by Joan Smith
Francesca moved her glasses away hastily before he saw her. Not that he appeared interested in anything but the woman he was with! She felt a raging inside that she hadn’t felt since her first knowledge of David’s perfidy. Men were all alike! Bad enough they had their unsavory affairs, but to be parading their women in front of respectable people! Her chest heaved in vexation.
She jumped in surprise when Mr. Irwin reached out and touched her shoulder. “Nothing on this side. Did you have any luck?”
“No.”
“Shall we go out for a glass of wine?”
“I would rather remain here, thank you. One meets such unsavory types wandering the halls.” Types like Devane, and his mistress.
“I’ll bring you a glass, shall I?”
“Thank you, if you will be so kind.” Mr. Caine and Miss Irwin had left, but the Grants remained behind to keep Lady Camden company. Their chatter was all about the play. “I wouldn’t have missed it for a wilderness of monkeys,” Mrs. Grant said.
Mr. Grant fancied he knew what the more demanding critics would think. “It is good enough entertainment, but one can hardly call it a play,” he objected. “Poor Kemble owes the theater proprietors a fortune, and is reduced to such ‘draws’ as this. We shan’t see Macbeth or Lear for many a long month, I fear.”
“That’s good, then,” his wife said bluntly. “Did you see the elephant butt that actor with his trunk? I thought he would come tumbling off the stage. Isn’t it marvelous, Lady Camden?”
“Lovely.”
The Grants’ excited chatter concealed any lack of enthusiasm on Francesca’s part. She would never hear the word elephant again without seeing that white shoulder with the ringed hand gripping it. The lips touching that white shoulder ... A shiver ran across her scalp. She could almost feel those lips caressing her own flesh. Horrid, wanton man. Such intimate pleasures should be restricted to the boudoir—and to marriage.
Mr. Irwin returned with the wine, and the conversation continued to revolve around the play. “I fear it signals the end of drama as we know it” was Mr. Caine’s opinion. “It is fatally easy for the public taste to be degraded, but to raise it again—it is all but impossible. What will Kemble show us next year? Wild tigers, monkeys? It don’t bear thinking about.”
At the last intermission Mr. Irwin again suggested a stroll, and again Lady Camden declined, adding, “You go ahead, Mr. Irwin.”
“But I cannot leave you alone. The others have left.”
There was a commotion at the door of their box, and a young couple entered. It was Sir Bedford and Lady Harcourt, friends of Francesca’s. Mr. Irwin could then leave with honor.
“We spotted you across the hall and had to drop in.” Lady Harcourt smiled. “Delicious play, is it not?”
“Very amusing, and so unusual,” Francesca replied. “I have never seen an elephant before.”
They chatted for two or three minutes. The Harcourts wished to visit other friends as well but did not like to leave Francesca alone. When the door opened and another caller entered, they hastily took their leave. Francesca looked into the shadows to see who was calling and saw Lord Devane. Her heart began hammering. She thought of running out after the Harcourts, but it was too late. They were gone.
Devane’s severe face was wearing a smile as it emerged from the shadows into the front of the box. “Good evening, Lady Camden. Aren’t I fortunate to find you alone? I had not looked for such luck as that.”
Her lips thinned, her nostrils pinched, and her voice was frosty. “Good evening, Lord Devane.”
“You must be the only lady in the house who is not smiling at this delightful performance,” he said, tilting his head playfully to examine her. Oh, yes, she had seen him with Marie, right enough. Why else would she be looking daggers at him? Excellent!
“Do you think so? I doubt your partner is smiling, to see you desert her at the intermission.”
“I did not leave her alone. Marie is with friends.”
“She is not with the gentleman who brought her.”
“Nor are you. It is remiss of Mr. Irwin to leave you alone.”
“I was not alone! I was with my friends, till you chased them away.”
“I was under the impression they were just leaving. May I?” He put his hand on the back of the chair next to her, and sat down without waiting for permission. Obviously he could not leave her alone. “What has put you in such a pucker, ma’am? Am I about to hear how Kemble has set drama back a hundred years?”
“It’s not exactly Shakespeare, is it?”
“For small mercies, let us be thankful. The best Shakespeare could do for us was a bear—in The Winter’s Tale.”
“If you want to see wild animals, you should go to the Exeter Exchange,” she snipped, pulling her shawl about her shoulders.
“One monkey is much like another, and one tires of that hippopotamus. I am always willing to settle for a wildcat,” he added with a bold grin as his eyes moved over her face, lingering a moment on her eyes, her nose, and, lastly, her lips.
“If you expect to see me bare my claws in public, you will be disappointed. Some things ought to be done in private,” she said, glaring.
“That is easily arranged.”
“Then might I suggest you take her to your pied-a-terre on the Chelsea Road and arrange it, sir? We came to see the play onstage, not in the boxes.”
“You have obviously been casting your glasses in the wrong direction, ma’am. My box is some yards away from the stage.” He glanced across the hall to it. “Fairly dark, too. I am flattered that you singled it out for your attentions. Had I known, I would have behaved more discreetly.”
“I doubt that.”
“There’s still one act to go. You will observe--through your glasses—that I behave with the utmost discretion. Mind you, I cannot speak for my partner. Marie is hot-blooded.”
Francesca’s own blood was in some danger of boiling, but her face looked frozen. She was happy for an interruption, yet not entirely happy either. She enjoyed this verbal jousting with Lord Devane. If only she could get the better of him! “Ah, here is Mr. Irwin, returned with wine. I suggest you return to Marie before her blood reaches the boil. Good evening, sir. So kind of you to keep me company.”
“I fear I speak the simple truth when I say the pleasure was all mine, madam.” He bowed gracefully, nodded to Mr. Irwin, and left.
“What the devil was Devane doing here?” Mr. Irwin asked. His concern was for the competition this illustrious gentleman presented. He could see, however, that Lady Camden was displeased with the visit.
“He stopped by to say good evening.”
“I had the impression, last evening, that he didn’t know you that well.”
Lady Camden’s eyes flew to his in chagrin. “What do you mean, last evening? Was he asking about me?”
“Just a word in passing. We happened to meet at Brooke’s Club. He had seen me with Caine—your name came up somehow or other. He mentioned the lovely lady he had seen with Mr. Caine—something of the sort. I remember you particularly discouraged me from asking his help.”
“We met only a few days ago. I did not want you to pester a mere acquaintance. What did he say about me?”
“Now, it is nothing to get in a pucker over, my dear. He scarcely mentioned your name, I promise you. You need not fear him. He is no prude, but he would never dishonor a lady of unsullied reputation. He has lightskirts enough without ruining ladies. Well, he is a bachelor after all, and a highly eligible one, too. He owns St. Alban’s Abbey and an estate in Somerset, to say nothing of his hunting box and London mansion.”
Francesca was gratified to hear she had drawn the attention of such a wealthy gentleman, and let the matter drop.
“Who is he with this evening, I wonder?” Mr. Irwin asked. Francesca directed him to the proper box but was careful not to look within a right angle of it herself for the remainder of the evening. She suspected Lord Devane might be casting an occasional glance
at her, however, and began flirting discreetly with Mr. Irwin.
Lord Devane did indeed take an occasional glance, no more. He was too clever, and too proud, to make a cake of himself. He divined her trick, and knew he had caught her interest. When the play was over, their two parties went to separate hotels to dine, and they did not see each other again that evening. Mrs. Denver had retired by the time Francesca got home, so she went directly to bed.
The evening had been a dead loss so far as finding the necklace was concerned, but Lady Camden was by no means in the mopes. She was young enough to be elated at having caught the interest of the Season’s most eligible bachelor. Her first fear of not being able to handle him diminished when Mr. Irwin assured her his reputation was good. Perhaps she would flirt with him a little next time they met. But she would never marry someone like him. One David in a lifetime was more than enough.
Chapter Seven
Mrs. Denver was happy to see her charge in good spirits the next morning. “Any luck at the theater?” she asked eagerly.
“No sign of the necklace, but the play was very interesting. They had a live elephant onstage, Mrs. Denver. You really must go to see it.”
“It sounds dangerous. What if it got loose?”
“It didn’t. Mr. Irwin is visiting the jewelers’ shops this morning to try to get a lead on the necklace.”
“How kind of him.” Mr. Irwin appeared to be gaining favor. She must learn more about him from Mr. Caine before the thing became serious. “Are you driving out with him later?” she asked.
“No. I shall stay home today. Truth to tell, I am tired of racketing around town.”
“You have been trotting pretty hard,” Mrs. Denver agreed, and hid her astonishment as well as she could. This didn’t look like infatuation. Mrs. Denver felt no invitation had been extended, but when—if—it was, Fran would no doubt accept. To her surprise, Francesca did nothing of the sort. Mr. Irwin did stop by and invite her out, but she refused two or three times, till at last he accepted her decision.
“You ought not to have refused just because he failed to find out anything from the jewelers, Fran,” Mrs. Denver admonished Frankie. “The man is doing his best. He spent his entire morning working for you.”
“Oh, was I rude?” she asked. “I shall drive out the next time he calls.”
“Why did you not go today?”
“I don’t feel like going out, with this necklace business hanging over my head,” Francesca replied, and hoped her aunt would not inquire further. To herself she admitted that what kept her home was the possibility that Lord Devane might call. He had not asked for permission to do so, but then, he was of that class that hardly required permission. A call from Lord Devane was considered an honor.
The hour from two to three dragged by, and Francesca was obliged to pretend satisfaction with her dull day. She leafed desultorily through fashion magazines but could not settle down to anything more demanding. At three on the dot the knocker sounded, and she leapt in her chair. “Who can that be?”
“Probably Mr. Caine,” Mrs. Denver said. She did not recognize Lord Devane’s deep voice, but Francesca did, and assumed a bored expression, but with a telltale glitter in her eyes.
Francesca overcame all her reluctance to leave the house, and sent off for her bonnet and pelisse as soon as Devane mentioned a drive in the park. Mrs. Denver could only stare in surprised dismay. He was hardly the sort Fran usually had her harmless little flings with. An acknowledged man-about-town—what could he want with Fran? He was not shoddy enough to be planning anything disreputable, and she was not high enough for it to have the air of a serious courting. It troubled Mrs. Denver, especially Fran’s air of excitement. That was why she had refused to drive out with Mr. Irwin! How contrary the girl was.
“Hyde Park is in the other direction, Lord Devane,” Francesca pointed out when Devane headed his horses west on Oxford Street toward Tiburn Road.
“I planned a spin in the country, if that meets with your approval, ma’am,” he answered blandly. “Last night I displeased you, carrying on in public. Let my reputation recover before we are seen together.”
“Curiously enough, the gentleman’s reputation never does seem to suffer, does it?” she replied,
“No, it doesn’t. There is certainly an inequity in there somewhere.”
“An iniquity, I would say.”
“You begrudge us our social latitude, do you?” he joked, but listened closely for her reply.
“It has always struck me as very unfair.”
“There is an easy way around the injustice for you. Ladies in your position must just be a little more careful. So long as they are married or widowed, they are allowed a fair amount of freedom. It is flaunting their affairs in the face of the world that finishes them.”
“I was not talking about myself in particular. I merely think that if gentlemen can misbehave without censure, ladies ought to have the same privilege.”
He turned a clever eye on her. “That would be your solution? Some people think gentlemen ought to be forced to behave more properly.”
“No one has taught a dog to fly yet, so far as I know.” She shrugged.
“You are remarkably lenient, ma’am. You remove the burden of guilt from us. We are doing only as Nature ordained; birds fly, fish swim, and man—alas!—”
Francesca spoke up rapidly to prevent his finishing that questionable speech, “I was not speaking of all gentlemen, Lord Devane, but only of rakes—of which I am sure you are not one,” she added, blushing, for the conversation was taking a turn she had not anticipated and did not like.
“And men admire beautiful women is what I was going to say,” he finished, mockingly demure.
Francesca looked around for a new subject and made do with the weather. “What a lovely day it is.” A coven of witch-black birds hovered in the blue sky over a spreading elm, and disappeared into its leafy branches. As they proceeded beyond London, the traffic lessened and greenery stretched on both sides, smiling in the sunlight. Farms and cottages dotted the roadside. Men and horses worked peacefully in the fields. “It reminds me of White Oaks, my home in Surrey,” she mentioned. “Where is your home, Lord Devane?”
“In Kent,” he answered briefly.
“I think Mr. Irwin mentioned you have another estate as well?”
“Yes, also a hunting box in the Cotswold Hills and a mansion in London. There, it is all on the line,” he said, studying her closely.
Lord Devane was aware that there were two ways of carrying on affairs. Members of the muslin company expected more in the way of cash. Ladies of quality, unless they were purse-pinched, were allowed the luxury of pretending indifference to money and taking their payment in jewelry. He expected Francesca would fall into the latter category. Her wishing to discuss his assets sounded like fishing to learn what she might get out of him. It displeased him, and when Devane was displeased, his eyebrows pulled into a frown over his eyes.
“You don’t seem very pleased about being so wealthy,” she charged.
“It does please me. I appreciate money as much as the next one. It allows one the finer things in life.”
“This is a very fine carriage,” she said. “It hardly jostles at all.”
“It is the team that make it seem smoother than it is. And of course the driver,” he added with a grin. “Do you drive, Lady Camden?”
“Only the jig, back on Papa’s farm. I’ve never had my own phaeton. My late husband was not so very well off. His father has a good deal of money, I believe, but Lord Maundley is a shocking skint.”
He drew off the side of the road, under a tall oak, and turned to her, his expression suddenly serious. Sunlight dappled her face through the moving branches, lending her a restless quality. “It must have been very difficult for you, losing your husband when you were practically newlyweds.”
Any mention of David set Francesca’s hackles up. She disliked posing as a heartbroken widow, but of course she did not parade his
perfidy in front of any but her dearest friends. Even her own family had no idea of it. “It was a trying time,” she said in a cool voice.
Devane assumed she was still not totally recovered, and immediately rushed on to speak of other things. “The reason I stopped the carriage, I thought you might like to try the ribbons.”
“No, thank you. When I make a fool of myself, I prefer to do it in private.”
“I am here to help you.”
“Your team is too lively for a beginner.”
“I did not expect such reluctance to take a chance from the dashing Frankie Devlin,” he jeered.
“I take a chance only when it is myself, or my possessions, that are at stake. The team is yours. If I crippled them, I would be in your debt. I have debts enough without incurring new ones,” she added, thinking of the necklace. I will expect you to make retribution. David had told her the diamonds were worth five thousand guineas.
So the lady had tumbled into debt! Was that the cause of her straying? “Gambling?” he asked bluntly. His voice was harsh, and his dark eyes stared hard into hers.
“No! I don’t gamble beyond a friendly game of whist.”
“How did you fall into debt, then?”
His tone, as much as his words, angered her. “Pray, do not concern yourself about my personal problems,” she said, holding her head high.
“I hope to make your problems my problems, Lady Camden. I confess, I have an aversion to ladies’ gambling beyond their means.”
“Another vice reserved for gentlemen,’’ she snipped, eyes flashing. To his considerable astonishment, she completely ignored his hint at shouldering her problems. “Well, are we going to continue this drive, or sit here all day arguing?”