But he could not allow her to fall into Neave’s hands. And if saving her meant intruding on her independence, so be it. He had no choice in the matter, anymore than she did.
Julia had scarcely entered the ballroom when she was approached by several matrons with young men in tow, wanting to be introduced. She regarded the situation with amusement. She did not know to which of her partners she owed this change in status, but she could think of no other reason. How ironic, that it is the rakes who have brought me to the attention of the matchmakers, when all the perfectly respectable young gentlemen who had courted me in my first Season did not. She had never lacked partners at a ball, but among those being presented to her now, she recognized some very distinguished names. She smiled and accepted the attention, all the while wondering if Captain Neave would attend.
Then, as if in response to her wishes, she saw him coming towards her. He approached her with a spring in his step, smiling amiably. There was no trace in his face of the disquiet that had prompted his confidences in the afternoon. He looked simply like a handsome gentleman who found pleasure in her company.
They could not converse properly in a ballroom, surrounded by others who were listening to every word, and he promptly left her to bring some lemonade. Julia sighed. It would be her third glass of lemonade since she arrived. She should have asked for wine, or even champagne.
Neave had barely disappeared into the crowd when Thorwynn bore down on her. Julia stared at him, captivated like a bird staring at a snake. His stride was smooth and elegant, yet he did not seem to move at all, almost as if he lay in wait. She scarcely noticed Lord Benedict, despite his distinctive red hair, loping at Thorwynn’s side. Thorwynn’s eyes locked into hers, and she could not look away.
Before she knew it, the crowd around her had parted to let him through.
‘Good evening, Miss Swifton. I was wondering if you would put me down for a waltz,’ he said, his tone brooking no refusal. She lifted her card to look, if only to break the spell of his gaze. At first the letters seemed hopelessly jumbled, as if she’d forgotten how to read. Then letters sorted themselves into words and she was able to locate the empty spaces next to the two waltzes.
‘Yes, Lord Thorwynn,’ she said, in a voice that managed to sound completely controlled. ‘I’d be happy to put your name down.’
‘And for the cotillion as well,’ he said.
She lifted an eyebrow. He had better not ask her for a third. Even if he did not actually dance with her, it would be all over the ballroom within minutes. A third dance meant that his interest was fixed and he planned to offer for her. It was as good as an engagement.
He didn’t ask for a third dance. But in the next instant, Lord Benedict stepped forward and asked for the second waltz. And a second dance.
She laughed. Loudly enough to draw attention to herself from people outside her group. But it was too absurd. Either they were competing for her attention, which was unlikely, or they meant to keep her away from someone else.
That someone else appeared, carrying another glass of lemonade. He managed to break through the circle around her, but she was flanked on both sides by Thorwynn and Benedict.
It would have been funny if it wasn’t annoying.
She beamed at Captain Neave, assuring him of her welcome in spite of her boorish companions.
‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the lemonade, as if he had gifted her a diamond necklace. ‘I’m extremely thirsty.’ But then the lemonade posed a problem. She could not possibly swallow down another glass. She sipped tentatively, managing to cast Neave a warm look over the rim.
He was ill at ease. He was not much smaller than the two men beside him, but he seemed to contract beside them. Their attitude was decidedly menacing. Julia wanted badly to kick them in the shins and tell them to leave her alone. But of course she could not. Not in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by suitors. It would hardly be ladylike. But perhaps an opportunity would arise later.
Meanwhile, she was cornered. Her smile grew stale as she found herself at an impasse. She could not even glare at them without drawing attention. She prayed for the orchestra to start up quickly. But in the interim, there was nothing to do but chatter.
So, rather than escalate the hostilities, she launched into a monologue. She chose the first topic that sprung to mind.
‘It’s a pity,’ she said, ‘that they do not allow ladies into the Four-Horse Club.’ There were shocked gasps from the matrons, and one or two laughs from the gentlemen. Not a good choice of topic, perhaps. ‘You only have to look around Hyde Park. There are several skilled ladies who drive a barouche and four bays, and for as long as they’ve been doing it, they’ve never met with an accident.’ There were mutters and murmurs. ‘Though I’m not sure I’d like to drive a yellow barouche, which is a requirement of the club.’ Some more gasps. Half the gentlemen of the ton aspired to drive the yellow barouche that signalled their membership. Those gentlemen who didn’t, drove too badly to even dream of it. ‘And the rosettes at the head of the horses seem insipid.’ She had not set out to shock anybody, but some perverse part of her was determined to do so. A great chasm yawned before her, and she was heading straight towards it. She was sure, before the evening ended, she would be labelled an Eccentric, like her grandmother.
‘Perhaps,’ said Thorwynn, who was himself a member of the club, ‘we can set up a test for those ladies who think themselves skilled enough,’ he said, amused. ‘And arrange a ladies’ branch of the club.’
She examined him suspiciously. Unable to determine whether he was mocking her or supporting her, she resorted to silence.
His statement generated some excitement among the younger bucks. Several of them turned to each other and began to wager on the possibility of any lady being skilled enough to pass.
Just then the orchestra struck its first discordant notes, indicating that they were tuning up and that the dancing would commence soon. Perhaps she would survive the night after all. Salvation was in sight. She peered at her card to see who had claimed her for the first dance, and found the space was empty.
‘Allow me to lead you to the dance floor,’ said Neave. ‘I believe this is my dance.’
She took his hand gratefully, wanting nothing more than to get away from Thorwynn’s dark presence.
He was waiting for her as the dance finished. In fact, everywhere she went, all she had to do was turn, and he would be there, waiting.
People were beginning to notice.
She certainly noticed. It irritated her at first. Then it aggravated her. Then it infuriated her.
Finally, incensed, she was goaded into action. She stalked over to where he was standing, trying to appear calm and unconcerned, in case anyone was watching. He was leaning against a wall, pretending to be engrossed in watching a group of young ladies whispering together.
‘They’re going to bring their mamas over any moment if you persist in singling them out for attention this way,’ she said, trying not to sound as prickly as she felt.
He turned to her immediately;. ‘Heaven forbid,’ he said, lazily, pushing himself away from the wall and standing straight. She expected him to be drinking, but there was no sign of a glass anywhere close. ‘But I’m glad you have decided to seek me out.’ He smiled, that slow swaggering smile of his that brought an immediate frown to her face.
‘I came to seek you out for one reason, and one reason only,’ she snapped. ‘I wanted to inform you’ – she paused, wondering how she could say this politely – ‘I would prefer you to keep your distance.’ It was very inadequate, considering how furious she felt, but she hoped it was clear enough, at any rate.
‘You came all the way across the ballroom to tell me I have to keep my distance?’ he said, tweaking an eyebrow.
Subtlety was clearly not his forte. She needed a more direct approach.
‘I came across the ballroom because I find gentlemen who stand and glower at young ladies in a ballroom very unpleasant. I am asking
you to stop watching me. I told you before, and I’ll tell you again, I can take care of myself. I do not need a guardian, and I certainly don’t need an earl who is in his cups watching over me. So please stop, or I will be forced to speak to my grandmother, who is, incidentally, my real guardian.’
He stiffened, the smile sliding off his face. The muscles of his face tightened until they became a mask.
‘I’m sorry if I have offended you in any way,’ he said coldly. ‘It was not my intention. My intentions have been solely to make sure you do not come to any harm. You have made your feelings on the matter very clear.’ He bowed rigidly. ‘Please give my greetings to your grandmother. I hope you will excuse me. I have another engagement to attend.’
He walked off, leaving Julia to reconcile a range of conflicting feelings.
Her first impulse was to run after him and apologize. She should not have been so adamant. She should have waited until she was calmer to speak to him.
A moment later indignation replaced the guilt. How dare he walk off like that, making it appear to anyone observing them that he had snubbed her?
Then she felt pleased with herself. She wanted him to leave, and she had accomplished what she had set out to do. He had left.
Then as a young gentleman approached her to claim the next dance, a strong resolve gripped her.
She would not allow any man, whoever he may be, to control how she lived her life.
CHAPTER 7
An enormous bouquet of blue, white and yellow irises decorated the hallway.
‘These came for you earlier this morning, Miss Julia,’ said the butler, his face relaxing into a slight smile.
She smiled back affectionately. She had known him since she was three, when she used to beg him to give her rides on his back. ‘Thank you, Rumbert,’ she said.
Neave must have sent them. She buried her face among them, allowing their perfume to envelop her. It was just like him, to pick something that brought the bright spring weather indoors to her. She picked them up and gazed at the curling petals, at the wonderful contrast of colours.
A card emerged between the flowers. She plucked it out eagerly, wondering what he could have written.
He had chosen a simple card. The writing was strong, the letters clear and sharp.
Dear Miss Swifton
My sincerest apologies for my behaviour yesterday. I realize that I have been an interfering oaf. I would like to make amends. Would you care to ride in the park with me this afternoon?
Sincerely
Thorwynn
Her heart missed a beat at the signature, then settled into rapid, angry pounding.
Did he really think a bunch of flowers was going to mollify her? The only thing that would mollify her was if he stopped interfering in her life.
To add insult to injury, he expects me to go riding with him.
She ran up the stairs to the parlour. Grannie was there, reading Confessions by Rousseau.
‘Grannie,’ she said, interrupting. ‘you’re always consulting the various dictionaries of flowers. What do irises generally mean?’
Lady Bullfinch balanced her book carefully on her lap, keeping the pages open. ‘It can mean several things. The French monarchy, of course, but you’re not interested in that. The petals are supposed to stand for faith, valour, and wisdom. And it is named after the Greek goddess of the rainbow. Iris was the gods’ messenger, so it often means a message or even a warning.’
A warning. That was it. The flowers were a warning. Again.
‘Thank you.’
‘But sometimes,’ she called, as Julia left the room, ‘a flower is just that – a flower. Don’t go reading meanings into them that they don’t have. Anyway, look in the dictionary.’
Everyone knew that flowers had meanings. When everybody was poring over Mme de la Tour’s Language of Flowers, how could they not?
She strode upstairs to her chamber. There she headed for the mahogany escritoire and sat with a thump, striking her knee against it. The pain only fuelled her indignation. She dipped the quill into the ink pot.
Dear Thorwynn
I would like to know if you are deliberately trying to raise my ire.
No, that was too forward. Besides, it was unlikely he was deliberately trying to anger her. He was simply obtuse.
She tore the page into tiny bits and threw it away.
Dear Thorwynn
I found the flowers and invitation offensive. Do you think me a giddy green girl to be distracted by such an obvious ruse?
Again, this would not do. It was extremely bad form to quarrel with a gentleman on paper. She crumpled it and tossed it in the basket.
She took a deep breath, calmed herseelfand started again.
Dear Thorwynn
Thank you for your kind invitation. Unfortunately, I must decline, since I have a prior engagement.
Sincerely
Julia Swifton
She looked it over, dissatisfied. It conveyed nothing of her anger. But it would have to do. She could hardly send an incensed note to someone who had sent her flowers and invited her for a ride in the park. At least she had the satisfaction of turning him down.
To make sure she would not be home if he ignored her message and called, she sent a note round to Miss Amelia Neville, asking if she would like to join her for a ride in Hyde Park.
Since she arrived first, Julia had the chance to observe Miss Neville on her horse. She had a very good seat, her body straight and at ease in the side-saddle. She chided herself for making assumptions. Just because her horse bolted, it doesn’t make her a clumsy rider. Her groom followed closely behind her.
The girl’s face brightened when she spotted her.
‘It was really very kind of you to ask me to ride with you,’ she said, with emotion. ‘You didn’t have to. You already asked me to accompany you to Gunter’s, which was such a treat. I never dreamed ice cream could come in so many flavours.’
Julia wondered that such a common thing should affect her. ‘Don’t you have any friends in London you can ride with?’
Amelia shook her head. ‘I don’t know anyone in London. I’ve never been here before, and Mother hasn’t introduced me to anyone my age.’ A wistful expression settled over her features. ‘I would so like to go around London with some friends of my own. But Mother says I should focus my attention on finding a husband first, and that once I’m married I can explore London to my heart’s content. I suppose she knows what’s best for me.’
Julia had no doubt the last remark was a quote from Lady Medlow, but refrained from saying so.
‘Perhaps. But I am a single lady, and I have explored every corner of London with friends.’
‘It’s different for you,’ she said. ‘There is some freedom to being an old maid.’ Realizing what she had said, Amelia raised her hand to her mouth, her skin flushing purple.
‘I didn’t mean – oh, I didn’t mean to say – don’t think—It’s just that Mother said—’
The remark jolted Julia. But she quickly realized that the idea did not originate from Amelia herself but from her mother. She smiled reassuringly at the flustered girl.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t taken offence. It seems your mother has used me as an example of what happens to girls who break the rules.’
Amelia bowed her head. ‘I don’t wish to speak badly of Mother,’ she answered, her voice weak. ‘Only she really doesn’t understand what it’s like to be a young girl in her first Season. She has very strict notions, and she is determined I should make a good match. I know it’s very important, but still, I wish things were otherwise.’
Julia was not sure what to say. She did not want to encourage the young lady to defy her mother, but she could not encourage her to simply obey her mother blindly, either. ‘I’m surprised she allowed you to come riding with me,’ said Julia.
A small blush crept into Amelia’s cheeks. ‘She did not know you were meeting me here. She was away when your note arrived. She thinks I a
m merely exercising my horse.’
A show of spirit, at least. Perhaps there was more to Miss Neville than met the eye.
‘Well, in that case, let’s take advantage of your respite. Shall we leave the crowds behind, and have a little gallop?’
To her credit, Amelia only hesitated for the briefest moment. Then her eyes glittered with mischief, and she nodded breathlessly.
Julia revised her opinion. She’s a mischievous imp, not a cherub at all.
Julia left Rotten Row, with Amelia by her side, and the groom following close. They rode at a sedate trot until they reached some large oaks that would hide them from the main path. Immediately, Julia set Hamlet into a gallop. A quick glance behind told her Amelia followed. And behind her, the groom.
In the afternoon, at the fashionable hour, one did not expect to allow one’s horse free rein. But, with some care, one could gallop very fast indeed.
Lionel took a deep sip of his second glass of brandy. Lady Bullfinch and her daughter, Lady Talbrook, were charming, but their company was wearing thin. It was Miss Swifton he had come to visit, not them.
‘The Duke of Sherhold really liked your mother, you know,’ said Lady Bullfinch. ‘He almost proposed. But his father had other ideas for him.’ She paused, lost in reflection. ‘Too bad, she might have been a duchess.’
‘Not that it would have been desirable for Lord Thorwynn,’ said Lady Tolbrook, sending him an understanding glance.
He chuckled. ‘Definitely not desirable. I’m sorry my mother lost her chance to be a duchess, but with my very existence at stake, you can hardly expect me to be very sympathetic.’
An Improper Suitor Page 7