‘I will make inquiries,’ Alex said slowly, ‘and I intend to meet Miss Verey. I will judge for myself if she be innocent angel or cunning jade!’
‘Oh, Jane, is this not fine?’ Sophia sighed in ecstasy. ‘Such beautiful shops! Why, not even Bath can rival it! I declare, I could spend an entire day just looking!’
Jane stifled a yawn. She already felt as though she had spent a whole day doing precisely that. This had to be the twentieth shop that they had visited that afternoon.
When the shopping trip had been mooted after breakfast, Jane’s brother Simon had looked horrified and had taken refuge at his club. Jane wished that she had a similar choice. It was not that she disliked shopping, precisely-she paused to watch her mother and Sophia agonising between two exquisitely painted fans-it was simply that she grew bored with it so very quickly. The silks and taffetas, slippers and shoes, hats and gloves that so fascinated her friend could not hold her attention for long. Now, if only it had been books…Jane smothered a giggle as she remembered the look of pained disapproval on her mother’s face when she had tentatively suggested that they visit James Lackington’s ‘Temple of the Muses’ in Finsbury Square.
‘Temple of the Muses!’ Lady Verey had repeated. ‘Why, it sounds like a house of ill repute rather than a bookseller’s! I cannot believe it a suitable place for us to visit unescorted!’
So Jane had been obliged to enlist her brother’s help to buy the books she wanted and was denied the pleasure of browsing amongst the galleries of bookshelves and of watching the other bibliophiles thronging Mr Lackington’s ‘lounging-rooms.’
Lady Verey and Sophia had moved on to consider a very pretty straw hat adorned with blue ribbons. Jane’s eye was caught briefly by a silky scarf of emerald green, and she moved over to take a closer look, letting it run through her fingers like water. Beyond the wide bow windows, Charles Street was busy with ladies and gentlemen strolling in the sunshine. Across the road was a spirit booth, with crystal flasks of every shape and form, cunningly lit from behind so that the different coloured spirits sparkled alluringly. Jane smiled. Now there was something worthy of her time; glass and china were fascinating commodities and she hoped to visit Mr Wedgwood’s emporium in Great Newport Street, where she had heard that the displays of china were arranged especially to amuse and intrigue the visitor…
There was a gentleman standing across the road just to the left of the spirit booth. His very stillness caught Jane’s notice and, once she had looked up, she found that his intent gaze appeared to be directed through the bow windows of the shop and fixed upon her person. It was oddly disconcerting, not least because she was certain that she had seen him before. He was very tall and very dark, and his penetrating gaze locked with her own. Suddenly it was as though they were only a matter of feet apart, with no glass window between them, nor bustling street, nor indeed any barrier of any kind. Jane found herself unable to look away and break the spell.
His gaze pinned her to the spot, so searching and intent that Jane felt the colour coming up into her cheeks.
Then a dray cart came between them, the carter shouting to his horses and blocking the view, and Jane drew a shaky breath and turned away from the window.
‘Jane?’ Lady Verey had noticed nothing amiss. ‘Come here, my love, and tell us which is the finer of these two shawls. Sophia has a fancy for the pink with the lace, but I am not sure-’ Her eye fell on the scarf, which Jane was still clutching unknowingly in her left hand.
‘Oh, how pretty! You must have it, my love, for it matches your eyes to perfection! What excellent taste you do have, Jane! Now, tell me what you think of this shawl…’
Both the shop assistant and Sophia were looking at her expectantly. Jane obediently looked where her mother pointed but she was scarcely thinking of fripperies and furbelows.
It was him! she thought, still a little breathless inside. I recognised him. I know it was him.
Gradually her fluttering pulse stilled and her breathing slowed. No doubt she had imagined it. One dark stranger might look very like another and London was full of people. It seemed foolish to think that she would recognise one man, glimpsed four years before at Ambergate and never seen again. All the same…
She was still puzzling over it as they came out of the shop and on to the sunlit pavement.
‘Now then, girls,’ Lady Verey said, shepherding them into the street, ‘the milliner’s is just across from here-’
‘Oh, look, ma’am!’ Sophia exclaimed, clutching Lady Verey’s arm. ‘I did not see those gloves! Oh, they would be perfect for tomorrow night! I positively must have them! Jane-’ she turned anxiously to her friend ‘-you do not mind?’
Jane smiled a little. Sophia would be spending all her allowance in one morning at this rate!
‘I shall wait for you out here in the sun,’ she said. ‘It is a pleasant day and there is no need to hurry.’
‘Stay in sight of the window, Jane,’ Lady Verey instructed, turning to follow Sophia into the shop. ‘I wish to keep you in view. And should anyone accost you, I pray you to come straight back into the shop-’
‘Yes, mama,’ Jane said patiently, gesturing to her mother to follow Sophia. ‘I can come to no harm in full view!’
The shop door closed behind Lady Verey and Jane turned to scan the street. Although her acquaintance in London was still small, she recognised the lady and gentleman who were strolling along the opposite side of the road, for they were neighbours of the Vereys in Portman Square and had been most welcoming. And just beyond them…Jane took an involuntary step forward as she saw the dark gentleman again, pausing before a gunsmith’s, his back turned to her.
There was a sudden, irate shout and she spun around in alarm. A cart was passing close by and she felt her skirts snag on something, tugging hard and catching her off balance. She slipped on the cobbles, her skirt hopelessly entangled in the cart’s left wheel, and felt herself dragged to the ground. It all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye before Jane could scramble back to safety.
‘Oh!’ It was Jane’s dignity that had suffered most, but tears of shock swam in her eyes. Her hands felt bruised from the sudden contact with the ground and she had bumped one knee painfully as she fell. Tumbled in the gutter in a heap of petticoats and rubbish, she struggled to recover herself.
‘Allow me to help you, ma’am.’ A quiet voice spoke in her ear at the same time as the gentleman slid a supportive hand under her elbow and helped her to her feet. ‘Are you injured at all?’
Jane looked up and experienced her second shock. This time there could be no mistake. It was certainly the man that she had seen at Ambergate, though this time more formally dressed in immaculate buckskins, top-boots and a mulberry-coloured jacket. At such close quarters he was disturbingly attractive, a man quite outside Jane’s limited experience. He was certainly handsome, with wicked, dark good looks that quite took her breath away, but there was a rather austere expression in those very dark eyes that contradicted the impression of slightly rakish attraction. There was also an aura of strength about him and an impression of power held under tight control that was instantly reassuring.
He was holding her very gently with an arm supporting her about the waist and there was concern in his face and something else…an extraordinary tenderness, surely, that made Jane feel suddenly faint. She swayed a little and his arm tightened.
‘You should sit down, I think, to recover from the shock. Where did your companions go?’
‘I thank you, sir, I am quite well,’ Jane said shakily, catching sight of her mother’s face peering in horror through the shop window. The carter chose the same moment to start justifying himself to the gathering crowd. His diatribe on foolish young women who did not look where they were going was silenced by one glance from the gentleman.
Jane realised that she was bruised but not badly injured. She felt foolish and embarrassed. She noticed that one of her hands was resting confidingly against the lapel of the mulberry jacket, whi
lst the gentleman’s arm still held her close. It was most comforting, but surely rather improper. Dark eyes smiled down into her hazel ones. Jane felt her knees tremble again.
‘Thank you for your help, sir,’ she said again, trying to extricate herself. ‘You have been most kind, and I am quite well enough to-’
‘Jane!’ Lady Verey and Sophia came dashing out of the shop, accompanied by the modiste and half of the staff, adding to the confusion on the pavement. The carthorse started to stamp and rear, disturbed by the noise. Sophia helpfully removed a cabbage leaf from her friend’s skirt.
‘Jane!’ Lady Verey said again. ‘Are you hurt? Whatever has happened-’ She broke off, staring in sudden confusion at the gentleman. ‘Your Grace!’
The gentleman removed his arm from Jane’s waist at last and executed a bow. ‘Lady Verey. How do you do, ma’am.’ Jane thought that she could detect the very slightest hint of rueful amusement in his voice. ‘I do not believe that Miss Verey has come to any lasting harm, but perhaps she should be conveyed home for a rest. I shall call a hack for you.’
‘Yes of course, but-’ Lady Verey’s gaze was darting from Jane to her rescuer. ‘I had no notion that you were the gentleman who had come to Jane’s rescue. We had no idea that you were even in Town! Is your brother with you? You must permit us to call and express our sense of obligation-’
‘Of course, ma’am, I should be delighted.’ The gentleman cut her short in the politest, most deferential manner possible. ‘I shall not detain you any longer. Good day…’
He bowed again and the crowd parted to let him pass as though obeying some unspoken authority. The cart pulled away and a hackney cab took its place. Jane, bewildered and shaken, allowed Sophia to help her solicitously inside.
‘Who was that gentleman, ma’am?’ she heard Sophia ask Lady Verey as the cab set off in the direction of Portman Square. ‘He seemed quite…’ Sophia hesitated, but Jane knew just what she meant. The gentleman in question had seemed quite awesome. She felt again the power of his glance, the tender strength with which he had held her. Jane shivered.
‘That was the Duke of Delahaye,’ Lady Verey was saying composedly, ‘the elder brother of Lord Philip. Jane…’ she saw her daughter’s pale, stricken face ‘…are you sure that you are quite well? You must go to bed as soon as we reach home or you will not be well enough for Almack’s this evening! I am sure that the accident must have overset you!’
‘Yes, Mama,’ Jane said submissively. ‘I confess I feel a little shaken.’
‘Well, perhaps we should not go tonight-’ Lady Verey broke off, looking torn. ‘But on the other hand it could be construed as a snub to the patronesses…oh, dear, how provoking! I do not know what to do!’
‘I shall be better directly, Mama!’ Jane said, leaning back and closing her eyes. ‘I pray you, do not consider cancelling our attendance…’
‘I had no notion that the Duke was in Town,’ Lady Verey said, smoothing her gloves. ‘He is seldom in London, you know, for he much prefers the country!’ She frowned. ‘How odd! And how curious that he should be passing just when you fell, Jane!’
Jane, remembering the way in which the Duke of Delahaye had stood watching her from across the road, was tempted to say that he had hardly been passing. She held her peace. The whole episode had been most disconcerting. Why had the Duke been watching her beforehand and what could account for her strange reaction to him? The colour flooded her face as she remembered the sensation of his arm about her. She had met plenty of personable gentlemen in the past week, but never before had she been so aware of a man’s touch. She closed her eyes. It was best to forget it, best to forget him. It seemed that, between them, the Delahaye brothers were causing her nothing but trouble.
It was Simon Verey who heard the rumours first. Whilst the ladies were out shopping he had had a meeting with Pettishaw, his man of business, and had then spent a convivial afternoon with Lord Henry Marchnight, one of his oldest friends. They had met by chance at Tattersall’s and, as the evening advanced, made their way to Brooks.
‘Covered yourself with glory on campaign, I hear,’ Henry said with a lazy grin, after they had tried the claret and considered it more than tolerable. ‘Whatever will you find to do with yourself here that could compare?’
Simon laughed. ‘I intend to enjoy the pleasures of Town for a little, then turn into the complete country squire! Ambergate will be back in good order soon, but I don’t want to be an absentee landlord for too long!’
‘A country squire needs a wife and brood to look the part!’ Henry observed. ‘Plenty of pretty girls out this Season!’
Simon grimaced. ‘So my mama keeps reminding me! She is forever pushing likely heiresses under my nose! It will be a little while yet before I set up my nursery, though I don’t deny I’m looking out for a potential bride!’ He shot his friend a look. ‘If Mama becomes too pressing I suppose I could always offer my hand and heart to Lady Polly Seagrave-’
Lord Henry’s gaze narrowed. ‘She wouldn’t have you! Lady Polly has just turned down her seventh suitor this Season!’
‘And it would be a shame to ruin our good friendship,’ Simon murmured, signalling for more wine.
Lord Henry relaxed infinitesimally. ‘As you say…’
‘Are you settled in Town for the Season or do you travel again?’ Simon thought it wise to turn the conversation away from his friend’s unrequited passion for Lady Polly. The Earl of Seagrave’s daughter had rejected Henry’s plea to elope some three seasons before, but Simon knew that, despite Henry’s apparent indifference, his friend’s feelings were still deeply engaged.
Lord Henry shook his head slightly. ‘My plans are uncertain…I must go abroad again shortly and I think that there may be trouble brewing closer to home but…’ he shrugged ‘…I seldom know where I will be sent from week to week!’
Simon let it pass. He knew that Lord Henry worked for the government in various shadowy capacities and equally knew that his friend wished that to remain a well-kept secret. They paused in their conversation as a couple of slightly inebriated young men staggered past on their way to the card tables.
‘Are you staying for a hand of whist?’ Henry asked.
Simon shook his head. ‘Promised to look in at Almack’s tonight. M’sister and Miss Marchment are making their debut. Bound to be a crush!’ He put his glass down and got to his feet. ‘Damned slow, squiring one’s own sister about Town!’
‘You’re too kind-hearted,’ Henry mocked. ‘Can Miss Marchment be the reason for this generosity?’
Simon stared. ‘Sophia? Hardly!’ He realised that he sounded less than gallant and flushed at the sardonic light in Lord Henry’s eyes. ‘Miss Marchment is a charming girl, but I know her like my own sister and besides…I prefer women a bit more-’
‘Voluptuous?’
‘Intelligent!’ Simon finished, on a note of rebuke. ‘Unfashionable it may be-boring it ain’t!’
‘Miss Verey is highly intelligent,’ Lord Henry murmured.
‘Jane?’ Simon paused. ‘Well, I suppose that she reads a lot-
‘Not just intelligent-clever. Clever enough to evade marrying Philip Delahaye, by my reckoning, and making him look churlish into the bargain!’
Simon sat down again. ‘You’ve lost me, Harry. What are you trying to tell me?’
‘You were still away when Delahaye went to Ambergate to pay court to your sister, weren’t you?’
‘Came back a few weeks later,’ Simon confirmed. ‘Mama said Philip Delahaye had cried off. Jane didn’t seem to mind and I was always a bit uncomfortable about the match, to tell the truth. I knew it was mooted-knew m’father had been keen and that the Duke was pushing for it to go ahead.’ He shifted in his chair. ‘Thought that was the end of the matter.’
Lord Henry shook his head slowly. ‘Better that you hear it from me, Simon, than through rumour and falsehood. There are a hundred-and-one stories circulating about Philip Delahaye’s visit to Ambergate because he arrived
and left again so swiftly. Everyone knows that he intended to make Jane an offer and the speculation is all about what made him change his mind. The worst matter is that Philip himself appears to have encouraged the rumours by saying that he cried off because-’
‘Verey!’ Lord Henry had broken off as someone stumbled against Simon’s chair and hailed him at a volume more suited to a hundred yards than the three feet actually involved.
‘Cheriton,’ Simon said, with a cold inclination of the head for the painted dandy before him, ‘how do you do?’
‘Well, old fellow, very well! I’m for Almack’s-I hear that your lovely sister is to be there! I can barely wait to make her acquaintance!’ Lord Cheriton gave a crack of laughter. ‘You will have heard what a fool Philip Delahaye has made of himself by disparaging Miss Verey! The on dit is that Delahaye was so foxed when he arrived at Ambergate that he mistook some pox-faced serving wench for your sister! We had a fine laugh at his description of her! Pudding-faced, freakish, barely literate-’ Cheriton’s shoulders shook. ‘He said that he would rather starve than tie himself to her in marriage! Then Freddie Ponsonby met Miss Verey in Charles Street and said that she was divinely beautiful with a wit to match, don’t you know! Philip could not believe it and swears he’ll be at Almack’s to see for himself! We gave him a roasting he’ll never forget and all he could think of was that he must have confused her with some serving doxy! He was paying his addresses to a damned serving maid!’ Cheriton sauntered away, still chuckling.
The detail might have been confused but the gist of Cheriton’s words was all too clear. Simon was half out of his chair and Henry Marchnight laid a restraining hand on his arm. As was often the way, a hush had fallen over the room as everyone else, sensitive to the slightest scandal, strained to hear what was going on.
‘Simon, think a little!’
Simon sank back into his chair, his face flushed with sudden fury. ‘I suppose that this was what you were about to tell me, Harry? That Philip Delahaye has been bandying my sister’s name about Town-’
Miss Verey’s Proposal Page 4