James laughed at the spirited rejoinder.
She stood, placing one of her hands in his and giving it a squeeze.
“Thank you,” she smiled down at him.
He stood also, his eyes capturing hers. His hand returned the pressure before lifting her hand to his lips for a kiss that lasted a few moments longer than it needed to.
“I want to see you again, Selina.”
Chapter Three
Lady Christina Mitchell cringed as her son engaged in the vulgar activity of whistling as he entered the sunlit drawing room where she elected to have breakfast this morning.
“Good morning, Mother,” he said, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.
Although it was just two of them for breakfast, the little table was set immaculately with pressed linens and dominated by a glittering gilt tray holding silver tea, coffee, and chocolate pots.
He took his seat at the opposite end of the small oak table and allowed his valet, Jackson, to pour a strong black coffee. Lady Christina raised a cup of tea to her lips and the sleeve of her pale pink morning robe drifted down her arm and away from the dish of preserves at her elbow.
James was dressed for business. Dark grey wool breeches tucked into polished black riding boots. A narrow cut frock coat in matching wool was relieved by a crisp white linen shirt and a lightly patterned maroon cravat.
James knew his mother rarely rose before eleven o’clock any morning, and since the Christmas season he’d only ever seen her at the evening meal.
The fact his mother had arisen and dressed before ten in the morning meant that the Lady wished to have ‘a word’.
“Did you rest well?” he enquired.
He waited. This could be interesting.
“James,” she began, “it may surprise you to learn that I am not a young woman any longer and that I know it would be your father’s wish to see our estate’s future secured.”
James ignored her sarcasm. He deliberately sipped his coffee and waited for her to continue.
“And by secured, I mean a legitimate heir with someone of quality and respectability, not a by-blow with a sailor’s daughter or some scullery maid.”
“Has some young woman approached you to say that she is carrying my child?” he asked, his voice low and cold.
Lady Christina matched her son’s serious look.
“Your reputation as one who enjoys feminine company has reached even my ears. Surely it wouldn’t be too much to ask you to choose one to take as a wife.”
“Like Lady Abigail you mean?”
“Lady Abigail would be ideal, with her direct connection to the crown. But if not her, then there is Lady Catherine or Lady Alexandra, both of whom are…”
Enough, James vowed, before she rattled off the names of all the eligible women of the Ton.
“Why the sudden interest in my matrimonial state, mother?”
“I already told you.”
No, there was more to it than that, he knew. More like looking for a protégé to train in the art of brow-beating, nagging, and scolding of the type that sent his father to an early, miserable grave.
James was sure the old lord died just to get some peace and quiet.
He mentally saluted his sire before returning his attention to his mother. She stared at him, expecting an answer to a question he didn’t remember being asked.
How to salvage the morning before his mother decided to have one of her tempers? James could happily spend all day, and all night, away from the house, but the servants could not, and he felt he owed them a debt.
To this day he still carried a pang of guilt at a boyhood prank he played on his mother involving a tree frog and an expensive teacup. The son of one of the gardeners had been blamed, and was roundly thrashed in James' stead for furnishing the amphibian.
From that day on, James vowed to own his mistakes.
And allowing this conversation to continue was shaping up to be another one. He decided to launch a diversion.
“Mother, could I impose on your impeccable social skills to assist me to prepare a house party at Penventen this summer?”
To the casual observer it would have seemed that the woman’s expression had not altered a jot, but James saw the signs—the slight widening of the eyes, a tic in the cheek muscle. He hid a slight smile behind another sip of coffee.
“If you insist,” she answered cautiously.
James granted her a full grin before rising from the table.
“Then that’s settled. Ten guests for a month at Penventen Hall ahead of Pitt’s masquerade ball. There’s one or two names I’ll want to add, so I’ll be back at supper to approve the list.”
* * *
Selina fixed her gaze down the sweep of lawn towards the lake that was the centrepiece of St James Park. Created by Charles II, the parkland and lake was London’s answer to the beautiful palace gardens of France.
Bounded by three palaces—St James, Buckingham and the ancient Westminster—the gardens had seen their share of romantic assignations of both royalty and commoners alike, many such captured in bawdy verse by Charles II’s favourite, John Wilmot, the second Viscount of Rochester.
Today, under the mild sun and blue skies of spring, the park was innocence itself. Tall boulevards of trees offered shade, hedgerows offered privacy. Willows by the water became hide-outs and haunts for playing children while fallen petals from the cascading clumps of wisteria laid a carpet of mauve flowers for couples who walked arm in arm.
Among them, Members of Parliament, their staff, messengers and lobbyists criss-crossed the park either on foot or horseback, headed to meetings of various import.
Dressed in a simple pale green walking dress with practical elbow-length sleeves for painting, Selina had been seated on a bench with her portable easel for about an hour making the occasional stroke on the paper with a charcoal, but mostly distracted by the antics of her three nephews, six-year-old twins Timothy and Richard, and three-year-old George, who turned a willow tree into a fort to be playfully defended from other boys.
Her sister-in-law had finally settled her youngest child, twelve-month-old Charlotte, the very picture of her mother, to sleep on a picnic blanket, and turned to examine the sketch at length.
“It’s a fine piece of work but it looks nothing like the scene in front of us,” she remarked in a warm teasing voice.
It was a sketch of James as she recalled him from the ball several nights before— handsome, confident, charming, with the teasing lift to his mouth and his intense and intelligent dark eyes.
“I thought if I came down to the park and sketched something else I might be able to get thoughts of him out of my head,” Selina admitted. “But then I realised that if I didn’t put down his likeness, I wouldn’t be able to draw anything else.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Selina was scandalised. “Sarah! I only met the man the once.”
Sarah shrugged nonplussed.
“I knew I was in love with your brother the moment I saw him.”
“That’s different!” Selina busied herself by putting the finished sketch in her leather portfolio before readying another paper on the easel and opening a tin box of watercolour paints.
“He’s a peer of the realm. He’ll be expected to marry a Lady of court and, if I believe what I saw, there’s one particular Lady who is waiting on more than just the Princess Royal.”
Sarah laughed at the description of Lady Abigail, whom Selina had briefly described the morning after the ball following Sarah’s insistence that she share every detail of the evening.
“William tells me that Lord Penventen wasn’t the only eligible young man vying for a dance. In fact, you were so engaged he didn’t get to dance with you at all.”
Selina laughed. “And aren’t my toes glad! When it comes to dancing, your husband has two left feet and the grace of an ox.”
“Don’t I know it! Why do you think I insisted you go in my stead? I need my feet to keep up with
these four!”
The two women dissolved in a fit of giggles before Selina turned her hand back to capturing the landscape in front of her, deftly recreating the tapestry of richly coloured flowers of red, yellow, and purple in garden beds, the line of trees, the sweep of the lake, and the pair of water fowl swimming towards the aptly named Duck Island.
After a period of companionable silence, Sarah brushed Selina’s elbow and nodded at a tall man in a top hat who started towards them, having come from the Horse Guards Parade entrance.
Selina had noticed him earlier. He spent several long minutes in deep conversation with another man who, before leaving, had been handed what appeared to be a despatch box. Strange, but she supposed not so very unusual around the Parliament.
Sarah’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Could this be your Lord Penventen, coming to call?”
“He’s not my Lord anything,” Selina hissed, instead focusing her attention on the water colour.
“By night a skilled dancer and now I learn you are a gifted painter. My dear Miss Rosewall, dare I say you are the very embodiment of all the muses?”
Selina’s eyes widened to hear the voice of Viscount Canalissy who now stood at her shoulder, fingering his hat. Between Sarah at her right, the bench at her back and the easel in front, Selina was trapped.
She strained her neck to look up at the Viscount who regarded her with the same odd expression he wore outside the billiard room last night.
“My Lord Canalissy, what an unexpected surprise.”
Well that much she could say in all truth. What she really wanted to say was that someone as finely educated as he ought to know that the Greeks had no muse for painting.
“May I introduce my sister-in-law Mrs William Rosewall?”
Viscount Canalissy bowed and greeted the other woman although his eyes never left Selina’s. Tension thrummed through her once again until it was broken by a cry from young Richard who had tumbled and grazed his knee.
Sarah went to see to the child and Geoffrey took advantage of the vacant seat. Although there was ample space between them, Selina still felt stifled.
“How do we deserve the honour of your company today my Lord?” she asked, risking a snub by refusing to look at him, instead putting her attention to cleaning her brushes.
“It must be fate, Miss Rosewall. I’ve found that you’ve occupied my thoughts since the ball and now as if I had conjured you up, here you are.”
“Such regard is an honour most undeserved,” she remarked.
Canalissy laughed, taking her words as flattering him no doubt.
“Not at all, I’m sure that you’ve occupied the thoughts of many others after watching you dance so intimately with Penventen.”
That was a pointed statement.
“Well then my Lord, they wonder in vain.” Selina spared him a glance before laying down the paint brush and wiping her hands on a rag with sharp, efficient movements. Anger had given her a measure of boldness.
“By the end of next week they will have found someone else to gossip about. Besides, my family and I return to Bristol at the end of the month and it is likely to be very long time before I shall see London again and receive the attention of such distinguished company.”
“I’ve offended you,” he said. It was a statement, not an apology.
“Truth plainly spoken is never offensive. May I be so bold as to ask why you’ve elected to take such an interest?”
“Not at all. Lady Abigail is a second cousin, but she will break her heart waiting on Penventen to make good his promise of marriage.”
“And what has this to do with me?”
“You may feel I speak out of turn, but I have high regard for James as well. We grew up side by side in Cornwall, but he’s a restless man given to throwing himself headlong into any cause that captures his attention.
“I saw the especial regard he paid you. In fact, who could not? It would be remiss of me not to take the initiative in preventing at least one more heart being broken, so I was only too willing when Lady Abigail asked me to draw your attention while she spoke to her intended.”
Selina listened silently, cursing herself as her stomach turned to lead. The Viscount made perfect sense. Could she have misjudged him? Perhaps he had no intention of doing anything improper outside the billiard room, only intending to delay her return to the ballroom for Lady Abigail’s sake.
She recalled her final conversation with James, when she accused him of being a scoundrel and a “breaker of women’s hearts”.
James had laughed. He hadn’t protested the description, and why should he? He was just being kind to a silly young provincial woman at her first royal ball.
Selina used the movement of packing away her easel to gather her thoughts before turning to Viscount Canalissy. He looked at her with that same neutral expression, and she began to wonder if it was part of his usual countenance.
She surprised herself by speaking evenly.
“Thank you very much for taking the time to explain this delicate situation to me. It is certainly not my intent to be the cause of anyone’s discomfort.”
A slow smile split Canalissy's over-full lips.
“You are a young woman of rare quality, Miss Rosewall, and I say so most sincerely. For the short time while you are in London and I hope for sometime after that, I would have the honour of being considered a friend.”
“Thank you my Lord. You honour me indeed.”
Sarah and the boys approached and, oblivious to the serious conversation in her absence, Sarah schooled the children in giving a little bow to the Viscount, which he acknowledged with a smile and a nod.
“Help your Aunt Selina with her things boys, while I pick up little Charlotte.”
“Madam, allow me,” Sir Geoffrey bent and swiftly held the still sleeping girl in his arms. “I have my carriage at the entrance to the park. It is at your disposal to take your party home.”
Sarah curtsied. “Thank you my Lord, your kindness is welcome.”
Excited by the unexpected adventure of riding in a Viscount’s carriage, Richard’s small injury was forgotten and he, along with his twin and young George, were on their best behaviour while the carriage clip-clopped its way through cobbled streets.
Charlotte sucked her thumb sleepily while on her mother’s lap, watching her Aunt Selina and her new friend.
“Then I’d say you are a most notorious scoundrel and breaker of women’s hearts, and I shouldn’t believe a word you tell me.”
Selina replayed the conversation in her head and now cringed with embarrassment. How could she have been so naïve as to believe she could flirt without consequences? Why should she think he was being anything other than polite when he said he wanted to see her again?
Not that she should ever expect to see him again, she thought ruefully.
Selina considered burning the sketch that lay in her portfolio, but decided against it. She would keep it as a reminder of what happened when one let one’s guard down. Selina would not let herself be as foolish again. She would post her advertisement to the newspaper tomorrow.
At their destination, the townhouse William had rented for the season in Soho, the Viscount's carriage drew in behind another coach. Selina assumed it belonged to a business acquaintance of her brother.
Geoffrey assisted her from the vehicle while Selina in turn held out her arms for Charlotte, allowing her sister-in-law to gather her children, before Geoffrey escorted them to the door and into the black and white tiled foyer.
As the Viscount was about to leave, the study door opened on Selina’s left and she turned to find herself face-to-face with the man she had been convinced she would never see again.
Chapter Four
James recovered from his surprise faster than Selina did hers. Surveying her, he determined that, even dressed in an ordinary green walking dress with her hair loosely pinned, Selina was still one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen.
He gave her a warm smi
le then acknowledged the introduction of Sarah and the children before the mother bundled her brood out of the room. James then turned his attention to the other party. Viscount Canalissy didn’t appear to be pleased to see him here.
Good.
“Why, Geoffrey,” he said mildly, “even in a city as large as London, we do seem to be crossing paths more and more.”
Canalissy grinned, but the effect was rather cold.
“Some of us are here to be of service and, with my mission now complete, I bid everyone adieu.”
Canalissy turned to Selina, taking her hand and pressing it urgently to his lips.
“Thank you for the pleasure of your company this afternoon. Perhaps you will allow me to call again?”
Surprise and confusion clouded her features, but Selina curtsied, out of habit it seemed.
“If that is your wish, my Lord.”
Geoffrey released her hand and turned towards the door before taking a last triumphant look at James.
“And I’m sure our paths will cross at the opera tonight. Lady Abigail tells me she’s looking forward to your company this evening.”
“No doubt,” James agreed.
Then a quick bow and nod to William, and the Viscount departed.
To his disappointment, Selina refused to look at him after Geoffrey’s words and simply addressed her brother.
“Attend your guest, William. I’ll go and assist Sarah with the children.”
* * *
It was unlikely William and Sarah had noticed Selina more quiet than usual at the dinner table that night. The lively chatter of the three boys coupled with toothy squawks of agreement from Charlotte meant that she wasn’t required to contribute much to the conversation.
Once the children were in custody of the housekeeper for cleaning and putting to bed, the three adults moved to the parlour.
“It was a pleasant surprise to see Sir James Mitchell here this afternoon. I know that he had promised an appointment but I never expected him to make a call,” observed Sarah, accepting the glass of sherry William had just poured.
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