds all Season, but there were one or two strangers who disappeared before the unmasking. Tony Stacey was there dressed as a high toby, though that was hardly a proper disguise; I knew him at once. I own I was surprised he should have chosen that costume considering what you told me about the Dark Knight. I am not at all convinced he wasn’t bamming us all.’
‘You said you doubted Lady Tadbury would invite him.’
‘Oh, that was Tadbury’s doing. He thinks we are related and as Tony is a Stacey…’
‘Was the Captain alone?’
‘No, he was not. He had a chit with him dressed as a wood nymph or somesuch and though I asked Lady Tadbury she could not put a name to her, for which I was vastly relieved.’ She paused and looked closely at her daughter. ‘Did you think I would not know you? I never felt so mortified in all my life.’
‘Oh, you did recognise me.’
‘Naturally, I did. It was a shock, I can tell you. It is a wonder I did not have a seizure. Whatever possessed you to do such a cork-brained thing?’
‘I did so want to go and you would not take me.’
‘No, and is it to be wondered at? You have no idea how to conduct yourself. Tony Stacey put you up to it, didn’t he? It is the sort of rig he would indulge in. I think he finds pleasure in vexing me, though why he should I do not know. I have never done him any harm…’
‘It had nothing to do with the Captain. I went alone.’
‘Alone!’ her mother shrieked. ‘Oh, Molly, how could you? You do know you are the talk of the ton
?’
Molly could not suppress a little smile. ‘I do believe people were asking who I was. The Captain said I was the belle of the ball.’
‘Thank goodness Stacey had sense enough to whisk you away before everyone unmasked. You must never do anything like that again. Never, do you hear? If the gabblegrinders find out it was you, we shall be undone. We might as well find a dark hole and live in it in penury.’
‘Oh, Mama, why should they find out? No one knew me except Captain Stacey. And Mr Bellamy, but he promised not to say a word to anyone.’
‘We must make sure he does not. If I could persuade him to offer for you…’
‘No, Mama, no!’ she cried. ‘We should not suit; really we should not. I do hope you have said nothing to him.’ Then, remembering her mother had been dancing with Lord Brancaster, she added, ‘You did not speak of it to his father? Oh, do tell me you did not.’
‘No, of course I did not. These things have to be done in the proper manner.’
‘Then I beg you, do nothing. I will go back to Stacey Manor, I will never embarrass you again, but please do not make me accept an offer from someone I do not, cannot, love.’
‘Love! What has love to do with it?’ She stood up and shook herself determinedly. ‘Now I am going to change. I expect Lord Brancaster to call.’
Molly was appalled. ‘But you said you had not spoken to him.’
‘Of you, no. You are not the only subject of conversation, you know. In fact, it is one I avoid if I can.’
‘Then I think I shall go to the library, Mama. I have finished my book and need another.’
‘You read far too much, and what you do read is a fribble. No wonder you have such romantic notions.’
‘There is nothing else for me to do, Mama.’ It was said with a heartfelt sigh.
When she returned, she was astonished to find Lady Connaught with her mother in the withdrawing room. Her ladyship was still dressed in her old-fashioned mourning clothes but they did not detract from her imposing presence. She sat bolt upright, sipping tea, determination on every feature of her face.