A Regency Scandal

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  “Do you wish to resume dancing, Miss Somerby?” he asked presently. “Or would you prefer to sit the rest out? I must say, though, ma’am, that I shall consider myself prodigiously ill-used if you don’t grant me another dance to replace the one I’ve just lost!”

  James frowned at the intimate tone in which this was said; but he had no opportunity just then to comment on it, as both he and Shaldon were occupied in apologising for their tardy appearance to their host and hostess. Helen disclaimed any intention of returning immediately to the floor, so Henry Lydney stayed chatting with the group until the dance was over.

  The arrival of Mr. Somerby had certainly not escaped Melissa’s notice. She wished fervently that she, too, could escape from her present partner — a pleasant enough gentleman who seemed as if he admired her — and rush across to greet the one person whom she most wished to see. But it was not to be thought of; she had no valid excuse for behaving in the way that her feelings dictated. She was obliged to finish the dance, though ah her attention was now centred on the group near the door. When they moved away to sit down, her eyes followed them, and her replies to her partner’s efforts at conversation became increasingly absentminded. At the conclusion of the dance, she sketched him a hurried curtsey which certainly did not conform to the rules of etiquette so carefully taught her; then moved purposefully across the room before he was able even to begin on his civil speech of thanks for the honour. The unfortunate young gentleman could only conclude that Miss Chetwode, whom he had previously considered such a pretty-behaved young lady, must suddenly be feeling unwell. And so in a way she was, but the malady was one which might easily enough be cured by a certain young doctor.

  It was some time before her previous commitments allowed her to accept James as a partner. In the interval, she tried not to allow her eyes to follow him round the room. Her thoughts, however, were not so easily disciplined; and more than one of her partners wondered why it was so difficult to interest her in even the most trivial of polite conversational exchanges, and reflected what a pity it was that such a pretty girl should be so stupid.

  She scarcely managed any better with James Somerby at first. He decided that she must be shy, and determined to break through the barrier by shock tactics.

  “And how have you been amusing yourself lately, Miss Chetwode?” he asked, smiling down at her. “I suppose you must have quite given up your old trick of tumbling off high walls?”

  The ruse succeeded, for a spark of mischief came into her eyes.

  “Ungenerous, Mr. Somerby! I only wish I knew of some youthful escapade with which to taunt you!”

  “Ah, but you see I must find some device for making you talk to me — unless you prefer to dance in silence, that is. Possibly you think that more dignified?”

  “Well, I daresay it may be, but your sister will tell you that I don’t often study for dignity,” she replied, flashing a quick smile at him. “I’m sorry if you find me a poor conversationalist, sir.”

  He shook his head. “No such thing — now you are started, you go on charmingly. Which is just what I would have expected.”

  At this point they parted to follow the movements of the dance down the room, and the brief interval allowed Melissa an opportunity to take a firmer hold on her emotions. If one wished to captivate a gentleman, she reminded herself, the way to do it certainly did not lie in downcast looks and shy responses. And she did wish — oh, so much! — to make him think of her, to find her way into his heart. So for the remainder of the dance she made a strong effort to appear her normal lively self; and if her brown eyes at times held a deeper message than her carefree words conveyed, this only served her purpose better. When James Somerby parted from her at the conclusion of the dance, his reluctance was evident, and he begged for the favour to be repeated later on in the evening. Melissa, knowing it would be more proper to refuse yet unable to do so, replied demurely that perhaps she could spare him a dance after supper.

  “And who’s the lucky fellow who will take you in to supper?” asked James, never slow to seize an opportunity.

  “I believe Mama has arranged for my brother to do that.”

  “And doubtless for me to partner my own sister?”

  Melissa nodded.

  “A poor notion, if you’ll forgive my saying so. Who wishes to converse with his own sister when he might enjoy the company of someone else’s? I’m sure that Chetwode would agree with me. Shall I ask him?”

  Melissa felt helpless before this masterful onslaught. “Oh, dear,” she said, weakly. “I’m not at all sure that Mama will like it.”

  “Then we must rely on your brother to persuade her.” He glanced across the room to where Philip Chetwode was standing with a group of young people surrounding Helen. “I don’t think he will be altogether averse to the change.”

  “Oh, no! He admires Helen extremely,” replied Melissa, impulsively.

  James looked at the group again, frowning as he noticed Henry Lydney’s close proximity to his sister.

  “And not the only one, seemingly. It appears Nell is becoming a flirt.”

  “She is not!” Melissa’s quick temper took wing, stung by loyalty. “How can you say so? Just because she is admired by several gentlemen — and she doesn’t make the least push to secure their interest! — She is just her own sweet, unaffected self!”

  He smiled at her, the warmth spreading to his eyes.

  “Here’s a termagant,” he teased. “But your loyalty does you credit, ma’am. Be easy. I know my own sister. And perhaps I am beginning to know you, though not as well as I could wish. Say I’m forgiven?”

  He put out his hand and she placed hers within it. For a moment they stood thus, looking into each other’s eyes.

  “Quite affecting,” said a voice close beside them. “But do you realise, Melissa, that the floor is clearing, and you must soon provide a vastly amusing peep show if you do not move on?”

  They turned sharply to see Cynthia Lydney standing there. She had just turned away from her previous partner and was walking across the room to rejoin her party.

  James released Melissa’s hand and bowed curtly.

  “ ’Servant, Miss Lydney.”

  “Oh, Mr. Somerby — or should I call you Doctor Somerby?” Cynthia replied, in a careless tone. “I’m never sure of the etiquette in such matters, as I number so few medical men among my acquaintance.” She looked him over with a bold, arrogant glance. “Dear me, you are vastly changed since last we met, but I knew you instantly.”

  He bowed again. “Whereas I find you little changed, ma’am.”

  “I scarce know whether to be flattered or displeased at that remark, sir,” she said, archly.

  “Oh, you must know I’m a poor hand at flattery,” he returned coolly. “But permit me to find you ladies a chair.”

  During this interchange, Melissa had said nothing. At first she had been too overcome with embarrassment at Cynthia’s opening remark; but the subsequent jibe at Mr. Somerby’s profession had so roused her that now she dared not trust herself to open her lips. She closed them firmly, directing such an unloving look on Cynthia that Helen, seeing the three approaching, guessed at once that Cynthia must have let fly one of her poisonous barbs.

  Fortunately Cynthia declined the offer of a seat next to Helen and Melissa, returning instead to her mother’s side, where a hopeful group of young gentlemen still lingered. Characteristically, James wasted no time in setting his plans into motion, and everything was soon arranged to his and Philip Chetwode’s satisfaction.

  Soon after his arrival Shaldon has approached Helen during one of the intervals between dances. She was sitting with Lady Chetwode, Melissa and Catherine, but several gentlemen were standing beside them, among these Philip Chetwode and Henry Lydney.

  “Dear me,” began Shaldon, leaning towards her with a smile, “how difficult it is to secure an audience with you, ma’am. And I daresay it’s quite useless to beg for the honour of standing up with you for the next danc
e?”

  She had not previously seen him since the evening at the Opera, and she was still feeling a trifle out of charity with him; but when he smiled down at her so engagingly, she found it hard to resist an answering smile.

  “I fear it is, sir. I am promised until supper.”

  “And if you’re thinking of asking to take Miss Somerby to supper, Shaldon,” put in Philip, grinning, “let me warn you that I’ve been before you there.”

  “So I’m thoroughly dished, am I? Well, ma’am, I shall consider it uncommonly shabby if you don’t save one dance for me afterwards — for old times’ sake, shall we say?”

  She promised; and seeing that private conversation between them was impossible at present, he moved on to do his duty by Melissa. She, too, was engaged for the moment, so he left the group to seek a partner elsewhere.

  His eye was caught by Cynthia Lydney, flaunting herself among the group of dazzled admirers a little distance away. He would have passed by; but she hailed him in a commanding tone, so he approached her, and soon was leading her out to dance.

  “I noticed you came late,” she said to him, as they moved down the line of dancers. “I really cannot blame you. An insipid affair, is it not? But one must attend, I suppose, when one’s been so long acquainted with people.”

  “Why do you think it insipid?”

  She shrugged, the movement displaying an intriguing glimpse of cleavage which was not intended to escape his notice.

  “Oh, it’s so slow! Nothing but country dances and the cotillion. I intend to have the waltz at my ball.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “The deuce you do! And Lady Lydney will permit that?”

  “I’ve no notion, as I haven’t yet mentioned it. I dare say Mama may not quite like the notion, but I usually get my way in the end. I can always twist Papa round my little finger, at all events.”

  “I recall that you could do so as a child,” he replied, drily.

  “A grown woman has even more influence, Lord Shaldon, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That would depend on the woman.”

  She gave him one of her provocative glances.

  “Am I to understand by that, sir, that you don’t consider me to be the kind of woman to influence men?”

  “Since you ask, I consider you’re the kind of woman who is very well aware of her powers, ma’am.”

  “I see you don’t intend to flatter,” she replied, making full use of her dark eyes again. “Possibly you reserve that for certain other females of your acquaintance.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing him frown before they were parted by the movements of the dance. When they came together again, he determinedly steered the conversation away from any personal topics in spite of all her efforts in the contrary direction. Nevertheless, he found himself responding instinctively to her feminine allure, as on that evening when he had dined with her family in Berkeley Street.

  Something of this must have shown in his manner; for Cynthia looked complacent, and Helen, watching them from time to time as she herself danced with Lord Calcot, felt a slight lowering of spirits. At their first meeting in Alvington, Lord Shaldon had told her quite firmly that he did not wish to marry Cynthia Lydney, yet now it began to look very much as though he was changing his mind. Well, that was scarcely surprising, thought Helen. With both families in favour of the match, which would be a brilliant one for Cynthia, it was only to be expected that the girl would do her best to bring on Viscount Shaldon’s addresses. And Cynthia’s best would almost certainly fascinate any man, even though he did start by feeling reluctant to respond.

  Once again Helen had to remind herself that she took no interest in Viscount Shaldon’s affairs. He might disport himself with those bold females at the Opera, or else wed Cynthia Lydney — or both. It was of no consequence to her. Accordingly, she threw herself wholeheartedly into the evening’s enjoyment, and was so vivacious when dancing later on with Henry Lydney, that afterwards she brought James frowning to her side.

  “What does that fellow Lydney mean by hanging about you so much?” he asked, fiercely.

  “How do I know, stupid?” she replied, laughing. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  “I might do that,” he said, with a resolute air.

  She put her hand urgently on his arm. “Oh, no, pray don’t James! It’s nothing — we have known him for ever, recollect!”

  “I daresay, but he should know better than to make you the subject of gossip by paying you such marked attentions,” answered James, in severe tones. “You’ve known Shaldon for ever — as you put it — but he don’t hang on your arm.”

  “No, because he’s too busy hanging on Cynthia’s,” retorted Helen.

  “Cynthia? Absurd! He don’t like her above half.”

  “But Lord Alvington wishes him to marry her.”

  “Does he? I daresay he might, but if I know Tony, he’ll choose for himself — if he does choose.”

  “You mean you don’t think he’ll marry at all?”

  James nodded. “Wouldn’t be surprised. You can’t wonder at it, if you consider his parents’ marriage. Hardly a recommendation, you must say.”

  “I only know what Mama has told me, but, yes, I suppose you are right. Only I think perhaps Cynthia is changing his mind for him.”

  “Voluptuous female,” remarked James, not mincing matters. “In another walk of life, she’d have been — but never mind that,” he added, hastily. “Do you remember that woman who was knocked down in the street when we were on our way to Astley’s?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject. “Her name’s Mrs. Dorston. I was talking to her today. Told me the story of her life, pretty near.”

  “Oh, how does the poor soul go on, James? You said her injuries weren’t too serious — she had concussion, and what you called a simple fracture of the — oh, dear, I’ve forgotten! What was it, James? Something to do with cats,” she finished, vaguely.

  “Cats?” He was puzzled for a moment, then chuckled. “Oh, you mean the tibia — front bone of the lower leg. Yes, we set it and it’s coming along nicely. She’s been supplied with crutches now, and is able to move around a bit. She was fortunate it wasn’t a compound fracture, for that would have meant losing the leg. I expect she’ll be discharged soon.”

  Helen shuddered at the thought of amputation. “I suppose the poor creature’s had a very sad life?”

  He repeated Mrs. Dorston’s story to her.

  “Is there nothing we can do to help her?” Helen asked, when he had finished. “Could we not attempt to find her lost grandson?”

  He shook his head. “Daresay he don’t wish to be found — at any rate, not for the purpose of being reunited to his grandmother. He could have sought her out for himself without a doubt, had he been of a mind to do so.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Helen reluctantly conceded. “You’ll let me know when she leaves the hospital, won’t you? And then perhaps we can take some comforts to her home.”

  “To Tothill Fields? You’ll do no such thing, my girl, though possibly I may visit her myself.”

  “Why not? I have often accompanied Mama to the poorest homes in Alvington.”

  “The poorest homes there don’t compare to Star Court, my girl! It’s a hotbed of disease, and the inhabitants can be unpleasantly violent towards strangers, I warn you. No, leave all that to me.” He broke off. “And now we won’t speak of such matters anymore, for here comes Chetwode to take you in to supper. Smile, Nell!” He tapped her cheek. “This is your evening for smiles, you know.”

  Supper was a success from almost everyone’s point of view. Surveying the well-spread board with its delicacies, Lady Chetwode congratulated herself on having once again secured the services of Gunter’s, the foremost caterer in Town. But the majority of her guests, while fully enjoying the food and drink provided, found their chief satisfaction in the company.

  Melissa, sitting beside Mr. Somerby, thought that she had never felt half so happy in her life. As
for her companion, he wondered for a moment if the champagne was going to his head, for he felt an almost irresistible urge to sweep his attractive companion into his arms. But it did not take him long to arrive at a more accurate diagnosis of his condition and to realise that it was not the champagne, but Miss Chetwode herself, who was affecting his state of mind. Tomorrow might bring reflection about this and more sober thoughts in its train; tonight, he determined to enjoy the heady sensation, even if he might not obey its promptings.

  Helen, seated between Philip Chetwode and Lydney, who had somehow contrived to place himself on her other side, found herself talking a great deal of airy nonsense to both and not at all disliking the fact that from time to time Shaldon glanced her way with a slight frown on his brows. She knew that she was flirting a little, but so were many other young ladies at the table. It was reprehensible, of course, but quite surprising how enjoyable it could be. One must not make a habit of it, certainly, but tonight was a special occasion…

  Cynthia was permitting herself the same indulgence with the Honourable Cedric Partridge on her left hand and Shaldon on her right. Both played up to her delightfully, but she noticed with slight chagrin that now and then Shaldon’s attention wandered from her bold eyes and the provocative neckline of her gown to Helen, tossing gold brown curls in laughter on the opposite side of the table.

  Only one young lady seemed a little subdued for such a gay, lively assembly, and that was Catherine Horwood. She was sitting on Philip Chetwode’s other side, between him and a young gentleman whose acquaintance she had made for the first time that evening, and who had previously partnered her in one of the country dances. He was attentive enough towards her, but her response, though civil, was not encouraging; and whenever Mr. Chetwode chanced to be at liberty to turn in her direction to address some remark to her, there was a noticeable difference in her manner. A modest girl, she thought too little of her own claims to attention to feel at all slighted because Mr. Chetwode obviously preferred to talk to her friend Helen. All the same, she did feel a little wistful.