A Not So Respectable Gentleman?

by Diane Gaston

‘Do you recall Lord Kellford?’ he finally asked.

  Walker made a disgusted sound. ‘The lout with the whip?’

  ‘Precisely.’ Leo lowered himself into one of the chairs. ‘He is set to marry an...old family friend and I am determined to stop it. There is a masquerade party at Vauxhall tonight which I suspect he will attend. As will the lady.’

  Walker stared at him and Leo had the distinct feeling the man was trying to decipher what Leo left unsaid. ‘Does the lady know what he is?’

  ‘I told her.’ Leo tried to appear dispassionate. ‘She insists she must marry him. I would like to discover why, what hold he has over her and then stop him.’ Beneath his prosaic tone was a swirl of painful emotions. He took another sip of brandy. ‘I shall see what I can discover as a guest at this Vauxhall affair. My brother will arrange my invitation.’

  Walker sat in an adjacent chair. ‘Then perhaps I can discover something from a different end. Shall I try to befriend some of his servants? See what they know?’

  This was why Leo valued his valet-friend so much. Walker did not wait to be ordered about; he just acted.

  ‘An excellent idea.’ Leo smiled. ‘After you find me a domino, that is.’

  * * *

  The music from Vauxhall reached Leo’s ears just as the pleasure garden’s entrance came into sight. Nicholas had insisted on providing the ducal carriage, and, if anyone witnessed it, Leo supposed arriving in such style could do nothing but help his acceptance as his brother’s substitute.

  As he moved through the garden’s entrance, his domino billowed in the night’s breeze and gathered between his legs, impeding his gait.

  There could not be a sillier garment for a man, lots of black fabric fashioned into a hooded cloak, the accepted male costume for a masquerade. Once Leo put on his mask, the costume had advantages. No one would know who he was. He would be able to remain near Mariel without anyone suspecting his identity.

  He knew she would attend. Before walking to his brother’s house and donning his domino, he’d concealed himself near the Covendale town house and watched as Mariel and her parents climbed into Kellford’s carriage. The evening remained light enough that Leo was able to clearly see her costume. Her dark green dress clung to her figure from neckline to hips. Gold-braid trim adorned the low square neckline and the long trumpet sleeves. Over the gown, she wore a matching hooded cape. How ironic she would dress as a medieval maiden, the quintessential damsel in distress.

  Kellford, on the other hand, had exerted as much imagination as Leo. He, too, wore a black domino.

  Leo hurried down the South Walk. Tall, stately elms shaded the area with its booths and the supper boxes. Ahead of him at some distance, Leo spied three triumphal arches and a painting of the Ruins of Palmyra so realistic it fooled many people into believing it was real. The three supper boxes reserved for the party hosted by Lord and Lady Elkins were located just before the arches.

  His domino caught between his legs again and he slowed his pace, taking more notice of the gardens which seemed to show some tarnish since he’d last seen them. Or perhaps it was he who was tarnished.

  He remembered his first look at Vauxhall, when still a schoolboy, the night his father and mother hosted a masquerade. He and his brothers had been allowed to attend until darkness fell and the drinking and carousing began in earnest.

  A wave of grief washed over him. His parents had been blissfully happy, as scandalous as their liaison had been. They’d looked magnificent that night, costumed in powdered hair and shiny, colourful brocades, the fashionable dress of the last century. Surrounded by their equally scandalous friends and those few respectable ones who were loyal no matter what, they had been in their element. No one had enjoyed the pleasures and entertainments life had to offer better than his mother and father.

  Perhaps they had enjoyed a masquerade in Venice before contracting the fever that killed them.

  As Leo neared the supper boxes, so close to the ones his parents had secured that night, he stopped to put on his mask. He presented his invitation to the footman at the entrance. Because it was a masquerade, no guests were announced and Leo could slip into the crowd in perfect anonymity.

  Almost immediately he found his sister Charlotte, dressed as a shepherdess, but he did not reveal himself to her. No, this night he’d take advantage of his disguise. He walked through the crush of people, searching for Mariel.

  Finally the crowd parted, revealing her, as if gates had opened to display a treasure. Her hood and cape hung behind her shoulders. Her headdress was a roll of gold cloth, worn like a crown. She looked like a queen from a bygone age. He savoured the sight of her before moving closer.

  He had no difficulty spotting Kellford or Mariel’s parents, or the fact that Mariel was edging away from them. He stepped forwards to help her, deliberately pushing his way between her and Kellford and remaining in Kellford’s way.

  His ploy worked. She hurried away from them and let the crowd swallow her. Leo waited a moment before following her, confident he could find her no matter how many people obscured his view.

  He was correct.

  Darkness was falling fast, but he was able to glimpse her making her way out of the supper box. She covered her head with her hood and hurried towards the large gazebo in the centre of the gardens. The orchestra was still playing on its balcony, high above the area where guests danced to the music.

  He continued, walking quickly, puzzled at what she was about. It was not safe for her to leave the protection of the supper boxes. In addition to revellers, Vauxhall Gardens attracted pickpockets and other rogues and miscreants who combed the gardens searching for easy prey.

  She weaved her way around the dancers until she was on the other side of the gardens near the Grand Walk. She made her way to one of the trees that bordered the area and leaned against it.

  He slowed his pace and stopped a few feet from her. ‘Mariel?’

  She started and then gave him a careful look. ‘Leo.’ Her tone was flat. Obviously his mask had not disguised him from her.

  He came closer. ‘It is not safe to walk alone here.’

  ‘Indeed?’ She lifted one shoulder. ‘Do you not think walking alone is preferable to remaining on Kellford’s arm? I confess, I do.’

  He scowled. ‘Is that why you ran off? To get away from him?’

  She made a disparaging sound. ‘Were you watching me, Leo?’

  ‘I came in hopes of speaking with you,’ he admitted.

  She turned away to face the dancers twirling and gliding like fairies in a dream. ‘We can have nothing to say to each other.’

  ‘I need to know—’

  She stopped him from speaking, putting her hand on his arm and moving to the other side of the tree.

  ‘What is it?’ He glanced around.

  She gestured with her chin. ‘Kellford is looking for me.’

  Leo caught sight of him, perusing the crowd, moving closer to where they stood.

  He grasped her arm. ‘Let us make you more difficult to spot.’ He pulled her into the crowd of dancers.

  The orchestra played a French waltz and the dancers had formed two circles, one inside the other. Leo led Mariel to the inner circle. He placed his hands on her waist; her hands rested on his shoulders. Their eyes met and locked together as they twirled with the circle of dancers. The sky grew darker by the minute and everything and everyone surrounding them blurred.

  Leo only saw Mariel.

  Her face remained sombre, as did his own, he imagined. Did she feel the same emotions that were coursing through him? Savouring. Yearning. Regretting.

  How different their lives would have been had his parents been respectably married. Had there been no fire. They would have married. Had children. Built a prosperous stud farm together. Had a lovely life.

  What foo
lish fancy. He’d learned early that it was no use to wish for what one could not change.

  The orchestra stopped playing and a violinist began playing a solo. Some of the dancers stopped to listen; the others made their way back to their boxes or to the booths selling food and wine.

  Mariel averted her gaze. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue, Leo. Another good deed you have performed.’

  She sounded despairing and he ached for her.

  He searched for Kellford and no longer saw him. ‘Walk with me.’ He extended his hand.

  * * *

  Mariel hesitated. She should never have danced with him, even if it meant being discovered by Kellford.

  Oh, she was full of foolishness this night. She’d so abhorred Kellford’s presence being forced on her in this beautiful place of fantasy and romance that she’d impulsively run from him.

  Perhaps she had sensed Leo nearby, because she was not entirely surprised when he appeared in front of her. It has been foolish indeed to dance with him, to swirl to the sensual melody, to lose herself in Leo’s warm hazel eyes, his gaze more piercing framed by his mask.

  No, she should not walk with him. She must be sensible.

  But his fingers beckoned. ‘Please, Mariel?’

  She glanced around, wondering what would happen if Kellford found her, especially with another man. Mariel had sensed the falseness of Kellford’s gallantry even before Leo told her of the man’s perversions. His actions towards her might speak to others of a solicitous lover, but Mariel had known all along that all he wanted was her money. His solicitousness was merely a means to control her every move.

  She’d been clever enough to escape him this night. She’d find some excuse to offer him for disappearing from his side.

  If only she could think of some way to rid herself of him entirely.

  She stared at Leo’s extended hand, temptation itself.

  Before she knew it, she’d placed her hand in his and felt his warmth and strength through her glove. ‘Do not take me back to the supper box.’

  He nodded.

  They stepped onto the gravel of the Grand Walk and, like so many other couples, strolled to the fountain. Beyond the fountain the paths led through trees as thick as a forest. The Dark Walk, they called it, a place where lovers could disappear and indulge in intimacies forbidden in the light.

  They entered the Dark Walk and walked past the illusionist making cards appear and disappear at will. They continued and soon the darkness of a moonless night surrounded them. Then, all at once, the thousands of gas lamps strung throughout in the trees were lit and the night blazed with light.

  Mariel gasped. It was as if they’d been lifted to the stars. She glanced at Leo and saw the wonder of the sight reflected in his eyes, as well. It had always been like this between them. An instant understanding. Conversing without needing to use words.

  To be so close to him again made it seem as if no time had passed, as if they were still young and full of optimism, eager to lose themselves in the Dark Walk. In those days he would have pulled her into the privacy of the trees. He would have placed his lips on hers and she would have soared to the stars with happiness.

  She shook herself. They were no longer young and full of optimism. They were no longer in love.

  They came upon an area almost as private as in her imagination, a bench set in among the shrubbery, almost completely concealed from the path itself.

  ‘Shall we sit a moment?’ he asked.

  She should resist the temptation of him, not succumb to old fantasies. She’d grown out of them. He’d forced her out of them.

  Still, she sat.

  They removed their masks, but did not speak.

  Finally he broke their silence. ‘Tell me now why you must marry Kellford.’

  She stiffened. Why did he persist in asking her this? She could not confide in him.

  ‘Because I will help you.’ He seemed to answer her very thoughts. ‘But I must know the problem.’

  She turned away from him, not wanting to believe in him again. How could she?

  But he persisted. ‘What hold does Kellford have over you? Has he compromised you?’

  She swung back. ‘Compromised me!’ The thought was appalling.

  ‘Has he forced himself on you? Is that why?’ He blanched. ‘Good God. Has he gotten you—?’

  ‘No!’ She held up a hand. ‘Do not insult me. Do you think I would tolerate his touch?’

  His expression turned grim. ‘I think him quite capable of forcing himself on you. If it is not that, then tell me what it is. You said you must marry him. Tell me the reason.’

  Her anger flared. ‘I cannot tell you, Leo. You know I cannot.’

  ‘Whatever it is, I can help you.’ His gaze remained steady. ‘I have ways.’

  This was so much like the Leo she once knew, the young man who believed they could create a bright future together. She wanted to shake her head lest he be an apparition.

  But she could not let him hurt her again. Trust in him? Impossible. ‘You once made promises to me, Leo. We both know what happened to those promises.’

  He was opening the old wounds, wounds she’d been able to ignore even if they’d never healed.

  ‘Mariel.’ His voice turned tight. ‘You broke those promises.’

  ‘I broke them?’ It had been devastation when she’d heard nothing from him. ‘You left me!’

  ‘What did you expect? You were marrying Ashworth. You chose a title over a bastard. What happened to that plan, by the way?’

  ‘Ashworth again. Why do you persist in saying I would marry Ashworth? I was betrothed to you.’ She felt as if she were bleeding inside once again.

  ‘Your father—’ he began, but did not finish.

  The blood drained from her face. Had her father sent Leo away? ‘Do you mean you spoke to my father?’

  ‘You know I did. You set the appointment.’ He clenched his jaw. ‘Surely you have not forgotten that we planned for me to speak with your father. He told me you had chosen Ashworth.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘You never kept that appointment. I assumed it was because of the fire. My father said you didn’t keep it.’

  ‘Your father said that?’ A look of realisation came over his face.

  Her father. She felt the blood drain from her. Her father had been manipulating her even then. ‘Tell me what my father said to you.’

  ‘That you chose Ashworth over me, because I was a bastard with nothing to offer you. Since my stables had just burned down, he was essentially correct.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Were you at Ashworth’s estate that day?’

  ‘At Ashworth’s estate?’ She felt cold inside. ‘No. I was in Bath. With my mother. She wanted to take the waters.’

  They sat close to each other, so close their faces were inches apart. She could see the shadow of a beard on his chin, the lines at the corners of his eyes, the shadows within him that spoke of his own pain.

  ‘He told me you chose Ashworth because of his title,’ he went on, speaking as much to himself as to her. ‘Because he was respectable.’

  She almost weakened, almost transferred her anger to her father, who owned plenty of it already. But Leo was not wholly innocent in this.

  She lifted her chin. ‘You believed those things mattered to me? Titles and such? Is that what you thought of me? Why did you not speak with me yourself, Leo? You left without a word. Without a word. At first I thought it was because of the fire, but even then it shocked me that you would not come to me so we could plan what to do together. It took me months and months to realise that you had no intention of returning to me.’ She felt as if she were bleeding inside.

  His face turned stony, but she sensed turbulent emotions inside him. ‘I was convinced you did not want me.’
<
br />   ‘You were easily convinced, apparently. Did you think so little of me, Leo?’ She slid away from him and crossed her arms over her chest as if this would protect her heart. ‘Even if you thought all that nonsense about Ashworth was true, you did not try to fight for me, did you? Or try to make me change my mind? You never gave me a chance. You just took it upon yourself to run off.’

  Her words wounded him, she could tell by his face, but they were true.

  He spoke quietly. ‘I am not running away now. I want to help you.’

  She desperately wanted help, but not from him. The pain of his leaving her still hurt too much.

  Her own father had manoeuvred the situation, true—she must deal with that later—but it was Leo who’d chosen to leave.

  She stood and tied her mask back on. ‘I want to go back.’

  He rose and donned his mask, as well.

  They entered the crosswalk that led back to the other side of the gardens. She took long deep breaths, trying to calm herself lest tears dampen her mask and give away her emotions. The closer they came to the supper boxes, the more she cringed at having to return to Kellford’s side and to pretend to her father that he had not set about the destruction of her happiness two years before this. At the moment, though, it was worse to be with Leo. She was enraged at him—and perilously close to falling into his arms.

  He’d held her many times when they’d discussed marrying, when they declared their love, said they would overcome all obstacles together.

  She remembered when she’d learned his stables had burned down and most of his horses were lost. She’d read it in the newspapers. When her father told her Leo never showed up for his appointment, she’d imagined it had been because of the fire. She waited and waited until days stretched into weeks and weeks into months. She waited even after learning Leo had left the country. He would send for her, she’d thought.

  But he never did.

  He’d promised he would marry her, and now he promised he would find a way to prevent her marriage. It was too late to believe in him. It hurt too much to be wrong.

  She walked at his side, not touching him, her cape wrapped around her like a shield against him.