by Mary Nichols
‘Of course he is human, Lavinia, how can you say he is not?
‘Then tell me what he was like.’
‘A young man like any other. A nobleman. Athletic.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ his daughter said, with a smile. ‘How did you come to paint the portrait? Where did you do it? In your studio?’
‘No, I had no studio then. I went to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing establishment.’
‘You never did! Oh, how daring of you.’
It had been very daring. In their efforts to be alone together she and Marcus would dream up the most extraordinary places to meet. And one day, when he told her he was going to box, she had begged to watch him. How she had managed to slip away from her mama she did not remember, but manage it she had, and taken her sketchbook with her.
‘It was commissioned,’ she told Lavinia, and that was only half a lie, for Marcus had asked her to do it. ‘But the gentleman changed his mind and so I was left with it on my hands.’ Changed his mind about other things too. From being everything to him, so he had said, she had become nothing.
‘I think it is very good, much better than that horrible thing you did of Lady Willoughby.’
‘They are two different styles and subjects and should not be compared.’ Frances felt easier discussing the merits of works of art, than the foibles of the Duke of Loscoe. She could not get out of her head the titbit of gossip James had told her. Could it possibly be true? How much did Lavinia know? ‘The one is a fashionable portrait, the other an action painting, full of movement. At least it is meant to be.’
‘Oh, I can see that. The one of Papa has such strength, every brushstroke is bold and telling. It says, “I am a god, I am invincible.”’
‘Oh, Lavinia, how whimsical you are!’
‘Am I? But you have not answered my question. How well did you know Papa when you were young?’
‘Not very well. We met at the usual Society events when I had my come-out. I was just seventeen and he was twenty-three. I never saw him again after the end of the Season.’ True, all of it. For how well did she know him? Not well enough, or perhaps too well, to avoid the heartache that followed.
‘Oh. I thought there was more to it than that.’
‘Well, there was not and why you should think there was, I cannot imagine. And I will answer no more questions on the subject.’
‘I thought you might have some idea where a man like Papa would go at dead of night, dressed like a vagrant.’
‘Like a vagrant.’ She should not encourage the girl, but she was so surprised the words were out before she could stop them.
‘Yes. I saw him. I would not have recognised him but for his walk. There is something havey-cavey going on…’
Frances pulled herself together. ‘Lavinia, you should not be talking to me about it.’
‘But you are the only one I can talk to.’
‘Fustian! Now, please put it from your mind. We will leave off the sitting and look at that exercise I gave you to do.’
It was a drawing of a large building, a mansion, meant to test the girl’s line and perspective, but she had added two horses in the park in front of it and a tiny rabbit in the foreground which brought the picture to life. They were standing with their heads together, going over it when the Duke was announced. Before Frances could collect her wits, he was in the room, bowing to her.
In his brown frockcoat and well-cut pantaloons, he looked nothing like the ne’er-do-well Lavinia had described. She could only surmise that the girl had seen him setting off for one of the many masked balls that were taking place that Season. She was suddenly confronted by a mental image of the Duke dressed in rags, bowing and dancing with a queen or a columbine and it made her smile.
‘My lady.’ He greeted her perfectly seriously, but her smile had made his own lips twitch.
‘Your Grace. We were just finishing.’
‘Let me see.’ He took Lavinia’s drawing from her and studied it. ‘Is this all your work, Vinny?’
‘Yes, Papa.’ Her previous animation had left her and once again she was the uncommunicative child.
‘Good. Well done.’ He turned to Frances, smiling urbanely. She could detect no sign of the passionate man who had kissed her in his coach. ‘She is showing promise, my lady?’
She was obliged to clear her throat before she could speak and then her voice was husky. ‘Indeed, she is. I shall have a rival in a few years’ time.’
‘Oh, no, I do not think so,’ he said. ‘I do not think Lavinia will ever need to worry about earning a living.’
‘No, but that does not preclude her from using the talents she has,’ she said sharply.
‘There are many husbands who do not like talented wives.’
‘Do they not?’ She had been prepared to put their animosity on one side for the sake of his daughter, but his superior attitude was the outside of enough. ‘Well, I can tell you that mine was most supportive. And since his demise I have been glad of my talent. I paint and teach to keep myself busy, to prove to myself I am not useless simply because I am a widow, and to help provide for the orphans, not to earn a living.’ She was not sure, but she thought she heard Lavinia give a little chuckle.
He smiled. ‘Touché, my lady. I beg your pardon. Tell me, how is the portrait coming along?’
‘Well enough, my lord.’
He chuckled. ‘A guarded answer. No doubt you had a problem persuading my daughter to sit still.’
‘Problems are made to be overcome, sir. It was simply a matter of engaging her attention in something that interests her.’
‘And how did you do that?’
‘With the rabbit,’ Lavinia put in. ‘The one we found in the garden.’
‘Rabbit?’ Marcus queried, turning to Frances. ‘Do you mean you kept it?’
‘Of course. I promised Andrew I would. And I never break a promise.’
Was there a barb in those innocent words, a reminder that he had not always kept his promises? He was not used to being called to account and it annoyed him. ‘And you have allowed Lavinia to handle it?’
‘Yes, why not? It is part of the picture. It helps to portray her ladyship’s character.’
He frowned. It was difficult enough controlling Lavinia without Frances Corringham encouraging her to defy him, but he must not let Lavinia see it had put his bristles up. ‘May I see it?’
‘The rabbit?’ Frances queried in surprise.
‘No, of course not. I meant the picture.’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I never show my work before it is finished.’
Now Lavinia really did giggle. ‘I do not think anyone has ever told Papa no before.’
‘Well, they have now.’
He took a deep breath to control his anger. ‘I shall look forward to seeing the finished picture when it is convenient to you, my lady,’ he said stiffly. ‘Now, Vinny, we must go. Your dancing master is due at Stanmore House in half an hour.’
Frances led the way downstairs to see them out herself. ‘I will see you on Monday, if that is convenient to your papa,’ she said, kissing the girl’s cheek. She did not know why she did it, except that she wanted to show the child some affection and was surprised when the girl hugged her and kissed her back.
‘Lavinia, wait for me in the carriage,’ he said. ‘I want to speak privately with Lady Corringham.’
Frances wondered what was coming; a mention perhaps of that kiss, an explanation, even an apology, though his attitude since coming to fetch Lavinia was not one of penitence.
As soon as Lavinia was out of earshot, he turned to Frances. ‘My lady, could you not have found some other means to persuade Lavinia to sit still?’
‘Not one that came immediately to mind and, knowing how fond she is of animals, it seemed the perfect solution. You surely do not object?’
‘I told her she could not have it.’
‘She does not have it. It is in a box in my kitchen and when it has fully recovered, I shall see that
it is set free.’
‘That is nothing to the point. Did it not occur to you that encouraging my daughter in her silliness would undermine my authority with her?’
‘I did not think your authority was so fragile, sir, that a little thing like a rabbit could break it.’ Far from wishing to express regret for his behaviour the night before, he was even more arrogant than usual. ‘In truth, I am persuaded that Lady Lavinia is more than a little in awe of you.’
‘Fustian! I have never laid a finger on her in my life…’
‘Oh, I can readily believe that, when I understand you have hardly spent any time with her as a child.’ She should not have said that, she knew, but she wanted a fight, needed it to give vent to her anger, anger with him for making her feel of so little consequence that he could kiss her without so much as a by your leave, anger with herself for allowing it. ‘Children need both parents; from what I have gleaned, Lady Lavinia and her brother were often left to their own devices…’
‘Has she told you that?’
‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘I deduced it.’
‘Did your extraordinary powers of deduction also tell you the reason?’
‘No, your Grace,’ she answered evenly, refusing to rise to his sarcasm. ‘But if there is a reason, then surely you should have explained it to your daughter…’
‘Oh, so now you are presuming to tell me how to deal with my daughter. I collect you are an expert on bringing up children.’
‘That was a low blow and unworthy of you.’
He was chagrined but his pride would not allow him to admit it to her. ‘So we are sparring, are we?’
‘If it is the only way to make you see…’
‘See what?’
‘That children thrive on kindness and that if things are explained to them so that they understand, they will behave.’
‘I am unkind to my daughter? I am unkind simply because I refuse to allow her to have a wild animal in the house?’
‘No, of course not, but…’
‘Then, my lady, I suggest you leave my daughter to me.’
It was all very well for her to ring a peal over him about his daughter, but she had no idea of the true state of affairs and he had no intention of telling her. His wife had not been interested in him as a person, only as the provider of a title. She had said more than once after Lavinia’s birth that she wished the girl had been a boy, so that she might not be troubled by him again. And after Duncan was born two years later, she told him she had provided him with his heir and as far as she was concerned her duty was done. From then on they had led separate lives, publicly blaming it on her ill health.
He had seen his children only occasionally and now he found he hardly knew them and did not know how to deal with them. Were they still children or young adults? But he resented being lectured. He turned and took his hat from Creeley and clamped it on his head. ‘I bid you good day, my lady.’
Frances watched him go, then turned back inside and went into the dining room for her own light repast. But she could not eat. Her throat seemed to be closed by her swiftly beating heart. Oh, it was too bad of him to look down his aristocratic nose at her and dictate to her as if she were a servant at his beck and call. Was that how he looked upon her? No, she told herself, if that kiss was anything to go by he had other ideas for her. He would soon learn his mistake. If he ever came again after today’s brangle. Would he even allow Lavinia to come again? If he did not, she would miss her. And it was Lavinia who would be the loser.
She was still sitting at the table, the untouched food in front of her, when Percy was announced. He did not wait to be shown into the drawing room but followed Creeley into the dining room and, removing his hat, sat down at the table with her. ‘You are eating late, Fanny. Had you forgot we were going out in my new phaeton this afternoon?’
‘Goodness, yes, I had. Oh, Percy I am so sorry. Wait, while I change, it will not take me long.’ She abandoned her meal and hurried to her room. It was the work of only a few minutes to change into a full skirt of soft green wool and a matching jacket, nipped in at the waist and fastened with silver frogging. Cramming a small green hat on to her dark curls, she hurried to rejoin her escort.
‘Very fetching,’ he said, offering her his arm.
The phaeton, standing at the gate, was painted butter yellow and was picked out in lines of red and black. Harnessed to it were two matching greys. She stopped to admire them. ‘Percy, are they new too?’
‘Yes, bought them off Lord Graham,’ he said, helping her up to the high seat, before climbing up after her. ‘Seems he’s pinched in the pocket and about to swallow a spider.’
‘Bankrupt? Goodness, how did that come about?’
‘Gambling, my dear,’ He flicked the reins and the huge red-painted wheels began to turn. ‘He can’t seem to resist it. I heard he was in to the tune of ten thousand.’
‘Oh, his poor wife!’
‘Yes, indeed. You need bottomless pockets to speculate that recklessly.’ He paused. ‘Talking about chance, I heard young James was in pretty deep…’
‘Oh, chicken feed.’ So that was what this talk of Lord Graham was leading up to, a jobation about James’s irresponsibility, or hers in not curbing the young man, but it must mean James’s debts were already the subject of gossip and she did not like that. ‘I have dealt with it.’
‘You should not be obliged to do so, my dear.’
‘I am his stepmother.’
‘Yes, but I know you, you will not go to the trustees for the blunt, but find it yourself. You cannot keep doing it, Fanny. He is not a child, he has to learn to stand on his own feet.’
‘I know. You do not need to ring a peel over me. I have talked to him and he has promised to reform.’
‘And will he?’
‘Of course.’ She spoke firmly, but both knew it was unlikely.
‘Shall I speak to him?’
‘No, please do not. He would be mortified if he knew I had mentioned the matter to you. Now, shall we change the subject? What other on dit have you heard?’
‘Mrs Harcourt has bought a new house in Park Place, not a stone’s throw from Stanmore House. They say she is determined to shackle the Duke of Loscoe.’
‘Then she will come home by weeping cross.’
‘How do you know that?’ he asked, looking sideways at her. ‘The lady, I have heard, can be very tenacious.’
‘So she may be, but I still think she will fail.’
‘Twenty pounds says she will have him rivetted by the end of the Season.’
‘The orphans could find a good use for twenty pounds, but I cannot take your money, Percy. Mrs Harcourt has tried to engage the Duke’s attention before and failed and, besides, there is another with a prior claim.’
He looked startled. ‘Has he offered?’
‘I doubt it. He has told me he is not contemplating matrimony…’
‘Surely you would not agree to carte blanche?’
‘Me?’ she queried in surprise. ‘You thought I was the prior claim?’
‘Why not? Any one with half an eye can see he is dangling after you.’
She laughed, but it was not her usual happy chuckle but a rough sound that was alien to his ears. ‘Oh, Percy, the great Duke of Loscoe dangling! I am quite sure he would not cast himself so low as to dangle.’
‘Perhaps not, but you know what I mean.’ He smiled, as they entered the gates of the park and joined the cavalcade.
‘I assure you he holds me in aversion. I have had the temerity to criticise his handling of his daughter.’
‘You do say! But if it is not you he wishes for a chère amie, it must be Mrs Poole…’
‘Mrs Poole is her name, is it? I have heard the gossip. They say there is a child.’
‘Yes. I wish you had not learned of it.’
‘James told me.’
‘James should learn to keep his tongue between his teeth.’
‘Why? You did not think it would hurt me, did
you?’
‘Does it not?’
‘No, of course it does not. Percy, it is seventeen years since I clapped eyes on the man; he could have had a dozen mistresses in that time, probably has, if the gossip about his marriage is true. Why should that concern me?’
‘If it does not, then I am truly thankful.’
‘Do you think we could talk about something else? The love life of the Duke of Loscoe is beginning to bore me.’
He inclined his head towards her. ‘As you wish. Did you know Lady Willoughby is planning a masked ball for Felicity?’ He chuckled suddenly. ‘I suppose she hopes that if everyone is masked, she can more easily fire her off.’
‘Percy, that is unkind in you.’
‘Well, you must admit, the chit is definitely plain.’
‘I do not think so. She is young and a little gawky, but she will blossom, especially if she finds a nice young man to offer for her…’
‘Not the Duke of Loscoe?’
‘I thought we had agreed to dispense with that subject,’ she said sharply. Why was his name on everyone’s lips? Why was everything he said and did a subject for tattle? Why could she not escape, not even with Percy, whom she thought she could trust to avoid talking of him?
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I forgot.’
To Frances’s immense relief, the conversation was brought to an end by the approach of a barouche carrying Lady Graham and her daughter, Constance. The two carriages pulled up to one side so that the ladies could exchange greetings, and though naturally nothing was said of Lord Graham’s financial worries, her ladyship did look rather longingly at the greys.
‘I feel so sorry for her,’ Frances said, as they moved off afterwards. ‘This is Constance’s come-out Season and, if his lordship really is in deep, it will not help.’
‘No. Undoubtedly the daughter will be expected to haul her papa out of the mire with a good marriage.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Probably. But who among this Season’s eligibles is well breeched enough to do it? Apart from the Duke of Loscoe, that is, since we are forbidden to speak of him.’
She laughed and thumped him on the shoulder, which jerked the hand that held the reins and for a minute or two his whole attention was given to controlling the spirited horses who, confused by the unexpected signal to ginger up, could not find the room to do so in the confines of the carriageway and were set on running everyone else down.