by Diane Gaston
‘Me?’ Her heart pounded, not at the exciting challenge of designing his house, but from the intensity of his eyes.
He persisted. ‘You did well with Summerfield House. Do the same for my town house.’
‘That was merely repairing things and changing things here and there. I’ve no experience in designing a whole house.’ She’d not expected as much even from whatever country cottage she ultimately moved into.
‘Advise me, then,’ he said. ‘It would help to have another person’s opinion.’ His gaze met her eyes again. ‘It would help to have your opinion.’
‘Of course I will help, in any way you wish.’ It would mean spending time with him. How could she not enjoy that? ‘I have a book of architectural drawings that show what is in fashion now. Perhaps we could start there.’
He stood. ‘I wonder if the Duchess has such a book here.’
They found Humphry Repton’s Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening, which included a before and after picture of a renovated parlour. It was not quite what they were searching for, but it started a discussion of colour and style and wallpaper and upholstery.
Lorene forgot about her mother and the disagreeable ballroom guests casting disapproving eyes. She forgot about wanting to flee the city and being forced to stay now that her mother had moved in. She forgot that she and Dell could generate gossip of their own if they were seen too often in each other’s company. She forgot about that young lady who captured his attention. She simply enjoyed being with Dell.
From above them, the music stopped and the dancing footfalls were no longer heard.
Lorene sighed. ‘I should return to the ballroom.’ She stood.
Dell rose with her and together they walked back to the first floor. As they reached the floor, one of the gentlemen guests stepped into the hallway and saw them. Dell nodded a greeting.
‘Oh, dear,’ Lorene said after they passed him. ‘We are seen.’
‘Do not worry,’ Dell said. ‘Likely he will think nothing of it.’ When they reached the door to the ballroom, though, he said, ‘Enter first. I’ll wait.’
Perhaps he was more worried about being seen together than he let on.
She started to do as he said, but he spoke again. ‘Thank you for the dance.’
Lorene could not help but return a smile. She slipped into the room and searched for her sisters, who were looking unhappy in a corner of the room. She walked over to join them.
‘Where have you been?’ Genna asked. ‘You quite deserted us!’
‘I was hiding,’ Lorene answered truthfully. There was no need to tell them where.
Or with whom.
Tess sighed. ‘I wish I had thought of that!’
Genna inclined her head towards their mother nearby, wineglass in hand, talking to the Duchess of Mannerton and the Duchess of Archester. ‘She remains the centre of everyone’s attention.’
Their mother’s voice carried. ‘Ossie says that we should marry, but I am not so certain.’
‘Not certain?’ The Duchess Mannerton said. ‘But you must marry!’
‘Why?’ her mother shot back. ‘We have gone along very well without being married.’
‘But you could not marry when your husband was alive,’ the Duchess went on. ‘Now you are free to do so. It would be very wrong of you to continue as you are when you are free to marry.’ She turned to von Osten. ‘Is that not so, Count?’
He lifted his hands. ‘It is my wish, of course, but Hetty has not yet come around to the idea.’
Others joined the debate, everyone siding with von Osten in favour of marriage and the disapproving grumblings grew louder from those who were not so welcoming of their mother’s return.
Rossdale and Glenville joined the Summerfield sisters, carrying glasses of wine that they handed to their wives.
‘Lorene, would you like wine, as well?’ Rossdale asked.
She shook her head. She was thirsty, but that seemed inconsequential at the moment.
Rossdale looked from one sister to the other. ‘What is it?
‘She is debating the value of marriage!’ Genna groaned. ‘For everyone to hear.’
Rossdale put his arm around his wife. ‘Is she for or against?’
‘One guess,’ Genna said.
The orchestra began to play again and their mother led von Osten to the floor. Lorene’s sisters exchanged glances with their husbands.
‘Please dance, if you like,’ Lorene told them. ‘I am perfectly comfortable here.’
They also joined the dancers.
As they left her alone, she watched Dell escort the pretty young lady to the dance floor, as he’d done with Lorene two years before. The lady was perhaps as young as Genna, with brown hair of no special distinction but a very sweet face, a lady he could dance with in the light of the ballroom instead of the darkness of the library.
Chapter Ten
The next morning Lorene’s mother and von Osten rose early enough to join her for breakfast. While her mother chattered on about the ball, von Osten read the Morning Post.
‘My dear, they have written about you in the newspaper,’ he said to her mother.
She brightened. ‘They have? What did they say?’
He cleared his throat. ‘“Lady S—and Count O—”’ He looked up from the paper. ‘They have botched my name.’
‘Go on,’ her mother said impatiently.
‘“Lady S—and Count O—, recently arriving in town from Brussels, entertained the guests at the D—of A—’s ball with a debate about marriage. With the decease of Lord S—in 1814, this couple, who have cohabited for over a decade, might at last desire to make their liaison legal in the eyes of God and society, but nothing Lady S—does has the least whiff of propriety. Lady S—loudly declared her desire to continue their demeritorious arrangement.”’
He looked up again. ‘I warned that you must hold your tongue, Hetty.’
She extended her hand for him to pass the newspaper to her. ‘They are making a mountain out of a molehill, are they not?’ She read it and looked up. ‘I believe they mention you as well, Lorene.
“‘Lady T—, daughter of the notorious Lady S—, is out of mourning, but Lord P—spends as much time with Lady A—as with the wealthy widow”.’
Her mother looked up. ‘Who is Lady A—?’
Lorene’s stomach twisted. Had the reporters noticed her because of her mother? Or was this because she and Dell were seen together coming back from the library? In any event, she had no intention of appearing at any further society events.
Even if it meant never dancing with Dell again.
* * *
When Dell joined Ross’s father at breakfast, he was deep in his newspaper. Dell knew better than to interrupt him. Besides, he preferred to be alone with his thoughts.
It had been impulsive to ask Lorene to help him design his town house. He’d intended to hire an architect and simply let him do whatever he wished. He’d used a young student of Sir John Soane’s to oversee the work done so far. It would have been best simply to ask him back.
To have Lorene involved, though, meant he might not be required to enter the property too often. That held some appeal, but it would also mean spending time with her.
His worry about society’s interest in Tinmore’s death had greatly diminished. Over the last year, such an interest seemed non-existent, even when his heir took his place in the House of Lords. The man neither cut Dell nor spoke to him. Rather, he seemed uninterested in him, but, then, the new Lord Tinmore was a powerful Tory who spent many years as a Member of Parliament. Dell was a relatively new Whig just starting to be heard.
The real reason he should stay away from Lorene—and her sisters—was that he felt himself becoming more and more attached to them,
even though the tie was as thin as one silk thread.
And, of course, there was that impulse to kiss Lorene.
His Grace rattled the paper. ‘This is not well done. Not well done at all.’
‘What, sir?’ Dell asked.
‘I knew she would be trouble,’ the Duke groused.
‘Who?’
The Duke finally lowered the newspaper. ‘Listen to this. “Lady S—and Count O—, recently arriving in town from Brussels...”’ He read to the end and lowered the paper again. ‘Trouble! Why does she not keep her mouth shut and make her lover a husband so we can all pretend she is respectable?’
‘I heard the conversation. Lady Summerfield was not that specific that her intention was not to marry,’ Dell said.
The Duke slapped the paper against the table. ‘What does that matter? She should not have been discussing it at all.’ He made a derisive sound. ‘I lament the day Ross attached himself to that scandalous family.’
Dell rose to his friend’s defence. ‘Ross and Genna are happy. That is all that matters.’
Ross’s father shook his head. ‘It is not all that matters. Not only Lady Summerfield, look at the other family he is now connected to. Lord Northdon is as ineffectual as a man can be and still hold a title. No one heeds him. The most one can wish is that he does not speak in support of a bill one wishes to be passed. His support is a death knell.’
Viscount Northdon was Marc Glenville’s father and Tess’s father-in-law. As far as Dell could see, Northdon was a decent man, but he’d made the mistake of marrying a commoner. Not only a commoner, but a French commoner whose family had been active in the Terror. The ton did not warm to persons whose relatives beheaded their relatives.
‘It is not that bad, surely,’ Dell said.
‘Lady Summerfield is a blight,’ his Grace went on. ‘The whole lot of them are a blight. I have no use for that scandalous family.’
Dell stiffened.
The Duke returned to reading the paper. A minute later he groaned. ‘Now this is what I mean.’ He shoved the paper at Dell.
Dell took it and read. The paper connected him with Lorene. Dell’s spirits sank. This is what Lorene feared. That they would become the object of gossip.
The Duke wagged a finger at him. ‘See? You are already being associated with them.’ He wagged a finger at Dell. ‘You should keep your distance.’
Dell had hoped that merely speaking to Lorene would not be enough to cause comment, let alone wind up in the newspapers. The Duke was right. Lorene’s mother must be the reason they attracted attention.
‘If you intend to court Lady Alice,’ the Duke went on. ‘Lord Brackton will not approve of you appearing to be one of the Summerfield set. Or of having his daughter’s name connected with a Summerfield in the newspapers.’
‘Your son is one of their set,’ Dell ignored the Duke’s comment about Lady Alice.
The Duke rolled his eyes. ‘If he would listen, I would give him the same advice.’
Dell knew that this time the Duke’s advice was sound and he should heed it, but not for the same reasons the Duke stated. He was becoming too attached to Lorene. Merely hearing what was written about them gave him worry for her sake.
He needed not to care so much.
At least he had not told Ross’s father that he’d asked Lorene Summerfield to design the ornamentation of his town house.
He took another sip of coffee.
He could withdraw the request without much fuss.
* * *
Later that day Dell walked to Brook Street to call upon Lorene. He had every intention of explaining to her how ill advised their town house plans would be. He could cite his need to move up in the House of Lords as the reason he should distance himself. He would not tell her that he feared becoming too close to her.
As he turned on to Brook Street, a lady and gentleman approached.
Lady Summerfield and Count von Osten.
Lady Summerfield tossed him a charming smile. ‘Lord Penford, is it not? How delightful to see you.’
‘Good day to you, sir,’ the Count said, extending his hand.
Dell shook it. ‘Good day.’
‘Where are you bound, sir?’ Lady Summerfield’s tone was friendly.
‘To call upon a friend.’ She did not need to know he was calling upon Lorene.
‘We are off to see Tess and my darling grandson!’ she cried. ‘I am simply elated at the prospect.’
‘He is a sturdy little fellow,’ Dell said.
‘You have seen him?’ Lady Summerfield sounded surprised.
‘At the christening.’ And other times he’d been a guest at Tess’s in-laws’ home.
‘Come, Hetty.’ Von Osten started to walk away. ‘We should be on our way.’
She took a few steps, but turned back. ‘I am planning a dinner party soon. For my family. You will come, too, will you not?’ She grinned. ‘Of course, Lorene does not know of this dinner yet!’ She hurried to catch up with the Count.
The woman did exactly as she wished, apparently.
When she and the Count had finally turned the corner and were out of sight, Dell walked up to Lorene’s door. He could hear music from a pianoforte coming from inside the house and his heart warmed to her. Her music always moved him.
He sounded the knocker.
The butler answered.
Dell gave him his card. ‘Lord Penford to see Lady Tinmore.’
‘One moment, sir.’ The butler left him standing in the hall while he knocked on the drawing-room door. When he opened the door, the piano music became louder, then stopped. A moment later, the butler returned. ‘Lady Tinmore will see you.’ He took Dell’s things and gestured to the drawing-room door.
Dell entered the room.
Lorene stood ready to greet him. ‘Dell, what a lovely surprise.’
‘I am afraid I have interrupted your playing.’ He gestured to the pianoforte.
‘I have plenty of time to play.’
He wanted to ask if that was true now that her mother was here, but held his tongue. ‘I remember your playing with great pleasure.’
She blushed. ‘Thank you.’ She walked over to a sofa and two chairs. ‘Do have a seat. I have ordered tea.’
‘I do not intend to stay long.’ He should just say his piece and leave, but she looked so lovely, so gentle and vulnerable and happy to see him.
He sat in one of the chairs and she sat across from him on the sofa.
‘Why do me the honour of your visit?’ she asked.
‘I wanted to see you.’ The truth came out of his mouth unheeded.
He glanced around the room. It was nicely furnished, but without the pretty touches she’d added at Summerfield House.
‘I did not redo this room,’ she said, as if reading his mind. ‘I did not do too much to this house, only enough to make it appeal to a buyer.’ She glanced away. ‘Not that I can seek a buyer now.’
He smiled. ‘It is not decorated as fine as Summerfield House.’
She lowered her gaze and her dark lashes cast shadows below her eyes. ‘That was a labour of love.’
‘It showed.’
He should stop staring at her and simply state what he’d come to say. That it would be better she not be involved in the refurbishing of his town house.
‘I stopped by to see if you were at liberty to accompany me to my town house,’ he said instead. ‘I would like for you to see the inside of the house.’
‘Now?’ she asked.
‘If you are able.’
Why had he not stuck to his guns?
It simply seemed impossible for him to tell her no.
‘I would need a few minutes to become ready,’ she said.
‘A few minutes will
do.’
* * *
No more than ten minutes elapsed before she appeared in hat, gloves and pelisse and not more than two minutes later they were outside on the pavement.
‘It is not too far away,’ he said. ‘On Mount Street.’
As they walked past Grosvenor Square, he noticed Lord and Lady Brackton walking on the other side of the street. They looked at him with disapproval. He tipped his hat.
Lorene asked, ‘Who is that?’
‘Lord and Lady Brackton,’ he replied.
He could have told her they were Lady Alice’s parents. He could have said that he was thinking of courting Lady Alice.
Instead he changed the subject. ‘I met your mother on my way to see you.’
‘Did you?’ she said without pleasure. ‘I hope she showed some propriety.’
‘She was amiable,’ he assured her. ‘But she invited me to a family dinner party at your house, a party of which she has not informed you.’
‘A party?’ She glanced up in surprise. ‘At my house?’
‘I gather she wished not to tell you of it, but I suspected you would prefer to be forewarned,’ he said.
‘Yes, I very much would prefer to be forewarned.’ Her colour was high. ‘I wonder when she intended to tell me. When the guests arrived?’
* * *
Lorene could set aside her mother’s presumptuous behaviour while walking with Dell. In some ways she could be at ease with Dell more than with any other person, even Tess. Her marriage to Tinmore had damaged her closeness to both her sisters and to her half-brother, Edmund, but almost from their first meeting, she’d felt comfortable with Dell.
And, at the same time, giddy with excitement.
She could say anything to him, she was convinced, and there was something she very much wanted to ask him, something that had bothered her since their time at the inn.
‘You rode away from me,’ she said. ‘That morning in the inn. You did not say goodbye.’
He frowned. ‘I rose early.’
Why she was bringing this up, she did not know, except it plagued her. Had he been angry at her? She’d thought so at the time. ‘I was in the yard, waiting for my carriage. You rode off.’