by Janet Grace
‘So there you are, my girl. I watched you whirling about with young Hexham there. He seems a sensible enough fellow. But aren’t you going to greet your grandfather? You weren’t too shy this morning.’
Louisa smiled at him and kissed his forehead lightly.
He chuckled.
‘Very proper and demure. Sit down and talk to me a little—if the young men can spare you, that is.’
Her grandfather spoke proudly, and she seated herself readily beside him. But her thoughts strayed.
Lord Alnstrop still had not arrived. Half hoping, half afraid, she knew she would have to find the words to answer his letter. How could she tell him here? How could she put all her tremulous feelings into words in such a place? Would he know when he saw the rose? What would he understand by it? What would he do? In a sudden agony of uncertainty she slipped up her hand and unpinned the rose, slipping it quietly into her purse.
The old man chatted happily, introducing her to his aged cronies sitting nearby, ‘My dear boy Charles’s girl. I’m welcoming her back into the family. Left it too long...’ and pointing out people on the dance-floor, often with wicked little anecdotes to show up their characters. ‘Of course, I don’t know half these young sprigs who look as if they should be back in the nursery, but that fellow there—do you see? In the maroon breeches and the rouged cheeks—well, I knew a time when...’
He rambled on, and Louisa listened and laughed and wondered nervously whether to pin the rose back on.
‘But of course, your cousins are a waste of time.’ She brought her thoughts back to what he was saying. ‘Patrick’s brood. The girls are spiteful and grasping, never a good word for anyone, and as for Cedric, never a penny to his name, and I doubt you could call him a man without perjuring yourself in heaven. But there, you don’t want me to bore you with all your dubious relatives. But I wish to God I had a grandson who was a real man, a man I could hand my name on to with respect, like...’ he looked vaguely round the dance-floor then stabbed a gnarled finger towards the door ‘... like that!’
She followed his pointing finger, and the room seemed to freeze into immobility as the heavy thud, thud, thud, of her heart drowned and deafened her.
He was standing in the doorway, very tall and straight, a frown of impatience hardening his features as he rapidly surveyed the crowded room, brushing aside the greetings of those about him as if they were but half heard. She could not drag her eyes from his face, although she felt herself blush and then go very cold, and she was half aware that somewhere, in a far distance, Grandfather was still talking.
‘Young Robert Ferdinand ... I suppose we must call him Alnstrop now, after his father’s death. A bad business that, poor fellow...’
Robert’s frown had deepened as she stared fruitlessly from the doorway at the weaving figures, but as the dancers parted and a way was clear between them it was as if he felt her gaze upon him. He turned abruptly and looked full into her eyes. For a moment he stood rooted, the frown still hard across his face as he saw her, then he was striding towards her over the wide parquet floor. What should she do? He would see that she was not wearing his rose. She tugged at the strings of her purse, but there was no time, so she hurriedly dragged her shawl around her and held it, tight-clutched, across her breasts.
‘Strange ... he’s coming this way. I knew his father, of course, though he was younger than me ... but I never knew the boy well...’
He stood over her and all the words he had wanted to say to her escaped. She looked so controlled, sophisticated, beautiful. Perhaps he had been mistaken in her feelings? He frowned.
‘Miss Stapely.’
Could he see she was not wearing the rose? He looked so angry. The beat of her heart was stifling her. If she stretched out her hand she could touch him.
‘Lord Alnstrop.’
‘So you know my granddaughter, do you, young man? Well, sit down, sit down and join us.’
The old man was regarding the couple keenly. There was certainly something going on there. Stiff as two pokers they were, and just as tongue-tied. Well, well, well. A dark horse, his granddaughter, but not a fool.
‘How do you do, Lord Luddenay? It is many years since I have had the pleasure of meeting you, but I fear now I have come only to take your granddaughter away from you, if she will join me for the next dance.’
He held a commanding hand out to Louisa, and, as if in a trance, she took it. He led her across the floor without a word and they took their places in the set.
There was no one in the room to touch him, she thought with a surge of pride, as she cast shy glances across at him. His dress-coat and breeches, in a blue so dark it was shadowed with black, fitted close across the broad shoulders and muscular thighs. He was shod in black stockings and black laced shoes of soft leather, his shirt was of the finest white linen, and a single great sapphire, the deep blue of his eyes, pinned his cravat.
He was watching her. Each time her glance reached as high as his face he was watching her. Her shawl had fallen back as she danced, and he had scanned her dress, then his expression had hardened. Desperately, she wanted to explain. As the movements of the dance brought their hands together, the shock of this touch tingled throughout her body, and to leave him, as the measured steps of the dance drew them inexorably apart, left her yearning. Her longing for him almost frightened her. Mechanically, she followed the melody, hating the dance-steps which parted her from him, loving those which brought them together, dreading their ending, for then surely he would follow the message of the absent rose, take her back to her grandfather and move on.
The music wound to a triumphant conclusion and the dancers began to drift from the floor. Louisa turned away, but he was at her side in an instant.
‘This is absurd. I must talk with you. Come outside.’ The four long windows which stretched from floor to ceiling along one wall of the ballroom had been flung wide, and some more daring couples were walking on the terrace, and even into the garden beyond, a place of faint mists, moonlight and shadows.
He led her firmly out, his hold on her arm so tight that she was later to find a ring of bruises beneath her long white glove. Ignoring the terrace of giggling couples and beady-eyed mamas, he led her down the broad flight of stone steps and along a wide, grassy walk leading away from the house. Turning aside through an arch in a yew hedge, they left all other adventurers behind, and emerged beside a sunken, square stone pool in a small hidden garden, with a fountain plashing in the centre, strangely loud in the quiet of the night. A stone bench stood in a recess arched with greenery, which was black in the moonlight, and the rich fragrance of honeysuckle filled the air.
‘I should not leave Georgiana. I am her chaperon.’ Louisa was suddenly panicked, and pulled against his grip. ‘I should go back.’
‘Damn Georgiana!’ He paused, then said flatly, ‘You did not wear my rose.’ He was watching her intently.
‘I did, my lord.’ She was looking up into his face, but her voice was no more than a whisper. As he frowned again, she fumbled in her purse and brought out the flower, holding it cradled in her hands. ‘I wore it, but then ... when you didn’t come ... I ...’ her hands instinctively covered over the bloom ‘... I took it off.’
All the tentative uncertainties of her love were in the words, and his tenderness overwhelmed him. He pulled her hard towards him, and his careful words of love, reassurance and explanation all deserted him as he felt her anxious flutterings under his hands. His arm slipped hard about her, crushing her against him, and every quiver of her body reached to him through the gossamer-fine silk. She was trembling, melting against him as the surge of delight, possession and desire overwhelmed him. Slowly he pushed up her chin, his fingers reaching to caress her face, stroking back the chestnut curls. Her eyes were so wide, but as his fingers moved over her skin they drifted shut as her lips, trembling and yearning, softly parted, aching for his kiss. With a groan of deep desire his questing lips sought hers, and his kiss was not gentle, but f
ierce, crushing and claiming her, sweeping her out and away on a tide of desire where nothing existed but their bodies, their passion.
She had no idea how long it was before she was again aware of the plashing of the fountain and distant strains of music from the house. He lowered her gently back into reality, his kisses now softly loving over her face, warm on her cheeks, her eyes, her hair, while she regained a little composure.
‘Come.’
He led her to the stone bench in the dappled secluding darkness, and they sat together. His arm stayed tight about her, as if he could not bear to let her go.
‘You read my letter?’
She nodded. Her lips, bruised and yearning, were not yet ready to form words. She leant her head against his shoulder, and he quickly pressed it there in a swift, possessive caress.
‘I wanted to kill John. I still would if I were not now so happy.’ He heaved a great sigh, and his encircling hand moved hard down her side, seeming to test her reality. ‘It seems my family conspire to keep me a bachelor. It was Hetta who kept me tonight. I was ready two hours before her, and was threatening her with violence before we eventually left. I so much wanted to see you.
‘When I think what you must have thought of me after I left you that day in Stoneham ... I must have seemed every kind of casual, untrustworthy philanderer. And then to see me just after I had been trapped into walking with Annabelle Whitley! My darling, can you forget all the things you must have thought of me? Can you love me?’
She gazed shyly up at him, wide-eyed in the rustling moonlight, and he could not stop himself from kissing her. His heart leapt as he felt her respond, and her shy hands move questioningly over his chest and up to caress his face and hair. He pulled back and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Can you love me?’
A smile hovered on her lips. He knew the answer now, he had not been mistaken, but he wanted to hear her words.
‘I have loved you, my lord, since that day in Thesserton when I first saw you. When you vanished from my life I did not even know your name.’ Her voice was a whisper but she brought her gaze up to meet his eyes. ‘I saw you, and I could not help myself.’
His delight and love for her was so strong, it was almost a pain in his heart. ‘Oh, my sweet love. What a fool I am.’ She shook her head fondly. ‘Yes, I am. It was the same for me. I could not get you out of my thoughts ... kept trying to think of excuses to travel back to Thesserton! How much time we have wasted in misunderstandings and uncertainties. But not any more.’
They sat silent for a while, lapped by the wafting scents of night flowers, soft pattering sounds of falling water, and their own love.
Alnstrop turned to her, looked down, and chuckled.
‘I approve of your new dress. It has a great deal more to offer than your demure, high-necked, governess greys!’ Louisa blushed and raised a hand over the admired neckline, but he gently pushed her hand away.
‘Ah, no. You shan’t keep anything from me now.’
He ran his long fingers, which she had watched with such fascination all that time ago as they had handled the reins, over her breasts, outlining their curves with a tracing drift of his index finger, and she could not suppress a moan of desire. He bent and kissed where his finger traced, then raised his head to her.
‘Give me the rose.’ His fingers deft, his hands brushing her skin, he pinned the flower back in place. ‘We shall be married as soon as possible. Would you object to a special licence? No, that is unfair on you, you shall have all the glamour and trimmings you wish. Shall we call on your grandfather tomorrow and formally ask his permission? You will marry me, won’t you, Louisa?’ He smiled down at her. ‘Please?’
‘Yes, please, my lord.’
‘Robert,’ he corrected fondly.
‘Robert,’ she whispered with a sigh of sheer delight. After that it was some time before either spoke again, and then a little longer until they had composed themselves sufficiently to re-enter the ballroom.
Lord Luddenay had watched for their reappearance with interest, and studied them frankly as they approached. He must have approved of what he saw, for they arrived to find him muttering to himself.
‘Just found her, only to lose her again. No bad thing though, nothing to complain of there that I know about. Wants to keep her independence, indeed! Not any longer, if my guess is right. Well, there you are again, then. Some long dance that was!’
‘I am sorry to have kept Louisa from you for so long, sir. May we call on you tomorrow? We have something we would like to say to you.’
‘And not too hard to guess what that might be.’
Louisa blushed, but Robert grinned at the old man. ‘What time would suit you, sir?’
‘Evening. Come in the evening. I shall be tired after all this gadding about. I shall be going home now, leave you young folk to it.’
Alnstrop found someone to call Lord Luddenay’s coach and assist him out, then took his love over to join John and Hetta’s party, who were just going down to supper. There were delighted cries of welcome from John who, after a rapid study of his brother’s face and Miss Stapely’s blushes, beamed in open relief. They trooped off to eat together, their supper-table gathering envious glances as it rapidly developed the air of eccentric hilarity that Louisa associated with the Ferdinand family en masse.
Hetta, sitting watching her brothers, regarded them with a rather wistful satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lady Alvira Mondfort was enjoying the upset in her household, occasioned by her two young guests, far more than she had anticipated. Although her dear Sir Philip was no better, he was also no worse, and she sat long hours by his bedside while they gossiped comfortably together over each turn of events.
They had panicked over the threat posed by James Blane—hence her headlong drive to whisk Georgiana to safety—and they were anxious to see her safely settled before Sir Philip’s demise, for then she would lose one of her staunchest guardians and protectors. Thus they encouraged the attentions of young John Ferdinand. It was not a brilliant match, of course, and were they ambitious on the marriage mart they would have pushed for something higher, but Aunt Alvira was not impressed by fancy titles—she was looking for a man who would protect, cherish and delight her niece, and she was almost certain she had found him. He was very young still, they both were, and she had insisted that they wait before making any announcement. John had disagreed.
‘We need to make a formal announcement of our engagement, Lord Mondfort,’ he had argued. ‘Look what happened with that wretched Blane just because she was left vulnerable. I need to protect her, and to have the right to protect.’
He was pacing the room, angrily tossing his head to flick aside the lock of dark hair that flopped on his forehead.
‘We belong together, you know.’
Lady Mondfort had regarded him fondly. He was an attractive young man.
‘Yes, I believe you probably do, and because I believe that, and because I very much wish to see Georgiana happily settled while her uncle is still alive, I am encouraging you to haunt my house in the persistent way that you do! But I think I would be failing in my obligations towards my niece if I did not give her the chance to see more of London life, and meet more eligible young men than she has yet been able to do. That is why I will agree that, if you are both of the same mind by Christmas, I will be happy to hold a ball to celebrate your engagement, and arrange for her to be married from this house next Easter. Don’t worry. She will have ample protection here from the Blanes of this world, and you may escort her about as much as you wish.’
On reflection, he had been content to agree. He had hated to think he might be instrumental in rushing his beloved to a too hasty decision, and was confident that their love would hold true.
The Mondforts discussed it all at length, sipping their cups of tea, and were satisfied.
Then, just as Lady Mondfort had accustomed herself to chuckling at the outrageous flattery and outlandish humour of young John
Ferdinand, quiet little Miss Stapely had produced his elder brother! With a blushing smile and a face that looked as if the sun had risen in her life for the very first time ... And what a man he was! Aunt Alvira heaved a wistful sigh and smiled wryly at herself. Like his brother, but with an added maturity, a quiet confidence, and with a certain way of looking, with a lazy, heart-melting smile.
‘Really, Philip, if I were but thirty years younger, I should make an absolute fool of myself over Alnstrop. Dear, oh, dear! Lucky Louisa, though she deserves it, dear girl. He is taking her out this evening and they are to call on her grandfather. We can all guess what that will be about, of course, and I don’t see him raising objections, so I dare say we shall have to be looking out for a new companion for Georgiana. I wonder about Cousin Harriet...’
Hetta’s quiet little town house was much disturbed by the arrival to stay of her two brothers, for Robert had not bothered to open up the great Ferdinand town house, which remained with only a skeleton staff and everything under covers.
They both awoke well before ten o’clock, an ungodly hour after a ball such as Lady Lanchester’s had been, when they were not back in the house till gone five that morning. And the noise they made! Laughing and talking over their breakfast, it seemed to her aching head that she was entertaining an army of brothers. She was heartily relieved when John dragged Robert out to look at a horse he was thinking of buying, and she was able to doze off for a little longer.
She was up and about when they returned, however, floating round in a loose, wraparound mantua, her hair an uncontrollable halo of curls. She kissed Robert heartily when he confessed that Louisa had accepted his offer, and wished him luck with the irascible Lord Luddenay, but she was a little sad. John yesterday had come home with his plans for a wedding next Easter, and now Robert, who would marry as soon as possible...