A Lord for Miss Larkin

by Carola Dunn

  “I shall take Miss Larkin home.”

  “If you insist. I daresay I ought to make some attempt to find my other guests.”

  Alison held out her hand to Lord Kilmore. “I have enjoyed myself excessively, sir. It was prodigious kind in you to invite me.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Alison.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, his breath warming her fingers through her glove, his enigmatic gaze holding hers.

  All the way back to Park Street, Mr. Osborne lectured Alison on her duty to Lady Emma. She bore the scold in near silence, venturing an occasional subdued protest. Philip said nothing. When they reached the house, he helped her down.

  Mr. Osborne followed. “I shall have to find a hackney,” he said irritably. “Tell her ladyship I shall call tomorrow.”

  “I shall tell her.” As she spoke, Alison saw a slight figure jump down from the back of the carriage. A freckled face appeared momentarily and a gold coin spun towards it, glittering in the gas light.

  Mr. Osborne strode off into the night. Alison turned to Philip.

  “That was Tarry Joe!”

  “He, too, is concerned for your safety.”

  “You need not have worried about me. Lord Kilmore was all that is gentlemanly and you were disgracefully rude to him. Besides, ‘Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.’ But I was having a splendid time!”

  “‘Timeo. . .’?” he began, but the front door opened and she flounced up the steps and into the house.

  Lady Emma was hurrying out of the drawing-room as she entered the hall.

  “My dear, are you all right?”

  “Oh yes, perfectly.” She ran to hug her chaperon. “I did not mean to distress you. When I realized how unsuitable the Darnells were it was too late. I could not say, ‘I am sorry, but after seeing you I cannot go,’ and I did not know what to do. However, Lord Kilmore was altogether chivalrous and Vauxhall was beyond anything great.”

  “But a masquerade!”

  “I did not know it was improper to go to a masquerade at Vauxhall. I do not remember that you ever told me.”

  “Probably not, because no one ever invited you. Still, I daresay no one was there who might have recognized you.”

  “I was wearing a mask all evening—I took it off in the carriage—and I kept the hood of my domino up. Lord Kilmore brought it for me. Is it not pretty?”

  “Just your colour.” Lady Emma combined a smile with a sigh and a shake of the head. “All’s well that ends well, I suppose. At least you had the sense to leave word for me.”

  “To tell the truth,” Alison confided, “I was not at all sorry to see Mr. Trevelyan.”

  ****

  Alison was neither sorry nor surprised, when she rose late the next morning, that though Lady Emma was still abed, Philip was awaiting her in the breakfast parlour. Henry’s shrug told her he was no match for Mr. Trevelyan. He brought her usual eggs and toast, poured a cup of tea and stood fiddling aimlessly at the sideboard.

  “You may go, Henry. I’ve no intention of assaulting Miss Alison over the breakfast table.”

  The footman flushed and glanced at Alison.

  “Thank you, Henry, I shall not need you for a while.” The moment the door closed behind him she turned to Philip and said in a militant voice, “There is no need to bully the servants only because you wish to haul me over the coals. I suppose that is why you have invited yourself to breakfast?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, I want to ask you what you meant by ‘Timeo Danaos’ et cetera.”

  Astonished, she asked, “Did you not learn Latin in school?”

  “Don’t be pert—I beg your pardon, I should not have said that. Yes, I did learn Latin, but you did not go to school, and if you had you would have studied sketching, not Latin. I just wanted to know what you meant by that tag.”

  “‘I fear the Greeks, even bearing gifts.’ Laocoön said that when the Trojans decided to pull the wooden horse into the city. Lord Kilmore offered me something I wanted, but that does not mean I trusted him. I was on my guard.”

  “Look what happened to Laocoön.”

  “Strangled by a sea serpent. That was most unfair of the gods, particularly as it squished his sons, too.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Alison, forget Laocoön, forget Kilmore, where did you learn Latin? I have been puzzling over it all night.”

  “I told you that my grandfather was a classical scholar. He left hundreds of books—that is why we never use the back parlour for guests. Many of them were in Greek and I never quite worked out the alphabet. There were Latin dictionaries and translations, though, and I managed to pick up enough to read quite a number of the books. One cannot be forever reading romances, you know.”

  “I never guessed you were a bluestocking.”

  “One cannot be forever spouting Latin quotations, either, and Lady Emma warned me particularly to avoid doing so. Do you mind that I am a bluestocking?” she asked wistfully. “I am not, really, for I am woefully ignorant about most things.”

  “Mind? Why should I mind? You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met.”

  The intensity of his gaze made her lower her eyes. It was a relief when the door opened and Lady Emma came in wearing an elegant wrapper and looking flustered.

  “Alison, it is not at all proper—”

  “My fault, Emma. I suppose the watch-servant reported to you.”

  “If you mean that my footman has more concern for the proprieties than you do, then you are right.” She sat down at the table. “Really, Philip, I do not know what has come over you. You used to be the soul of decorum. That you have a bone to pick with Alison after last night is no excuse.”

  He looked amused. “The bone is picked. My apologies, and I am on my way. I shall see you this evening?”

  “At the Hardcastles’ ball? Yes.”

  “Then each of you reserve a waltz for me, if you please. Good day, ladies.” He swept them a half-mocking bow and was gone.

  “I declare I scarcely recognize Philip. He seems to grow younger instead of older. I hope he did not ring a peal over you?”

  “Not exactly,” said Alison.

  She had no leisure to ponder Mr. Trevelyan’s odd behaviour, for Lord Fane came to call.

  Alison was aux anges. He had not deserted her after all. In fact, he even asked after the health of her aunt and, as they drove through the Park, told her something of the business that had taken him into the country.

  “One has a duty to one’s tenants and a duty to the land,” he explained. “Fane Hall has been in the family for over three centuries. It is a weighty responsibility.”

  “I am certain your tenants have nothing to complain of in their landlord,” she assured him.

  “I think not. However, I do not mean to oppress you with ideas a pretty young female cannot be expected to comprehend. Do you go the Hardcastles’ tonight? I trust I have not returned to Town so late as to find you engaged already for the entire evening?”

  With a becoming show of modesty, Alison agreed to save him two dances. Before they left the Park another two gentlemen, delighted to see her back in circulation, had asked her to stand up with them. Displaying every sign of jealousy, Lord Fane refused to stop to allow a third to approach them. It was all very flattering, and she could hardly wait to tell Lady Emma.

  Her usually cautious chaperon had to agree that Lord Fane’s attentions were becoming most particular. “I begin to believe you will see a lord at your feet after all,” she said, laughing. “I hope you will invite me to the wedding, and that we shall be friends when you are married.”

  It was then that Alison realized she had never thought beyond the delightful moment when a romantic lord would vow eternal devotion.

  Did she really want to spend the rest of her life with Lord Fane? With Lord Kilmore? Even with dear Neil, if he had not had his Bridey waiting for him? Was it really so romantic to marry a lord?

  She liked Philip better than any of them.

  And then th
ere were the unexplained and unmentionable aspects of a wife’s duties. She had been vaguely aware, that evening at Vauxhall, that the disgraceful goings-on had something to do with that mysterious business. Mrs. Darnell and the other immodest females she had seen had been enjoying themselves, so presumably the experience was pleasant, but she could not imagine herself making so free with Lord Fane, even as his wife. With Philip, on the other hand, exploring the subject might prove interesting. With Philip, life in general would be—interesting.

  He had said she was extraordinary. Suddenly it was very important to know what he meant by that word.

  “My dear, you have fallen into a brown study.” Lady Emma interrupted her musing. “I said, let us go up and make sure nothing needs to be done to your ball gown before this evening.”

  “Yes, it must be perfect tonight,” Alison eagerly agreed. Tonight, waltzing with Philip, she would ask him what he meant.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The ball gown was perfect. Carter had sewed fresh lace edging on the white sarcenet and replaced trailing green ribbons with dozens of minute blue bows, arranged to form rosettes. Nonetheless, Alison went to the wardrobe and took out her first ball gown, the white with silver net. The first time she wore it Philip had called her an enchanting elf.

  “There’s a tear in the sleeve of that one, miss,” Carter reported. “I’ve not had time to mend it, being as I was refurbishing this. And her ladyship said as you might want to change the net for a bit of blue gauze.”

  “I do not want ever to change it.” Regretfully she hung the gown up. “This one is very pretty too. Thank you for all your work.”

  “I’ve saved a bit of ribbon for your hair, miss. That blue do bring out the colour of your eyes.”

  ****

  Judging by the number of gentlemen at the Hardcastles’ ball who commented on the brilliance of Alison’s eyes, Carter was right. Lord Fane remarked significantly that they reminded him of the ornamental lake at Fane Hall on a sunny day. Lord Kilmore told her, in a soft voice, that they put to shame Lady Jersey’s magnificent sapphires. Even Neil had something to say on the subject.

  “Sure and if it weren’t that me own eyes are the spit and image of yours. . . but I would not care to be caught boasting. Put me down for the first waltz, cousin. We’ll dance back to back and dazzle them all.”

  Laughing, Alison turned to her chaperon.

  “That will do very well,” said Lady Emma. “Philip is not here yet, so I will write him down on my card for the first waltz and you may take the second with him.”

  Alison could think of no valid reason to object. She would just have to wait to talk to him.

  She stood up for the country dance just before the first waltz with the youthful Lord Mortimer Hardcastle, who had come up to Town from Cambridge to grace his parents’ ball. Tall, clumsy and bashful, he gazed at her with such wistful admiration that he forgot to mind his steps. She managed to steer him safely through the set until they reached the last figure. They were turning arm in arm when there was a horrid ripping noise and a couple of feet of lace trim parted company with the hem of Alison’s dress.

  Lord Mortimer stopped in his tracks, appalled. Alison tugged him out of the way of the other dancers towards the side of the room, doing a sort of shuffle to avoid entangling her feet in the dangling loop of lace.

  His face was scarlet, his mind obviously racing in a desperate search for words of apology which eluded him. She patted his arm.

  “Never mind,” she consoled him. “I can pin it up. But I must go to the ladies’ withdrawing-room and it will take a few minutes. Will you find my cousin, Lord Deverill, for me, and explain that I may miss our waltz?”

  Lord Mortimer nodded. “Miss Larkin, I. . .” He ran out of words again.

  “That’s quite all right. Pray do not worry about it. I enjoyed our dance, my lord.” She smiled at him encouragingly and went off to find the withdrawing-room.

  When she returned to the ballroom, the waltz was in full swing. Neil was nowhere to be seen; she guessed he had repaired to the card room. Since Lady Emma was dancing with Philip, Alison made her way to Lady Edgehill’s side.

  “May I take refuge with you, ma’am? A slight accident to my skirt, and I have lost my partner.”

  “Of course, my dear,” the countess welcomed her. “Emma is standing up with Philip, I see. A fine couple they make, do they not? One of these days Emma will come to her senses and make him happy.”

  “Make him happy, my lady?”

  “Marry him. He has been pursuing her these three or four years, since she has been out of mourning. A most suitable match, is it not?”

  “Most suitable, ma’am,” said Alison faintly. How blind she had been! Feeling rather peculiar, she sat still and let Lady Edgehill’s chatter wash over her.

  The countess was in a communicative mood. “He has no title, to be sure, but a very old family for all that, and she had enough of aristocratic romance with Grant. I always said Stephen Grant was a handsome ne’er-do-well but she would have him. Edgehill and I were not in the least surprised when he killed himself racing a stage-coach and left her near penniless. We have known Philip Trevelyan forever and he is a steady young man, well thought of in government circles and wealthy enough to support Emma in the luxury the dear girl deserves. He would do anything for her, I believe.”

  Including being kind to her protégée, Alison thought. Including going out of his way to make an odd little Cit feel at home in Society. She had been warned: Lady Emma had said that Philip was always ready to put himself out for an old friend. Emma was more to him than that, though. He loved her and did not want her to suffer for her audacious attempt to foist an ill-bred, ignorant chit on the ton.

  Alison squared her shoulders. It was lucky she had found out in time. And whatever Mr. Trevelyan’s motive, he had helped to make her comfortable in this glittering world. She was not going to throw away all that she had gained.

  When Neil arrived to commiserate on the missed waltz, she was all sparkling gaiety.

  She danced next with Lord Kilmore, and then with Lord Fane. The nonsensical flattery of the one and the steadfast admiration of the other did much to restore her composure. By the time Philip claimed her for the waltz she was ready to hold her own in conversation, though with a sense of unreality that he did not seem to observe.

  She did not ask him why he had called her extraordinary.

  In the carriage going home from the Hardcastles’ she took advantage of the darkness to ask Lady Emma about what her mother had said.

  “I did not know that Mr. Trevelyan wanted to marry you.”

  “It is not something either of us is likely to bruit abroad, and it was wrong in Mama to tell you. However, since she did—yes, Philip has proposed several times.”

  “Do you not want to take a second husband?” Aware that her question was impertinent, Alison would not have been surprised to receive a set-down.

  Lady Emma was silent for a few moments. Then she spoke, slowly, as if forced to examine her thoughts before she was able to express them. “Yes, I want to remarry. The social round becomes wearisome. It is no reflection on you, Alison. Indeed you have been quite the pleasantest of my girls. I daresay you can understand that to go to parties because one ought to, not because one chooses to, might grow tedious? Stephen—Lord Grant—was a very sociable person. He was handsome and dashing and romantic, all the qualities that sweep a young girl off her feet, but he was not dependable. He was not even kind, except in a careless way. I want a husband who is considerate of my feelings, and above all one who is practical. Someone who solves problems instead of creating them.”

  Philip was kind and dependable. Philip considered the feelings even of eccentric maiden aunts, while he solved their problems with aplomb. He was undoubtedly just what Lady Emma wanted.

  Alison sighed.

  * * * *

  It was cheering the next morning to find not one but three bouquets of red roses awaiting her in the brea
kfast parlour. Their fragrance overwhelmed the odours of toast and ham.

  “Who are they from?” asked Lady Emma.

  Alison read the cards. “The buds are from Lord Fane. I do not know the language of flowers but I should guess that buds indicate caution?”

  “Uncertainty, perhaps.”

  “The biggest bouquet is from Lord Mortimer Hardcastle. His pen is readier than his tongue. He apologizes for stepping on my hem and then he writes, ‘I shall be finished at the university in just one more year.’ What do you suppose that signifies?”

  “The poor boy is smitten but does not quite dare ask you to wait for him.”

  “After one dance, during which he scarce opened his mouth! Oh dear.”

  “Calf-love. He will be over it long before he takes his degree. And the third?”

  “From Lord Kilmore.” Alison felt her cheeks grow warm. “He begs for an opportunity to speak to me privately.”

  “So the moment has come,” said Lady Emma, looking thoughtful. “To tell the truth, I do not know what to advise you. A month ago—a week ago—I should have warned you to beware. Now I am not so sure.”

  “What has changed your opinion, ma’am?”

  She shrugged. “He ought not to have taken you to Vauxhall, but his behaviour there was unexceptionable. Because of that, I observed him closely last night. I am prepared to believe that he has a genuine affection for you, not only for your fortune. You might do worse. You like him, do you not?”

  “He is charming and amusing,” said Alison cautiously.

  “Who knows, you might be happy with him. I cannot presume to say. I must tell you that I discussed the matter with Ral…Mr. Osborne last night.”

  “I did not see him at the ball.”

  “He came only for a short time. He is certain that he can tie up your money so as to keep the bulk of it from your husband’s hands. Under those circumstances, Kilmore might be an acceptable match.”

  “Or he might cry off.”

  Lady Emma smiled. “That is always possible. You need not see him alone if you do not wish it. I shall tell him that his suit is not welcome. But I must point out that whatever your decision, this may be your only opportunity to see a lord at your feet. We cannot count on Fane.”