by Carola Dunn
Bertram's curricle was outside, and a moment later Enid announced, “Lord Pomeroy, miss."
“What the devil are you doing on the floor, Horace?” enquired his lordship languidly. “Lost something? I daresay Miss Sutton will not mind if you continue to search while she goes to the park with me."
Red-faced and spluttering, Horace scrambled to his feet.
“No, no, it's nothing to signify,” he muttered, trying in an irritated way to smooth the sagging knees of his mustard-yellow inexpressibles.
Suppressing a half hysterical giggle, Claire hoped that at least he would be deterred from making a second offer by the damage to his nether garments.
“I'll fetch my parasol,” she said gratefully. “Pray excuse me, Miss Harrison, a long-standing engagement."
As she hurried out of the room, Bertram winked at her. He was really quite human when one came to know him better, she thought.
She heard Horace's petulant voice behind her. “Amelia and I will walk with you, though I really ought to go home to change."
She continued upstairs to her chamber, secure in the knowledge that Bertram was more than capable of nipping his cousin's plans in the bud. Nor, with his exquisite courtesy, would he ever put her to the blush by referring to what had all too obviously been a proposal of marriage.
He had saved her from having to reply, but Horace would surely try again if he was after her fortune. She wished she could consult George on the best way to deter an unwanted suitor. She had not seen him for a whole week, and she missed him more than she cared to admit to herself.
She found her parasol, bonnet, shawl and gloves, then paused to study her face in the mirror. The most beautiful girls only attracted George's passing fancy, and she was too old and too plain to aspire even to that brief happiness. She had dared to count him a friend but he had been gone for a week, without a word. Had the gazetted flirt moved on to greener pastures?
Chapter XV—George
“I am not yet in my dotage,” snapped Mrs Tilliot. “Really, George, I have no need of a footstool, let alone another cushion."
“No, love, but you are cross as a bear with a sore head so I know you are tired from the journey. Sometimes I cannot help wishing my ancestors had chosen to settle a little nearer London."
“Bah, four days on the road is nothing nowadays. I remember the first time I went from here to Bellingham with your parents. A good week's travel it was, and none of these newfangled springs on the carriage. Now, I can see you are itching to be off. I mean to retire early so I shall see you at breakfast."
“Yes, ma'am.” George saluted his elderly cousin with a warm kiss on her wrinkled cheek and went out, calling for his hat and gloves.
It was a balmy April evening and he was brimming with energy despite the journey to Northumberland and back. He decided to walk to Portman Square. He had been gone for nine days; another quarter hour was neither here nor there.
Besides, it would take longer to have his curricle brought round.
When he reached the Suttons’ house he was disappointed to see that no light showed in the parlour window. Surely it was too early for them to have retired. But of course, they would be in the back parlour, in those comfortable chairs he had argued Pomeroy into joining with him to purchase. From one gentleman the gift must have appeared too particular. From two, it was odd but acceptable.
Strictly speaking, it was not proper for a single gentleman to call on single ladies in the evening. George had not done it before. To hell with propriety, he thought. He could not wait until tomorrow. He knocked.
No response. He knocked again.
The area door, down the steps to his right, opened and he heard Molly's soft country voice.
“There, I told you as it were our knocker. Go on, Enid, hurry up. She's just a-comin', sir."
Moments later the front door opened on a flurried maid, still adjusting her cap.
“Beg pardon, sir. We wasn't expecting no one. Oh, ’tis your lordship! The misses is out. Gone to a grand ball, they ‘ave. Second one this week!"
So Bertram had summoned Lady Caroline and she was already at work, successfully. It was the only explanation. Feeling deflated, he cursed the ancestor who had planted the family's roots at the northernmost end of the kingdom.
“Do you know where they went?” he asked Enid.
“France ... Spain ... lessee ... ah, ‘Olland, it were. Lady ‘Olland's dress ball."
“Kensington,” groaned George. On the far side of Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, and he was on foot. “Thank you, Enid,” he said dispiritedly, and plodded off to find a hackney.
He had no idea whether he had been invited to the ball, but experience told him that whatever his reputation no gentleman so eligible was in the least likely to be refused admittance.
Such proved to be the case. The receiving line had already broken up but a footman ushered him into the ballroom. He looked around for his host or hostess, to announce his presence, and spotted the youthful heir to the barony. The Honorable Henry Fox, down from the university for his mother's ball, was hovering close to a familiar figure: Lizzie, a vision in white crape embroidered with forget-me-nots.
He made his way to her side.
“Geo ... Lord Winterborne! What a pleasant surprise! Are you a Whig? Mr Fox has been telling me about his mama's celebrated political salon. Do you know Miss Marchmont?” She turned to the dark young lady sitting beside her. “We are the greatest friends."
“Chatterbox,” said George, smiling at her. He bowed to Miss Marchmont, who fluttered her eyelashes at him with an experimental air. “I hope you have reserved a dance for me, Miss Elizabeth."
“Why no, for I did not know you would be here. But Mr Fox has two. Perhaps he will give up one if you ask him nicely."
Mr Fox stammered his willingness, overwhelmed at the attention from so notable a Corinthian. Then he stammered again as he tried to explain to Lizzie that he did not mean to suggest that he was happy to surrender the pleasure of dancing with her. George admired the way she extricated the lad from his involved explanation. He took her dance card.
“All your waltzes are free,” he pointed out.
“I have not yet been given permission to waltz,” she said sadly. “Claire does, though, so you must ask her. Here she comes. She was afraid you must be ill, when you were gone so long."
As George turned, a flood of warmth swept from his middle to the tips of every finger and toe and up to the top of his head. Claire had worried about him, his heart sang. He had not meant to distress her, had not thought to warn her that he was going out of town. For too long no one had cared about his comings and goings.
She was on Pomeroy's arm. George drew in his breath when he saw her, noting the dawning joy in her grey eyes, the smile that curved those delicate lips, the gleam of candlelight in her hair. She had never looked lovelier. Belatedly he realised that she was also elegant, clad in flowing amethyst silk. He had always known that concealed beneath the shapeless brown wool was a delectably slender figure.
“I always knew that you were beautiful,” he murmured, pressing her fingers to his lips, wishing her glove and her companion to the devil.
Pomeroy glared at him as they exchanged polite greetings. George wondered what his face had revealed.
He waltzed with her and she was light as a feather in his arms. It passed in a dream, over before he had time to savour it. He watched her dance with other men, delighting in her poise and grace even as he longed to challenge them. Then he led Lizzie into a country dance and she brought him back to earth.
“Doesn't Claire look pretty tonight?” she asked. “I don't know what you said to her about her clothes, but it worked. I believe Bertram will come up to scratch after all."
She sounded wistful. George thought she must be wondering what she would do when her sister was married to a man she was forever at odds with. She must be wed by then, and if none of the young sprigs had the wit to see what a prize she was, then he would of
fer himself. He would be able to watch over Claire then; he'd have some right to intervene if Pomeroy did not treat her well.
What made him clench his fists in helpless anger, to the alarm of the demure miss with whom he linked his arm at that moment, was that he did not believe Pomeroy appreciated Claire's worth. He wanted a pleasant, peaceable wife, and that was what he would get. Claire was capable of so much more.
George could not wish his brother's happiness undone, but he could wish that Amaryllis Hartwell was not its cause. It would be the act of a scoundrel to steal a second bride from the unfortunate Lord Pomeroy.
Not wanting to draw the tattlemongers’ attention to the Misses Sutton, he stood up for a few dances with other young ladies before he set out to walk back to Bellingham House. Though tired by now, he was restless, his feelings confused. It was not as if he was in love with Claire, after all, or he would scarce consider marrying her sister. He was physically attracted to her, and he had wanted to shield her ever since he carried her into her home to be met by her scolding mother. He enjoyed her company, respected her competence in her chosen field, and admired her successful protection of Lizzie. Anything else could be put down to the fact that she was the first available female he had met since changing his views on marriage. He clearly recalled his words to Amaryllis when she had asked why he was still a bachelor.
“With my brother's example before me,” he had said, “I could not screw my courage to the sticking point. Now if you were to provide a pattern-card of domestic felicity, I might change my mind and stick my head into parson's mousetrap after all."
He had hinted the same to his father. He was ready to take a wife, and Claire fulfilled all the requirements. That was all there was to it. Doubtless once he started to look about him, he would find a dozen other suitable young ladies.
By the time he reached home he had persuaded himself that he was happy to have two charming friends in Claire and Lizzie. He would do his best to smooth their lives until they married, and then he would find himself a bride and settle down to produce an heir.
Mrs Tilliot looked fit and spry as ever when he joined her at the breakfast table next morning.
“Did you see your Miss Suttons last night?” she asked as he kissed her cheek in his customary greeting.
“Yes, after walking over half London in search of them.” He loaded his plate with eggs, kidneys, ham and sausage and sat down beside her as a footman brought in fresh toast. “They are less in need of your assistance than I supposed.” He explained that Lady Caroline Carfax had already achieved their introduction to the Ton.
“Caroline Carfax? Ah yes, Tatenhill's daughter. A ninnyhammer but a good-hearted girl."
“You know her?"
“You must remember, George, that poor Tilliot and I lived in London, and afterwards I spent every Season here with your parents. I knew Lady Tatenhill before her marriage, though her maiden name escapes me. Always shockingly high in the instep. So Caroline Pomeroy has done our work for us, eh?"
“So it seems, except that something Lizzie said makes me think they have no hopes of Almack's."
“Aha, just let me have a word with Sally Fane."
“Lady Jersey? You know Silence too? You astonish me, Tillie."
Mrs Tilliot snorted with laughter. “She always was a talkative creature, even as a small child. Yes, your dear mother and I knew little Sally's mama intimately. Ann Fane's father was a banker, you know, Robert Child. The poor dear had a difficult time of it, Countess of Westmorland though she became, until the Marchioness of Bellingham took her up. Ann inherited the bank, and her daughter owns it now, I collect, for all she's so set against the taint of trade. Explains her being such a high stickler, I daresay, that and her Gretna marriage. I've no doubt Sally ... what's her name now?...will be happy to do me a small favour."
“Lady Jersey. Now I come to think of it, Jersey breeds his own hunters in Oxfordshire. He must know Sir James Sutton well, I imagine. I shall take you to call on her this morning."
“Lud, no. I am too old to be running all over town paying visits. You shall go this morning and fetch your Miss Suttons to me, and while you are gone I shall make a list of people to invite to my at-home. It is by far the easiest way to advertise my arrival, and it will serve as a formal introduction for your Miss Suttons. None of your scrambling modern manners."
“Yes, ma'am,” said George obediently, “but I beg you will not refer to them as my Miss Suttons. It makes me feel like an Eastern potentate with a harem."
“Not too far from the truth, if there is anything in the rumours by the time they reach Northumberland."
“Tillie, I am shocked! Besides, I have given up the muslin company since Daniel found himself a respectable match."
“No wonder you are so fidgety then. Go out and find yourself a high-flyer, boy."
George put his hands over his ears, grinning. “Scrambling modern manners and niminy-piminy modern tongues."
“Oh, be off with you!” ordered his cousin.
George had not attempted at the Hollands’ ball to explain his absence to the Suttons. As he knocked on the door of the house in Portman Square, he decided not to tell Claire immediately but to wait and see if she asked. He was in no way accountable to her. Besides, he did not want her to feel herself under an obligation because he had gone all that way just to do her a favour.
If she did not ask, Lizzie was bound to.
Claire was alone in the front parlour. She glanced up from her book as Enid announced, “It's ‘is lordship, miss."
“George!” She smiled and held out her hand. “Come and sit down. Enid, send Molly down, if you please."
“Is Lizzie still abed?” he asked, his disobedient heart jumping as he took her hand in his. No gloves this morning. Her fingers burned him.
“On the contrary, she has already left for the Marchmonts. There is more room for her admirers in their drawing room."
Her soft laugh tore at his self-control. He wanted to cradle her in his arms, brush his lips across hers, teach her the meaning of passion. Molly came in. He sat down.
Tillie was right: he must find himself a ladybird.
“So Lizzie has collected a multitude of beaux, has she?” He forced his voice to display casual interest. He was not used to dissembling.
“Yes, but they are almost all boys, and half of them she shares with Nell Marchmont. There is little hope of marriage. Still, she is enjoying herself excessively."
“I am glad Lady Caroline has been so successful. I needn't have gone all the way to Northumberland.” The words escaped him, half against his will.
“Is that where you were? What has your journey to do with Lady Caroline?"
“I went to fetch my Cousin Tillie, hoping that she might help you introduce Lizzie to the Ton."
“Then it was a plot! I suspected it, but I did not like to ask Bertram. Was it your idea?"
“Yes.” He tried to sound modest. “But Pomeroy's execution was better. He beat me in the curricle race too."
“By a few feet. And Oxfordshire is closer by two hundred miles. It was your idea, and that is what counts."
“You are kind to say so, but you must allow Bertram credit for adopting my idea when he must have wished me at the devil for coming up with it first."
“So you think he has serious intentions of offering for Lizzie?"
“For Lizzie?” The modest darling thought it was her sister Pomeroy was after! “I must not dare venture an opinion."
“She does tease him so, though she is very good in public. She has been trying to persuade him to waltz with her, despite not having permission, and you know what a stickler he is for observing the conventions."
“If anyone can shake him from his orthodoxy, it will be Lizzie. However, she may not need to. Tillie vows she can obtain vouchers for Almack's for you."
“George! Lizzie will be aux anges!"
“And you?"
“It will be interesting to see what it is like."
; “I somehow doubted that you would be overwhelmed at the honour,” he said drily. “You must not tell Lizzie until it is certain. Will you come and meet Tillie now? I have strict orders not to return without you."
“I am expecting callers,” she said with a doubtful frown.
Though he would have preferred to smooth away the wrinkles with his fingertips, he limited himself to words. “Unless you have promised to be at home, you need not let that concern you. You must learn that nothing increases interest like occasional unavailability."
“I find I enjoy entertaining visitors,” she confided, “even though most of the gentlemen talk of nothing but horses. But I should like to meet your cousin and I have no definite engagement until Bertram comes at four to take me to the park. Most people have left by then, you see, except Horace Harrison, who will stay on and on. Bertram protects me from his importunities. I daresay he feels in some sort responsible since Mr Harrison is his cousin. I shan't keep you waiting above a minute."
She hurried from the room before George could demand details of Harrison's importunities. By the time she returned, he had recollected that it was none of his affair.
* * * *
Mrs Tilliot was favourably impressed by Miss Sutton.
“A delightful girl,” she told George later. “I can't say I didn't have misgivings. However, it's clear she's not one of your lightskirts and even if she had proved as vulgar as I feared, I'd have done my best to establish her, for your sake. She confessed that her sister is a trifle outspoken, but I ain't mealymouthed myself. I don't pretend to know what you are about, but I like the girl and I'll do what I can for the two of them."
George was left speechless.
For his own peace of mind, he deliberately avoided Claire during the following week. It was not easy, for she spent a great deal of time at Bellingham House, helping Tillie prepare for her party. After losing the caterer's estimate, Lizzie was dismissed from this task, so he took it upon himself to keep a fatherly eye on her while her sister was occupied.
He was therefore extremely annoyed when, in the middle of the at-home, Lady Caroline took him aside to berate him.