An Improper Companion

by April Kihlstrom

  After what seemed an interminable time, we were rising from the table. The usual sorts of confusion and activity ensued before we left for the ball. And still Leslie had not mentioned the gloves.

  The rooms were already crowded when we arrived, though my father warned me it was still early. Lady Pontworth was pleased to be gracious. “Ah, Lady Kinwell. One has heard much about you! You have tamed Sir Leslie Kinwell, it seems. Sir Leslie, your sister Lady Mary and her charming son are already here. Lord and Lady Pellen! How delighted I am to see you. Such a romantic story of your daughter. But then one expects romance of you. May I have the honour to present my daughter, Clarissa.”

  A pale yet pretty girl curtsied to us. She seemed scarcely sixteen, but I knew she must have been my age. My father, of course, kissed her hand. “Charming, Lady Pontworth.”

  We escaped as new guests took our place. The music was beginning and Leslie, ever courteous to others, led Lady Phyllis into the dance. My father, it seemed, did not care for dancing. “Let us instead find Lady Mary and pay our respects,” he suggested.

  I nodded. I was not eager for the encounter, but I could not delay it forever, and she had been kind to me. She was sitting with several other women but sprang up as soon as she saw us. We embraced and then my father kissed her hand and took his leave. Mary and I moved to a quiet alcove before we began to talk. “Oh, Heather, my dear!” she began. “I was so worried about you! How have you fared? Does he treat you well? I am sorry for Philip’s indiscretion, but he is so young.”

  I smiled wryly. “Yes, I am well and Leslie is kind enough. We deal much as before. As for Philip, I fear my own foolishness misled him. I am only sorry I could only leave a note for you. You had been so kind to me.”

  My father returned and we were forced to talk of other matters. “And you?” I asked. “How have you and Philip fared?”

  Mary began to chatter, speaking of her journey, her family, and London during the Season. I almost felt back in the castle again, away from the demands of the ton. Then someone placed a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Philip towering over me, his face an unreadable mask. And just as suddenly, his hand was gone, and he was bowing. “Mother. Aunt Heather. May I have the pleasure of this dance, Aunt Heather?”

  I wanted to refuse but could not see how to do so without being rude. Instead I forced myself to smile and reply, “Certainly, Philip.”

  He held out a hand and I took it, rising as I did so. It was a waltz and I held my breath as Philip’s arm went round me. But it was not tighter than was proper. For a moment, we said nothing, giving ourselves over to the dance. “You are very lovely tonight,” he began quietly. “No, don’t be alarmed. I shan’t make a cake of myself again. Ever since you left the castle, I’ve been thinking what I should say to you if we met. When I first read your note and heard you were gone, I was furious. I was afraid Leslie had hurt you and you had run away because of that, and the letter was meant to throw dust in our eyes. I came straightaway to London, sure you would try to contact me here. But you didn’t. You went back to Leslie.” His voice became tinged with bitterness, “I thought, at first, you had been dragged back and would run away again. And I was ready to help you. Even if you didn’t love me. But I began to see you often on the street or at the theatre, alone or with Leslie. And always you were laughing. And it was clear you had a tendre for my uncle. Then it came to me. You had used me to make Leslie jealous. It was a pleasant little game for you. But you caught cold, didn’t you, and had to run away. Knowing, of course, that my uncle would come after you. Well, you succeeded. Never have I seen a man so cast down as Leslie was that day, or the next when we found you had gone. My mother, of course, insists you are merely young and heedless and didn’t know what you were about.”

  “Philip, I ... I ...”

  “You what? Were you scheming to make him jealous? Or were you just so stupid?”

  The music had stopped and we stood staring at each other. “I didn’t know,” I whispered. “But it was no scheme.”

  He gave me his arm to escort me from the dance floor. “Doing it much too brown,” he said at last, wearily. “I only hope you’ve decided. Leslie isn’t the sort to wait forever to have a woman make up her mind. Not even when he loves her.” Then, in a completely different tone, “Oh, Lord! We’re for it now! Leslie must have seen us dancing. He’s coming toward us.”

  I looked up. Leslie was indeed approaching, his eyes full of thunder. I stepped forward to meet it. “Leslie!” I said, forcing pleasure into my voice, “look whom I have found.” He halted and nodded to Philip, too well-mannered to let anger show in his voice or face. They exchanged polite words, then Leslie turned to me. “Shall we dance, madam?” I smiled graciously. As he put his arm around me, his eyes were growing darker. Before he could speak, I said hastily, “Your nephew has been scolding me roundly, sir.”

  “Indeed? No doubt with justice, madam.”

  “No doubt. He told me I had behaved monstrous bad toward you.”

  That shook Leslie, as I hoped it would, and he missed a step. His arm also loosened, slightly, and his eyes were more quizzical than angry. “How curious,” he said as though it were a matter of no import, “of my nephew to take such an interest in my affairs. However, I wish he would not.”

  There seemed nothing to say to that so I was silent. We danced quietly for several moments and I began to feel at ease, for I love to dance. Yet I was intolerably conscious of Leslie’s arm around me, and his dark eyes. The anger was gone from them, but yet they were not untroubled. Then finally the music was ended and a man of Leslie’s age stood near us. “Leslie, you must introduce me!” he commanded.

  “Heather, this is Lord Weltham. Peter, this is my wife,” Leslie answered wryly. “I assume you have come to claim a dance?”

  “But of course!”

  “Very well. Heather, should he be impertinent, rap him smartly with your fan.” Leslie tempered this with a smile and then melted into the crush of people.

  “My lady?” Lord Weltham was holding out his hand, and I was swept into the dance again. “I have been quite eager to make your acquaintance, Lady Kinwell,” my partner said.

  “Why?” I asked in surprise.

  He chuckled. “Leslie and I have much in common. We were both well on our way to becoming accepted misogynists. Then suddenly he married you. You must understand my consternation. I had considered both of us to be fairly impregnable to the matrimonial assaults of the fair sex. If he could capitulate so quickly—(and without warning)-—could it not happen to me? Naturally I have been eager to see what sort of sorceress had captured him.”

  In spite of myself, I laughed. “And? Your conclusions?”

  He answered mournfully. “Alas, I feel more in danger than ever. You are not some exotic woman, the sort I could recognise in advance and be warned of. You seem perfectly ordinary. That is to say: lovely, well bred, and no doubt accomplished in the usual way. You sing, draw, perhaps write poems, and are excellent at the needle. You dance and dress well. You are docile, your understanding no more than moderate...”

  At this point, having grown stiff with anger, I retorted, “Clearly you deserve the title of misogynist! But you need not fear matrimony, sir. I cannot imagine any woman choosing to marry you! I have never met such a boorish man in my life. I do not look for Spanish coin, and indeed I prefer pound dealings. But neither do I look for slander!”

  Lord Weltham merely laughed in a mocking way. “Lord! Leslie has found one with spirit, at any rate. Scarcely a Bath miss. But I protest, what means this anger? I have simply described you as quite unexceptionable.”

  I knew I was being roasted and I refused to answer. Lord Weltham continued to stare at me with amusement., At last, with the merest touch of exasperation to his voice, he said, “Oh, very well. I apologise. Will you correct my ignorance and tell me what sort of woman you truly are?”

  “Why? You would simply roast me further. And truly, Lord Weltham, I cannot find it in me to care wh
ether your impression of me is true or false,” I replied coolly.

  At that moment the music drew to a close, and I gratefully slipped out of Lord Weltham’s reach. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

  Then I turned to disappear into the crush myself. As we were at the edge of the dance floor, this should have been simply accomplished had not Weltham grasped my wrist. “My lord!” I exclaimed in a shocked voice.

  He looked rather thoughtful. “Your pardon, Lady Kinwell, but I had a notion you meant to escape me just now. And I wished to talk with you further.”

  Others were beginning to notice us. I pretended to go limp and then, with a sudden twist of my wrist, broke free and slipped between two people and disappeared. Behind me I heard Weltham’s “Damme!” and amused laughter. I knew my behaviour had been rude, but he had somehow roused the ire in me, and I would not allow him his way! Leslie might scold me later as he willed; I was glad I had acted so. I looked about for someone I might know and spied one of my school friends. She was surrounded by several people and I felt I should be free from pursuit if I joined them. Chloe greeted me eagerly, “Heather! How delightful to see you! My friends, this is the Lady Kinwell. Oh, Heather, don’t frown at me so. You cannot avoid being such a figure of renown. Not, at any rate, for a few weeks. Not until London is accustomed to the sight of you. After all, not every woman tames a tiger as you have done.”

  Everyone laughed, though Chloe’s husband gave me a kindly smile, for which I was grateful. A young, rather handsome man detached himself from her side. “May I have the pleasure of a dance?” he asked me.

  I repressed a desire to giggle. The men all seemed to say the same words and began to seem like puppets. Nevertheless I like to dance and agreed, adding, “If Chloe does not mind.”

  “Not at all, my dear, but mind your toes!”

  I did laugh, then, at the glare of anger on the young man’s face. “Are you such a terrible dancer?” I asked.

  He flushed as we were caught up by the music. “No. But Mrs. Soames nabs the rust when attention is paid to anyone but her.”

  “Oh, well, may I ask your name, or is that to be a mystery?” I teased.

  He flushed again. I judged him to be a bit above twenty, but he was as unpolished as a sixteen-year-old. “I ... I’m sorry, Lady Kinwell. I’m Reginald Crewes. My father is a baron, but I’m only a younger son.”

  I said gently, “I was not questioning your ton, sir. I simply wondered how I should call you. By the way, I find you an excellent dancer.”

  This was not quite true, but it seemed to give him a confidence he needed. And as he relaxed, his steps improved as well. Soon we were chatting amiably. I even risked quizzing him that he danced with me and not one of the plentiful number of maidens. I should not have, for he flushed. “What point to it? Most of the good ladies can’t quite decide whether I am eligible or not. You see, I am the fourth son. They’ve got.to receive me, but there’s not many as would encourage me with their daughters. Especially since I want to be a doctor. Outlandish, don’t ya know!”

  “Why, Mr. Crewes,” I said forcefully, “I think it’s an excellent notion. As for the mothers who find you ineligible ... well, I find them ninnyhammers.”

  He flushed again, this time with pleasure. “Thank you, Lady Kinwell. You’re very kind. Quite out of the common way. Don’t let yourself be changed.”

  “Don’t let yourself be diverted from what you want to do,” I countered.

  The music stopped, and he requested and I agreed to another dance. As we whirled about I caught sight of Leslie. He was dancing and laughing and his eyes sparkled in a way I had never seen before. Unconsciously I stiffened. Reginald asked anxiously, “Is something wrong. Lady Kinwell?”

  I forced myself to relax and smile. “No, nothing.”

  But I continued to watch Leslie, and suddenly I saw the woman in profile. Memory flooded in on me. It was the woman from the theatre. By now I knew enough of Leslie’s family to know she was no relative. “Mr. Crewes, do you see my husband?” I attempted to sound casual.

  “Sir Leslie? Just a moment ... yes, now I do.”

  “Who is the woman he is dancing with?”

  Reginald whistled softly. “The Duchess of Carston. Quite lovely, of course, but rather notorious. Oh, she’s never been involved in an open scandal ... too careful for that. But they say the duke had to hush up a few. He’s much older than she and doesn’t seem to mind, but that could be pride. She’s only twenty-six. Better beware of her. She’s been casting out lures to Sir Leslie. Chased him more or less openly last season. Several people were wagering she’d made a conquest, until we heard he’d married you. Oh, but I say! You aren’t to worry. After all, he is in love with you.”

  I felt myself to be pale, but I forced a gay laugh. “Of course I am not worried! My dear Mr. Crewes, I know my husband very well.”

  It was sheer bravado, of course. The longer I watched him dancing with her, the weaker I felt. He had warned me: what I would not provide, he would seek elsewhere. And from the way her delicate fingers stroked his neck as they danced, it was obvious the duchess was willing. I suppose I continued to converse with Reginald, but I cannot recall what was said. I was far more concerned with my own inexplicable feelings. Why was I so distressed? The answer, of course, is obvious, but I would not allow myself to think it. In my naivety, I thought it impossible. No woman could have a tendre for a man who had ravished her. And then the music was ending and Mr. Crewes was excusing himself. I looked about helplessly for some small group to join, but my lack of height betrayed me. I could not see past the few people who surrounded me. Abruptly I found my father at my side. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” he asked.

  “Yes ... yes of course, Father,” I stammered.

  “Good. I’ve a young man I should like you to meet.”

  And so it began again: the introduction, dancing, and the return to my father’s side. My partners changed frequently, and I spoke much the same words with each. Occasionally I saw Leslie dancing. Always with lovely women. At last, Mr. Crewes claimed me for another dance, and I was grateful to him for rescuing me from a middle-aged, balding earl. I felt a kinship with Reginald, for we were both misfits. He was kind and understanding and offered to escort me to supper. I had accepted and we were moving toward the supper rooms when Leslie intercepted us. “I’ve come to take you in to dinner, my dear,” he said, “if your companion will excuse us?” Reginald flushed.

  “Yes, of course, Sir Leslie.”

  Leslie regarded him quizzically for a moment. “Ah, yes. Mr. Crewes, is it not?” Reginald nodded. “Thank you for taking care of my wife. Come along, Heather.”

  Helplessly I was swept away, managing only a smile in Reginald’s direction. Leslie’s grip was tight on my arm, and in his face I could read anger. He did not speak until he had procured us both plates and found a quiet alcove (actually, a window seat). Even then he allowed me to eat a bit first. Finally, his voice dangerously soft, he asked, “Why do you choose to make a cake of yourself?” Utter amazement must have shown on my face, for he said impatiently, “Come, come, Heather. You are not a widgeon. You must have realised, that dancing four times with the same young man would cause comment. Particularly as he is neither your husband nor a close relative. Had I allowed you the folly of also coming to supper with him, your reputation should have been irreparably damaged. Tomorrow, all the tattle-boxes of London should have been linking your names together talking of an affair!” He paused, and as I did not speak, he said, “I repeat, madam, why?”

  Feeling close to tears, I countered, “What else was I to do? I know so few people here ... and you had disappeared! Mr. Crewes was very nice and I found him congenial and ...”

  “Yes?” his voice was quiet but dangerous.

  “And I did not think!” I cried.

  His face relaxed somewhat, and it was only then I realised how stiffly he had been holding himself. When he spoke, his voice was still quiet, but this time it lacked t
he quality of velvet-covered steel. “Very well,. Heather. You must not dance with him again this evening, however. And if he calls, you must not be in. Later, perhaps, you need not be so careful. But for the moment ...” He shrugged. “Shall we return to the ballroom?”

  I nodded. Leslie kept a grip on my elbow as we moved through the press of people. He stopped, now and again, to speak with someone and introduce me. But his aim, it seemed, was for the dancing. Perhaps the surprise showed on my face, for he smiled and said grimly, “I must dance with you at least as many times as any other gentleman.”

  His arm closed around me, and I discovered I did not shrink from his touch. I wanted it. We chattered lightly, or rather, I chattered. Leslie said little and regarded me oddly from his height. We danced twice and then moved to talk with some of his friends. From then on, he did not leave me all evening, save to send me to dance with one fellow or another while he danced with the man’s wife. And we left the ball early.

  In the barouche, Leslie spoke little, his thoughts far away. But I feared I knew whither they went. For as he handed me into my seat, the Duchess of Carston had come running out and laid one hand on Leslie’s arm. As he bent to listen to her I noted the duchess well. Never had I seen such soft blond hair coupled with such an exquisite figure. She could almost have been a Dresden figurine. I felt both clumsy and ugly. Then I saw Leslie laugh and nod before springing into the barouche. “Melissa,” he said, still smiling at her, “may I present my wife, Heather?”

  She arched her eyebrows as I murmured some greeting. And her eyes mocked me as she smiled. “Good evening, Lady Kinwell. No doubt you are a most unusual woman.. We must speak together, sometime.”

  I nodded, wanting instead to be vulgar and show her my tongue. Then she backed away and the chestnuts began to move. Leslie’s abstraction continued even after we had reached the town house. He sent me up to bed, saying he would follow shortly. In my chamber, I answered Ellen’s questions of the ball absently and was relieved when she left me for the night. I lay in bed, attempting to resolve my feelings. I could not deny I was jealous of the Duchess of Carston. Mademoiselle Suzette’s words rang in my head. “He is not a man to be lonely, and he will easily find a woman to please him.”