Regency Admirer/The Merry Gentleman/The Gentleman's Demand

by Meg Alexander

  Elizabeth eyed him with acute dislike. “I shall not trouble to answer that remark,” she replied in icy tones. “One cannot, after all, cast pearls before swine.”

  “One can, however, point out the impropriety of receiving a gentleman in one’s chamber, clad only in a night-robe.”

  Hot colour flooded Elizabeth’s face. “How dare you?” she cried. “I did not receive him. I didn’t even know that he was there until he threw the pebble at my window—” She stopped, furious with herself for attempting to justify her behaviour.

  “You should have thrown it back,” Perry said tersely.

  “Moralising, sir? I don’t expect it from a sailor, of all people. I have yet to discover how any of my actions can possibly concern you.” There was a dangerous glitter in her eyes.

  “They don’t...not in the least.”

  “Then pray keep your sermons for those who wish to hear them. You, I must suppose, are a model of all the virtues...”

  “No, I ain’t.” Perry shook his head, anxious to refute this outrageous statement. He was aware suddenly that his behaviour as a guest left much to be desired. “The truth is that I’m often in hot water, so I know what it’s like to be hauled over the coals. I beg your pardon.”

  Elizabeth stared at him. Then, somewhat mollified by this confession, she decided to accept the olive branch.

  “I shall ring for the tea-tray,” she announced with dignity.

  “You keep up with the English custom, then? I had not thought to find it here in Genoa.”

  “We are not barbarians,” she told him coldly. “Mrs Benson tells me that to take tea in the evening after dinner is quite the latest thing.”

  “Mrs Benson? She is your governess?”

  Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “My governess? Sir, I am not a child. In March I shall be seventeen—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, I had forgot...a lady does not mention her age, but you provoked me into doing so.” She tried to hide her confusion.

  Perry hid a smile. “My apologies, ma’am. I had not thought you so close to decrepitude.”

  She gave him a dagger-look. “Laugh if you will, but I am out in society. In fact, I am betrothed. Count Cesare has offered for me.”

  “And your father has agreed?” Perry was incredulous and it showed. If it were true, Mr Grantham would not have suggested sending Elizabeth to England.

  Under his keen scrutiny, she looked uncomfortable.

  “Well, not exactly, but he will...he must... Papa thinks Cesare unsuitable, but that is because he does not know him well. When they grow to understand each other better...” Her voice trailed away.

  Wisely, Perry did not offer an opinion, but he was beginning to understand much that had previously been a mystery to him. This, then, was why the Count had found it necessary to attempt a clandestine meeting.

  Perry began to wonder about the fellow. If Mr Grantham had taken against him, there must be a good reason. Even on short acquaintance he’d been impressed by the old man’s shrewdness. Was the Count a fortune-hunter? It must be so. On the face of it, a marriage with a member of the Italian aristocracy must ensure Elizabeth’s safety.

  “Well, sir, have you nothing to say?” Elizabeth looked triumphant.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I mean about my offer,” she cried impatiently.

  “Remarkable!” Perry surveyed her with a lifted eyebrow.

  For a moment he thought that she would strike him.

  “You are quite the most detestable man I ever met,” she told him in a voice which shook with rage. “But for my father, I should order you from this house at once.”

  “Throwing things after me?” He began to laugh. “You will not wish to break another fan, Miss Grantham, and the vases in this room are more valuable than a flowerpot.”

  He thought she would explode with fury. Then the door opened and her father came to join them. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he seemed unaware of the tense atmosphere in the room.

  “Mr Wentworth, how long do you remain in Genoa?” he asked.

  “It is impossible to say with certainty, but possibly for another week, sir. Much will depend upon the shipwrights, and the availability of provisions.”

  “Then I trust that you will give us the pleasure of your company again. Lord Christopher, too, and also your captain, if he should care to dine with us.”

  “You are too generous, Mr Grantham.” Perry did not commit himself. “Regrettably, Captain Robsart does not often dine ashore.”

  He shuddered inwardly, aware of the likely consequences if the captain found himself under pressure to offer passage to Elizabeth.

  “Then I shall remind you of your promise to speak to him on my behalf.”

  Perry was not proof against the pleading in the old man’s eyes. “I won’t forget, but as I told you—”

  “Yes, yes, I understand, but you will do your best?”

  “I will.” Perry rose to take his leave, with renewed thanks for a pleasant evening. Pleasure was not, perhaps, the sensation uppermost in his mind, but the invitation had been kindly meant. It was a pity that it had included a request from Mr Grantham which could not possibly be granted. Worse had been the need to spend the past few hours in the company of this maddening girl.

  “Now, my boy, allow me to ring for the carriage. You will take it to the docks?”

  “I shouldn’t think of turning your people out at this late hour,” Perry was quick to protest.

  “Was not my experience sufficient warning to you not to walk alone at night?”

  “I am armed, sir.” Perry tapped his sword significantly.

  “And possessed of a Herculean frame?” Mr Grantham smiled up at the tall figure of his guest. “I must confess that it would be a brave man who tried to mill you down. Shall we say next Sunday, then?”

  Perry hesitated, well aware that Elizabeth was willing him to refuse. Some imp of mischief persuaded him to agree, and he saw her stiffen.

  “I’ll do my best.” He beamed at her. “Though it must depend upon my duties.”

  With that he took his leave, knowing that if looks could kill, he would have fallen lifeless at Elizabeth’s feet.

  As he strode back through the darkened streets, he pondered on the events of what had proved to be a strange evening. He’d warmed to the charm of Mr Grantham and his wife, but the girl?

  At least their dislike was mutual, but honesty compelled him to admit that his own behaviour had not been beyond reproach. He had criticised her morals when he had no right to do so. Perhaps his strictures were unfounded. She’d claimed that the Count’s visit had taken her by surprise, and she hadn’t even thrown the flowerpot—that had been an accident. Worst of all, he had treated her like a child, and that had stung her pride.

  He began to smile. She was little more, after all, in spite of her attempts to appear sophisticated. And when she was at a loss, she blushed quite charmingly. Strange how that rosy colour crept across the flawless skin, as smooth and creamy as a magnolia petal.

  He frowned, remembering her angry words. That she was a beauty he would not deny. She was also wilful, stubborn, opinionated and thoroughly spoiled.

  No other woman of his acquaintance, with the possible exception of Prudence, his brother’s wife, would have challenged him as Elizabeth had done. If they ever met, those two ladies would deal famously together. Both were quick and intelligent, and neither hesitated to speak her mind.

  But at sixteen? Perry shook his head. The Count was welcome to her. That wild streak would take some holding. God help the man unwise enough to take her to wife. She was likely to be a handful.

  He stopped as a thought struck him. Was he actually prosing like some greybeard? The notion would send his family into whoops. Perry’s hasty temper and impulsive nature had led him into many scrapes, and his mother often shook her head over his apparent wildness.

  But that was long ago. He was older now. At the advanced age of twenty-four he could look back with a degree of ki
ndly tolerance upon his youthful follies.

  This sense of lofty superiority did not survive an interview with Chris.

  “Been a-wooing, old chap?” his friend enquired.

  The ensuing scuffle was unedifying and ended only when the bosun put his head round the door.

  “Gentlemen, please!” he implored. “Cap’n’s wondering where the noise is coming from.”

  Perry straightened his coat. “I have not been a-wooing,” he announced darkly when the man had gone. “Best brace yourself! Mr Grantham hopes to put his daughter aboard for the voyage to England.”

  “No! You’re gammoning me!”

  “It’s true. He begs that I will ask the captain.”

  “Rather you than me! Perry, he can’t mean it. Why would he suggest such a thing?”

  “Safety? He believes that the French will invade Italy.”

  “That rabble?” Chris’s tone was scornful. “When they tried it in Belgium and Holland they were defeated.”

  “I can’t persuade him otherwise.”

  “Must have been that knock upon the head. You must see that it isn’t possible.”

  “I see it, but he does not. He means it, and it ain’t due to his injury. He’s recovering well.”

  “And what of the fair siren of the balcony? Does she agree with the idea?”

  “She knows nothing of it, thank God! Heaven knows what she might have done.”

  “More flying pots, you think?”

  Perry smiled at that. “It was an accident, so she tells me. She dislodged it with her elbow.”

  “So you’ve made your peace with her?”

  “Not a hope, old chap!”

  “She didn’t apologise?”

  “She did not. In fact, she told me that if she’d aimed, she wouldn’t have missed.”

  Chris shouted with laughter. “A quiet evening, you said? It don’t sound like it to me. What happened to your well-known charm? By now, I thought she’d be eating out of your hand.”

  “Very amusing! Possibly you’ll have more success with her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are invited to dine at the villa on Sunday.”

  “No, no! I won’t stand in your way. With me there you won’t have a chance.”

  “Sadly, I must dash your hopes. She plans to wed that fellow in the tree...claims to be betrothed to him.”

  “That mountebank? Yellow to the core. If he’d had anything about him, he’d have given you a facer.”

  “He could have tried.” Perry’s eyes began to twinkle. “He’s Italian...a count or some such thing.”

  “Then it should have been rapiers at dawn. What a hum! It’s a pity that we missed it.”

  “Save your bloodlust for the French,” Perry advised. “Now, will you come or not?”

  “That depends. Do you mean to speak to Captain Robsart?”

  “I gave my word.”

  “Then you’d best go now, whilst you are still pot-valiant.”

  “It will do tomorrow, wretch! By the way, I am not pot-valiant. It was a sober evening.”

  “Can’t have been, or you’d never have agreed. I suspect that I’ll be going alone to the villa. You’ll be below...in chains.”

  On the following day it seemed as if this dire prediction was likely to be fulfilled. The kindest remark which Perry received from his superior officer was a request to know if he had quite run mad. His disclaimer brought down a flood of imprecations upon his head. The captain swore for several minutes, during which time he did not repeat himself.

  Distinctly shaken, Perry escaped at last to rejoin his shipmates.

  “No luck?” Chris asked wickedly.

  “You might say that. Just listen! He’s still bellowing...”

  “He’ll get over it. Mr Grantham will be disappointed, though, and so am I. The fair Elizabeth would have livened up the voyage. What will you say to him?”

  “I’ve already warned him that his plan was out of the question. Hopefully, he’ll accept it.”

  This hope was soon to be dashed. On the following Sunday, though Mr Grantham met his guest with his usual courtesy, he could not hide his dismay at Perry’s news.

  Clasping his hands, rocking back and forth in anguish, he appealed to them once more.

  “You can’t have heard the news from Toulon,” he cried. “The British are driven out...”

  “Mr Grantham, it can’t be true! Our people were to hold the town until the arrival of reinforcements.”

  “The British government refused to send more troops. Admiral Hood has taken off some fifteen thousand refugees, but the rest... I cannot bear to think of it. Even the guillotines are not enough for the bloodlust of the revolutionaries. Many have been shot down where they stood. Others, including two young English girls, were chained together and thrown into the river.”

  “These may be rumours, sir. I can’t believe that that ill-led rabble could succeed against our men.”

  “Ill-led, Mr Wentworth? Believe me, they have found a leader. The man is a Corsican, a technical expert, though he is little more than a boy. His brilliance at Toulon was such that he is already promoted General of Brigade.”

  “That may not signify,” Chris protested. “They have executed their best generals. Mr Grantham, can you be sure that your news is true?”

  “I am certain of it. My informants are well-placed.” He pressed his thin hands to his face as if to shut out terrible visions.

  Both young men were deeply shocked by his words, but Perry made an attempt to comfort him.

  “Sir, these massacres are terrible, but they took place far away. Pray don’t disturb yourself unduly. The French have no quarrel with this country. Here in Italy you must be safe—”

  “For how long? I am no soothsayer, but let us suppose that this gifted soldier should decide to make himself master of all Europe? Then there would be no escape.”

  “I think you have forgot the British Navy, sir.” Chris spoke up proudly in the defence of his own service.

  “No, Lord Christopher, I have not.” A wan smile appeared on the face of his host. “But even if Britain holds the seas, what of the land? We need another Marlborough.”

  Both his companions were silent. In the recent war in North America, leadership of the British Army had left much to be desired. The incompetence of the generals and the bravery of their opponents had led to the colonists gaining independence from the mother country. King George was known to regard it as the greatest disaster of his long reign.

  Mr Grantham sighed. “Do you understand my worries, gentlemen? I assure you that they are not just the feeble wanderings of an old man.”

  “Of course not,” Perry assured him quietly. “But, Mr Grantham, even supposing that you are right, what you ask is impossible. Captain Robsart won’t consider it.”

  “Very well, then, I won’t press you further. Shall we join the ladies?”

  Lord Christopher was at his best in feminine company. He seated himself by Mrs Grantham, and soon had her laughing at his tales of London society.

  Even Elizabeth lost her wary look and, armed by his evident admiration, she gave him an enchanting smile. Dressed in a simple gown of jonquil yellow caught down the front with tiny pearl buttons to match the seed pearls on the banding of her puffed sleeves, she was looking ravishing.

  Perry smiled to himself. His friend seemed to be fatally smitten by the brilliance of her dark eyes, the low, musical voice, and the grace of her every movement.

  Chris had referred to her as a siren. Certainly, she was that, but sirens, he recalled, were known to lure men to disaster.

  Turning away, he devoted himself to his host, replying frankly to Mr Grantham’s questions about his family and his own ambitions.

  “Shall you follow your eldest brother into politics?” the old man enquired. “I hear that the Earl of Brandon is well thought of in the highest circles. He is a member of the Government, is he not?”

  “You have heard of him?” Perry was
surprised. He had not mentioned Frederick, and wondered how Mr Grantham knew of the connection.

  “Of course. A man of such gifts is spoken of, even here in Genoa. You have not answered my question, Mr Wentworth.”

  Perry laughed. “I have no taste for politics, sir, and my family would shudder at the thought of it. Sebastian, my second brother, assures me that I am no diplomat. He’s right, of course...I am too impulsive.”

  “Then the navy is to be your life?”

  “I hope so.” Perry was launched upon his favourite subject, but then he recalled his obligations to the ladies, and joined in the general conversation.

  Later, after Mrs Grantham had retired, the gentlemen joined Elizabeth in the salon. Then, to his dismay, Perry found himself alone with her. He could not welcome the situation, but Chris had expressed an interest in Mr Grantham’s pictures, and had been invited to examine them more closely. The look of reproach on Perry’s face brought a wicked grin from Chris. He knew quite well that common politeness would require his friend to bear Elizabeth company.

  “You do not care for paintings, Mr Wentworth?” She enquired stiffly.

  “Chris is the expert, ma’am. I know nothing about them.”

  “Indeed?” Her cool tone indicated that she found him little more than a barbarian.

  Stung, he was quick to reply. “You are a lover of the arts, Miss Grantham?”

  “I have been brought up to value beautiful things.” The sarcasm in his voice had brought a glint of anger to her eyes. “For some of us, there is more to life than learning to order men about, even aboard ship.”

  “Really? You surprise me. I had supposed that nothing would please you more.”

  “You may suppose whatever you will,” she answered coldly. “That is, as long as you keep your opinions to yourself. You do not know me, Mr Wentworth. As far as I’m concerned that suits me very well. My hope is that our brief acquaintance ends this evening.”

  Perry bowed. “For once we are in full agreement, ma’am.”

  “Oh!” she cried. “You are impossible! You, sir, are the rudest, most arrogant creature I have ever met.”

  “Again I must return the compliment, Miss Grantham.”

  Elizabeth took a step towards him. Her eyes were blazing, and her small fists were clenched. “If I were a man, I’d call you out for that!”