by Carola Dunn
"Very well," sighed her aunt. "But you must not expect me to go with you, and pray do not invite them to Stafford House. Stafford abhors mushrooms."
Teresa was too pleased that the duchess was not to go with her to wonder what her uncle's taste in vegetables had to do with the matter. Somehow she had not mentioned that she intended also to call on Sir Andrew Graylin. If her Grace disapproved of Lady Parr, the young diplomat, who worked for his living, might well be considered quite beyond the pale.
She knew better than to go alone. She and Annie set out at eleven in the morning, the proper hour for paying visits, in the landaulet the duke had put at her disposal.
Teresa had dressed with unusual care. She had no desire to offend Lady Parr, however shabby-genteel, nor to outshine Muriel. On the other hand, she wanted to stun Andrew. She wore an amethyst walking dress, cut with the exquisite simplicity that did so much for her shape. Her kid gloves and half-boots were of the same shade, her pelisse of darker violet cloth and her bonnet trimmed with a jaunty bunch of violets. She felt every inch a lady of fashion as the carriage rattled down Park Lane.
But if Andrew merely told her again that she looked every inch a lady, she would succumb to the vapours, she vowed. Then she was ashamed of herself. He was affianced to Muriel, her friend, and though she hoped he was her friend too she had no business caring what he thought of her appearance.
The groom drew up the horses outside the Parrs' house in Hill Street. Teresa told him she would send a message if she decided to stay more than half an hour, and she and Annie trod up the steps.
The brass knocker summoned an elderly butler, who said he would see if her ladyship was at home, and then creaked away up the stairs. Teresa gazed curiously around the entrance hall. She remembered her brief glimpse of it from the carriage on her arrival in London. It had impressed her as palatial then; now, used to the magnificence of Stafford House, she found it unremarkable.
The duchess's comment about mushrooms returned to her, and she remembered what Miss Carter had said on the subject. Miss Carter's information was imparted in a stream of gentle chatter that seemed to go in one ear and out the other, but much of it stuck, to reappear unexpectedly at the right moment. "Mushrooms," she had explained, "pop up overnight in fields though there was no sign of them the day before. In society a mushroom, though without known family background, pops up among people of the highest rank."
At the thought of Lady Parr's expression could she know that the duchess considered her a mushroom, Teresa laughed aloud.
Andrew, running down the stairs to greet her, heard the enchanting laugh he knew so well at the very moment that he caught sight of a modish young lady he scarcely recognised. "Teresa! Miss Danville!" Words failed him.
She read wonder in his face and was satisfied. She held out both hands to him. He took them and pressed a kiss on each, warm enough to be felt through the thin kid, then flushed and released them.
"Andrew, what a happy chance to meet you here." Her own colour was heightened but she smiled with careful composure, wondering how his kiss would feel on her cheek, on her lips. "I was going to call on you next."
"Then thank heaven I am here!" He blanched at this candid avowal. "A young lady never visits a gentleman's lodging."
"I have brought Annie. I know better than to go about alone."
"In this case a maid is insufficient," he said sternly. "No escort less than the duke or duchess could make such a visit respectable. Promise me that you will not call on me."
Teresa was flushed with annoyance now. Nearly two weeks without seeing him, an altogether gratifying greeting, and here they were already come to cuffs.
"I beg your pardon." His smile was rueful. "We agreed long ago that I had no right to guide your conduct, and now you are under the duke's protection I am sure I have no need."
"I did not tell anyone I meant to visit you," she confessed, disarmed. "I had a notion it might be frowned on, though I did not guess it was unforgivable."
"Nothing you do could be unforgivable, Teresa. I am amazed at how quickly you are learning the rules of society, but they are many and your mentors cannot be expected to foresee every eventuality. For your own sake, I hope you will consult the duchess when in doubt. I should not care to see you in the briars."
"How can I resist such an appeal? I shall not call on you, I promise, unless I can persuade my uncle to bring me. I suppose my cousin John is not an eligible escort in such a case?"
He frowned. "No," he said abruptly. "Shall we go up? Muriel and Lady Parr will be wondering what has become of you."
As they went up, Teresa asked him how much she and Marco owed him. "A round sum," she added. "I do not expect a detailed account."
"I can stand the nonsense," he growled. "I am sure you have better things to spend the ready on." He glanced at the stylish violet pelisse.
"Uncle Stafford has been more than generous. I have had no expenses so far. I am certain that Don Eduardo did not expect that you should frank us, sir, and I do not care to be beholden. Pray tell me the amount."
He muttered a figure.
"I shall bring it to your lodging as soon as I have seen Don Eduardo's banker."
"Teresa!" He caught the twinkle in her eye. "Oh, you are roasting me. Dashed if I hadn't forgot what a tease you are!" He ushered her into a small saloon decorated in the Egyptian style. "Ma'am, Muriel, here is Miss Danville."
Muriel rose from an uncomfortable-looking chair with lions' feet and started towards Teresa, her languid movements belied by her expression of eager welcome. Then she took in the apparition of fashionable splendour and her gliding steps faltered.
"Oh Muriel, you cannot be shy of me!" Teresa hugged her and kissed her cheek. "Fine feathers do not make fine birds, you know."
Despite her new elegance, she found she still envied her friend's blond prettiness. After all, that was what Andrew admired. Muriel was wearing a new morning gown of pink mull muslin. Teresa knew now that it would not have suited her in the least, yet it became Muriel's slender fairness very well. If perhaps some of Lady Parr's notions were shabby-genteel, her daughter was perfectly presentable. Teresa resolved not to give up the acquaintance only because her aunt was excessively high in the instep.
She turned to Lady Parr and curtsied a trifle lower than her ladyship's own rules provided for a baronet's widow. "I hope I see you well, ma'am?"
My lady was amazingly subdued by her ex-protégée's blossoming into a lady of fashion. In the conversation that followed, she only once quoted the late Sir Archibald's opinion and that in a complimentary manner. When Teresa begged her to allow Muriel to drive with her in the park, she agreed with every sign of delight and sent her daughter off to fetch her spencer at once.
Teresa suddenly remembered that she had to consult Andrew about the trial of the slaver captain. She did not want to alarm the ladies, should they not have heard the news, though as they had stayed below during the entire incident they were not witnesses.
"There is something I must discuss with you privately," she told Andrew in a low, worried voice. "Will you call at Stafford House, as soon as may be?"
Puzzled but intrigued, he assented. "Tomorrow afternoon at three?" he asked.
"Thank you, that will do very well."
No sooner were the words uttered than she recalled the duchess's rejection of "mushrooms." Her aunt had not specifically named Andrew. Of course she had not known that her niece meant to call on him, and even invite him to call. Teresa looked at him, trying to judge whether he looked like a mushroom.
He too had purchased new clothes since returning to England. Though his dark coat and knit pantaloons had none of the flair of Lord John's apparel, he was dressed with the utmost propriety. She thought the riding clothes he had worn when they first met suited him better, but at least there was nothing in his present appearance to give the duchess a disgust of him. His father was a viscount, she remembered. Surely the invitation would not land her in a scrape!
Chapter 11
Next morning, Andrew found himself in a quandary. The Foreign Secretary wanted to see him at half past three, and he was promised to Teresa for three o'clock.
According to his immediate superior, the great man wanted to thank him for the sterling service he had done in Central America. It was not the sort of meeting an ambitious young man could afford to miss. Had his other appointment been with any other person of his acquaintance, he would simply have sent a note postponing it. But this was with Teresa. And what was more, she had sounded worried. The idea of Teresa worrying caused an inexplicable sinking feeling in his middle.
He decided to present himself at Stafford House at ten in the morning. It was an unconscionable hour to pay a visit, but she was therefore unlikely to have already gone out.
He dressed with his usual plain neatness, then, just as Rowson was about to help him don his dark brown cut-away coat, he was overcome with dissatisfaction. Before his eyes rose a vision of Lord John's careless elegance. "Wait," he said, "I believe I shall try something more elaborate with my neckcloth. Do you know how to tie a Waterfall?"
"Nay, sir," said Rowson, shaking his head mournfully. "I've tended ye through desert and jungle without ever learning to tie a fancy knot. If that's what you want, 'tis a proper gentleman's gentleman you'll need."
Andrew frowned at the offending cravat. He had been happy with the same simple tie for years; now it seemed inadequate. "Let me try. Is there another cloth ready?"
He struggled for several minutes. First the knot was off centre, then the creases were all crooked, then it was so tight he could not breathe. "The devil with it!" he said at last, ripping it off and retying a fresh one the usual way. "It will have to do. Is this the best waistcoat I possess?" He regarded the amber satin with distaste.
"'Tis your favourite, sir!" said Rowson, his voice reproachful.
"I shall buy some more waistcoats." Andrew put on his coat, took up his gloves and top hat and turned before the mirror, peering at himself. "Damned if I haven't done this before," he muttered. "Posing like a man-milliner." Then he remembered that last time he had been naked, and he grinned. "Find me a hackney, Rowson, I'm running late."
At this hour there were more pedestrians in the streets than carriages. However, the hackney was pulled by an aged and infirm nag and moved at scarcely more than a walking pace. Andrew had all too much time to think. He was overcome by a wave of guilt. It was all very well to decide to refurbish his staid image, but he ought to be doing it for Muriel, not for Teresa.
What a beauty she had turned out to be with a little town bronze to give her polish! She was not at all his style, though. He had always admired blondes with fair complexions, and had won the hand of the prettiest of them all. And Teresa was far too lively for comfort. A man wanted a quiet, conformable wife who would make him a peaceful home and not contradict him at every turn.
He could not deny that his heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Teresa again. It was worry, of course, at what sort of scrape she had fallen into this time. For all her new town bronze she was not yet up to snuff, and he had an obligation to Lord Edward to keep an eye on her.
His guilt rationalised away, he reached Stafford House at half past ten and bounded up the steps. Boggs, being an excellent butler, recognised him and admitted him at once.
"Miss Danville?"
"Miss Danville is not at home, sir."
"She asked me to call on a matter of business. If you tell her I am come, I expect she will see me."
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I did not hintend to convey that Miss Danville is not receiving. She is gone out. If you would care to see young Mr Marco, sir, I believe he is yet at breakfast."
Andrew frowned. "Yes, I had best see Marco. Perhaps he can explain the matter. Tell him I am here, if you please."
Boggs returned a moment later. "His Grace requests the pleasure of your company in the breakfast room, sir. Mr Marco is with him."
Ushered into a room redolent of grilled ham, kippers and toasted muffins, Andrew made his bow to the duke. He nodded to Marco, who looked anxious, and a gentleman of about his own age whom he vaguely recognised.
His Grace of Stafford stood up and shook his hand, then waved him to a seat. "Coffee?" he offered, "or something more substantial? So you are the young man who brought me my niece and my nephew. My thanks to you, sir. A most welcome addition to my family, and of course I was more than happy to have news of my brother after all these years. You know my son, Danville?"
"How do you do, Graylin," said Viscount Danville, a solidly built gentleman as good-looking as his younger brother but for his haughty expression. "We have met, I believe."
"Yes, indeed, some years since." After a few minutes of conversation, the duke affable, his heir stiff, Andrew said, "If you will excuse us, your Grace, I should like a few words in private with Marco."
Marco breathed a sigh of relief, bowed to his uncle and cousin, and led his visitor to the library. "This is where I have my lessons," he explained as they sat down. "No one else uses it at this hour. Have you come about the trial? Teresa said she had no chance to consult you yesterday, but I thought you were coming this afternoon."
"The trial?"
"Did you not read about it? The Times reported that the Destiny's passengers are to be called as witnesses in the trial of the crew of the Snipe. You know my sister, she is pluck to the backbone, but the thought of all London knowing of her exploit has her in a quake."
"Do the duke and duchess know?"
"No, only Cousin John. He thinks it a famous adventure and calls her a heroine, but even he says it will ruin her if it becomes generally known. He is up to every rig and row in town, you know, and Teresa was quite overset when he said that."
"I daresay it will not do to tell the duchess, but it may be necessary to open our budget to the duke. He has the influence to quash a subpoena, and he is fond of you both already. I doubt he will turn you out into the street. Where is Teresa, by the way? I thought I was early enough to catch her."
"She went to see Don Eduardo's banker. We both need a spot of the ready in our pockets, besides what we owe you."
"She went to the City? Alone?"
"Of course not, she took Annie." Marco was indignant. "She is not stupid, you know."
Andrew groaned. "No, but she is green! Ladies of quality do not go to the City without a male escort. Indeed, it is not comme il faut for a young lady to visit a man of business at all."
"Then I had best go after her at once,” the lad said stiffly. “Pray excuse me, sir, I must make my excuses to my tutor. Thank you for warning me. I shall pass on your advice to my sister, regarding the trial."
"Don't be a gudgeon, you young firebrand. I shall go with you. But I cannot help wondering what will be her next start."
By this time the streets were bustling with traffic. The barouches, phaetons and chaises of Mayfair gave way to the stagecoaches and carters' wagons of less exalted quarters. Then their hackney threaded its way through the narrow streets of the City, past St Paul's, and turned into Lombard Street.
Fortunately Marco remembered the name of the bank. The carriage drew up before it and they climbed out. Andrew paid the driver.
"It's a good thing you did come with me," admitted Marco, flushing, "for I haven't even sixpence for the hackney. You can see how necessary it was for Teresa to come here."
"I am surprised that your uncle has not offered you an allowance."
"Teresa would not accept it," said the youth proudly as they were ushered into the bank. "Uncle Stafford insists on paying all our expenses." He turned to a bowing, black-clad clerk. "We are looking for my sister, Miss Danville. Is she still here?"
The clerk led them through a counting house full of more black-clad clerks, and up some stairs to a small office at the back. As he opened the door they saw a plump, middle-aged man sitting behind a desk, his face wreathed in smiles, then Annie, in the corner, and Teresa, seated with her back to them.
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bsp; "Sir Andrew Graylin and Mr Danville," announced the clerk.
Teresa jumped up, ran to Marco and flung her arms around him. "We're rich!" she crowed.
Andrew watched with amusement as Marco disentangled himself from his sister's embrace. In this place, in her sapphire outfit, she looked like a peacock among crows.
She turned her laughing eyes to him and curtsied, half mocking. "I beg your pardon, sir, but it is monstrous exciting when you think you are a poor relation to discover suddenly that you are rich. Papa thought there would be enough for Marco's education and my come-out. It seems his little pittance has multiplied with such vigour that we have enough for that even if the money is divided equally with all my brothers!"
"Which I cannot advise," put in the banker. "To split up such a fortune among so many is as bad as squandering it."
"I must consult Don Eduardo, of course. But even if he agrees that it must be shared, I shall have a proper dowry."
"You are already considering marriage?" asked Andrew, scowling. His thoughts flew to Lord John, then he wondered whether Lord Danville, heir to the dukedom, might be a greater attraction. Could first cousins marry? He had never before had cause to wonder.
Teresa laughed. "Is not marriage the first business of young ladies?" she teased, though there was an edge to her voice. "No, not yet. However, I expect to meet a great many charming young men shortly, for my aunt is planning a party to introduce me to the Ton.” She turned back to the banker. “But we are wasting your time, sir. For the present, I should like one hundred pounds each for myself and my brother, in notes and coins, and the draft you prepared is for this gentleman. You will notify me when you have arranged the meeting?"
"Certainly, Miss Danville." The stout banker rang a bell then bowed and shook her hand. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, ma'am, though I hope you will reconsider splitting such an admirable fortune. Sirs, your servant."
The clerk arrived to show them out.