Hearing that Mary had named her daughter after her, Lady Pendholm could not help but hug her, crying.
Charlton, moved though he was, thought about Mr Starling waiting in the hansom cab, and thought it better to cut the scene short.
“I hate to interrupt this moving display of feminine sensitivity, but we have a hansom cab waiting for us. Mary, Rose, if you are in agreement, my mother and I have found you a better place to live. So, please, gather what possessions you want to take with you and let’s go.”
~~~~~
Mary and Rose were stunned.
“A better place? But… we thought… you would help us here…”
Charlton gave a disparaging look at the meticulously tidy, but wretchedly poor little room.
“You cannot live here. It would not be suitable. There is not even a fireplace, not to speak about the windows. Would you not like to have a room of your own? A kitchen? A dining room? A garden where Sylvie could play?”
Mary looked at him with hugely round eyes.
“It is… it is like a dream…”
“But it is real, my dear.” Lady Pendholm cut in. “Take heart, gather your things and let us start a new page of your lives.”
“Yes, my lady. We shall come. We have very few things worth taking.”
~~~~~
Geoff had watched the whole scene with rising admiration for Lady Pendholm.
He found himself somewhat affected by the emotional scene, and comparing the attitudes he saw to those of his own family, ‘I wish to God that I had a mother like her,’ he thought.
It was obvious that relationships in Charlton’s family were rather different than those in his own, he thought, recalling his own difficult relationship with his brother, and his brother’s rather terrible relationship with his wife – his brother’s marriage was enough to turn a man off marriage for ever. ‘Charlton is a lucky man and I hope he realises it’.
~~~~~
Once they reached the hansom, Mr Starling greeted them, they all crammed themselves uncomfortably into the cab, and another that Mr Starling had thoughtfully flagged down, and the cabs moved on to Ebury Street, where Mary and Rose would find their new home.
The journey was quite long, and Rose was increasingly worried. They were moving further and further from her workplace - how could she reach it every day, spend her long working hours so far away from home, and get back every night?
Lady Pendholm noticed her concerned expression and spoke softly, so as not to awaken her namesake, who was soundly asleep in her uncle’s lap.
“What is it, Rose? Is something worrying you?”
Rose hesitated, but she was beginning to trust Lady Pendholm – really, she had no choice but to trust Lady Pendholm.
“It’s the journey, my lady. If we have to travel this far, then it seems that we are going to live very far from the modiste I’m working for. How will I be able to go there each day?”
Lady Pendholm smiled, happy to be able to spring her other surprise.
“Tomorrow, my dear Rose, I shall write to your employer and tell her that I am very sorry to deprive her of a valued worker, but that I have decided to employ you as my personal household seamstress. When she receives a letter on a crested sheet, franked by my son, Viscount Pendholm, I am sure she will not object. What say you?”
Rose burst into tears again and kissed Lady Pendholm’s hand.
“Thank you, thank you, my lady. You are an angel, and this is God’s own truth.”
Lady Sylvia took Rose’s hands in hers and did not let them go until the hansom finally stopped.
They reached the entryway, as the long receiving line snaked into the brightly lit hall, and Lady Elrington smiled in genuine pleasure and greeted Lady Pendholm warmly.
“I am thrilled that you could come, my dear Lady Pendholm! Such a crush, quite the coup for me, so early in the season. I am sure that there are many here you won’t have seen since before your mourning – a wonderful opportunity for Lady Harriet to meet more of the young people.”
She smiled at Harriet, who stood, unusually quiet, but obviously bursting with excitement, beside Lady Sylvia. Harriet curtseyed politely.
“And the charming Viscount Pendholm,” Lady Elrington turned her warm smile to Charlton, “who, it seems, has begun to captivate the young ladies of the ton.”
Charlton bowed over his hostess’ hand, and rewarded her flattery with his most devastating smile.
“You are too kind, my Lady, I am certain that there are other gentlemen that the young ladies find far more dashing. I am, I fear, rather too prone to plain dressing to attract their attention.”
“Fustian! You are a picture of elegance, and far more attractive than those overdecorated young fops. It gives you, if I may say so, a more dangerous air –which many young ladies find quite irresistible. I advise you to take full advantage of that fact!”
With that riposte, Lady Elrington released them, and turned to greet the next of her guests.
Lady Pendholm smiled at both of her children, suddenly overwhelmed with pride in their manner and appearance.
Harriet, close beside Charlton, lent towards him and whispered, “Charlton, were you flirting with Lady Elrington?”
Her tones were filled with shock, at the very idea that her brother was capable of such a thing – this was, after all, only her second Ball, ever, and adjusting to seeing her mother and brother in such a different context was somewhat of a challenge.
“Only as much as is polite and expected, silly goose. You will see – everyone indulges in a little flirtation, and witty converse – although, perhaps too often, the wit develops rather a sharp edge, and strays into gossip. It would be dull indeed, if we were all totally bland in our conversation!”
Charlton smiled, and patted Harriet’s hand where it rested on his arm, as they made their way slowly around the Ballroom, greeting friends.
They found themselves pausing frequently to introduce Harriet to a multitude of eager young gentlemen of their acquaintance, who had managed to find themselves ‘accidentally’ nearby. Soon, Lady Harriet’s dance card was dangerously close to full, and all thought of her brother had fled, as the excitement of being the centre of a whirlwind of gentlemen, all competing for her attention, swept her away.
As Harriet was escorted to the dance floor by the lucky gentleman who had won first place on her dance card, Charlton settled his mother with two of her friends, and excused himself to go in search of his own friends. He had found himself, from the moment that they arrived, hoping to find Lady Odette in attendance. His eyes had scanned the room, and his attention had been only half on his sister, as he watched the swirl of people, hoping to see one particular dark head.
He was also looking for someone he did not really wish to find. Yet it was necessary that, should the Comte de Vierzon be in attendance, he seek him out and seem interested in his company. He found both Lady Odette and her father, in the same moment. The Comte was bowing to Lady Odette and Lady Farnsworth, who stood on the opposite side of the room, near the doors to the terrace.
As Charlton started towards them, the Comte turned and made his way towards the door leading to the hall, and the card room. If that was where he was going, then arranging an opportunity to converse with him had just become much simpler. Charlton’s eyes were drawn back to Lady Odette, a much more pleasing prospect.
He worked his way through the crush of people, avoiding hopeful matchmaking mothers with daughters in tow, and brushing off those acquaintances who tried to engage him in conversation. Some of the ton still turned away as he approached, not quite the cut direct, but close, from those, who, perhaps, had families that had been most touched by his brother’s terrible deeds. He ignored it, although, inside, he still felt devastated by the damage done to his family’s honour.
At least things were improving, and more now greeted them with warmth than turned away. As he moved towards her, Lady Odette looked up, and saw him. Their eyes met, and, suddenly, everythi
ng else seemed to fade into an unimportant blur.
He was caught in her intense blue violet gaze, drawn inexorably to her side. Charlton halted before her, and bowed over her hand, his lips lingering a fraction too long for propriety, as they brushed her glove. He barely remembered to greet Lady Farnsworth as well, so focused was he on Lady Odette.
“Good evening my Lord, it is good to see you again.” Lady Farnsworth’s voice was warm, and her eyes twinkled as she spoke. Charlton suspected that she was quite aware that he had almost been terribly impolite and ignored her. She seemed amused, but it would not do – he could not afford such careless unawareness of his surroundings, when so much potential danger surrounded them. Even if Lady Odette was a most delightful distraction.
How deeply he wished that she was not the daughter of a suspected, nay, confirmed, spy.
“Delighted, my Lady. Both you, and Lady Odette, are looking exquisite this evening, if I may say so.” He spoke to both women, but his eyes rested on Lady Odette as he spoke.
“Lady Odette, will you do me the honour of granting me a dance? That is, of course, if your dance card is not already completely full? For surely, my late arrival has given other gentleman the chance to claim every dance. I shall be devastated if that is the case.”
His voice was light, but he realised, as he spoke, that he meant every word with an intensity that surprised him. Lady Odette blushed, and finally turned her beautiful eyes down, her shyness taking hold again at his words. Which only made her all the more appealing, because her reactions were genuine, not the false modesty of so many young women. Her voice was soft as she spoke.
“I would be delighted my Lord, contrary to your expectations, I find my dance card rather distinctly empty.” She glanced up, and her breath caught at the smile that lit his face. He offered his arm, and they turned toward the floor as the orchestra struck up the next tune.
~~~~~
The heat of his arm under her hand made Odette quite breathless – all her resolutions to not be a giddy schoolgirl about this man were for nought – she found her heart beating harder, and the blush had not faded from her cheeks. She hoped that she did not look hopelessly and embarrassingly red in the face.
Since that dinner party, where she had, so precipitously, risked everything by foolishly quoting literature at him, and he, rather than expressing horror (as she was certain most of the other gentlemen of her acquaintance would have done) had seemed delighted by her knowledge, she had been unable to get Viscount Pendholm out of her thoughts.
Part of her was sure that she must have been mistaken – a gentleman who actually approved of her interest in languages and literature seemed so improbable – perhaps she had dreamed that conversation? Yet here he was, those beautiful eyes sparkling at her, a smile lighting his face, asking her to dance. Perhaps it was actually true? Perhaps here was a man she could be interested in.
Her thoughts fragmented as he swept her into his arms, and she realised that it was a waltz, again. Her pulse raced even harder as his arms held her, and they began to move. She looked up, wondering what she might say, for her aunt had quite forcibly explained that a girl should be able to converse with a gentleman when dancing, to keep his interest engaged.
Her eyes met his. It seemed that everything else, but those deep chocolate eyes with the tiny gold flecks, disappeared. They might as well have been alone on the floor – she was totally unaware of the other dancers. It was like floating, so smoothly did they move together, so skilfully did he guide her around the floor. Any consideration of speech left her. And, fortunately, it appeared that he did not expect it, for he simply smiled at her, his body so close, as they moved, that her blood heated and she felt almost dizzy.
And then, some indeterminate time later, they spun to a halt.
For a moment, as the music ended, neither of them moved, then Odette mentally shook herself, becoming aware of where they were, of the press of people around them, and was suddenly embarrassed. She had not conversed with him at all! What must he think? And they could not just stand here – that would attract attention, and cause gossip – which she most definitely did not desire!
It seemed that Viscount Pendholm recognised this at the same moment she did, and he quickly placed her hand on his arm, and turned her towards the chairs where her aunt waited. Lady Farnsworth’s eyes rested on them speculatively as they approached her, and Odette knew that she would be quizzed about her possible interest in Lord Pendholm, later.
Reaching Lady Farnsworth, they stopped, and he bowed over her hand, his lips brushing the back of her glove again, sending a shiver through her instantly.
“Thank you my Lady, that was delightful.”
He bowed to Lady Farnsworth as well, then turned and left them, moving across the room through the crush of people as smoothly as he had moved them around the dance floor. Odette watched him go, still feeling as if in a dream, as she sank to the chair beside her aunt.
Lady Farnsworth, however, watched the other young ladies in the room – those who were either following Viscount Pendholm with their eyes, hopefully, or those who were now looking at Odette with what could only be described as envy.
She smiled to herself, and nodded with satisfaction.
Viscount Pendholm disappeared through the door to the hall, most likely towards the card room, and the company of other men. It was as if his disappearing from view broke the spell, and the sounds, sights and smells of the Ballroom crashed back into Odette’s awareness like a wave.
~~~~~
Charlton would have far preferred to stay and talk with Lady Odette, to dance with her again, immersed in the scent of her, that subtle blend of exotic spices and roses, although that would have raised far too much scandalous gossip had he done so, than to take the path he was taking. But duty called. He pushed open the door to the card room, where the sound of boisterous discussion met him, from one corner of the room where a group of men, with whisky in hand, were settled around the fireplace. The aromatic scent of fine cigars drifted from their vicinity too.
To the other side of the room, at one of the card tables, the Comte de Vierzon and three others played with a silent intensity. Charlton shuddered, and steeled himself to join them. He never played cards – cards were too entangled in his memories of Michael, and of everything bad that had resulted. Still, if his duty to his country required it, he would play, even if it left him feeling sullied as a result.
He reached the table, and stood to one side, watching. The Comte, as if feeling his presence, glanced up, and nodded, acknowledging him, then went back to his play.
A few minutes later, one of the players, a young Lord known for his ability to lose at almost any game, and his stubbornness in playing regardless, stood, cast his cards down, and left.
The Comte gathered up his winnings and turned to Charlton.
“Do you care to join us, my Lord Pendholm?” There was an undertone to the words, almost as if he was inviting Charlton to join something rather more than a game of cards. Perhaps he was. Time to find out.
“Bien sur, m’sieur le Comte.”
Charlton nodded, slid into the empty seat, and waited as the cards were dealt.
Two hours later, Charlton was richer by a small amount, the Comte by a large amount, and the other two players had, with comments about meeting again soon, left them to themselves. Those comments had seemed innocent enough, but Charlton’s sense of things pricked at him – it could as easily have been a conversation with deeper meaning, and the meeting referred to one of much greater significance than another Ball or card party.
Taking a glass of brandy each, the Comte and Charlton left the table for other players, and stepped out through the French doors onto the balcony. The air was chill and crisp – it felt good after the close air of the card room, and, for once, the fog of coal smoke from everyone’s winter fires had been blown aside by the brisk wind earlier, and the stars shone clear above in the still night air. It made Charlton think of nights in Spain, wh
en the night sky was beautiful, as the darkness hid the ugliness of war below.
They stood, silent for a while, sipping brandy, their breaths fogging in the chill air. Eventually, the Comte looked directly at Charlton, and smiled. It was not a smile that was at all reassuring.
Charlton waited, wondering if the other man would speak. This was where his skills lay – in putting others at ease, in getting them to trust him, in making them want to speak, to tell him things – things they might not tell others. Eventually, his stillness was rewarded.
“My Lord Pendholm, I have been observing you. And, whilst you are born to the ton, I do not think that you are entirely happy amongst them, n’est ce pas? They are not kind to you, no matter that you are not your brother. Though you have, perhaps, something of his skill at cards, as I have seen tonight.”
The Comte raised his eyebrow, enquiringly, and Charlton forcibly repressed the sickness that rose in him, at any such comparison of himself to Michael. The Comte, seeing no reaction from him, continued, “You have reason to be... displeased with them.”
Charlton took his time in replying, knowing that this was a critical moment for his mission. It would not do to agree too easily, yet he must seem sympathetic to the Comte’s attitudes.
“They are not all against me. I have some patience – for my sister’s sake, if not my own. But yet, perhaps you are right, there are times when it galls me, that I have fought to protect this, yet they treat me with such disdain. Perhaps my sense of what is honourable has been distorted by war. To be treated justly is not such an unreasonable expectation, is it?”
Light flashed off the ruby on the Comte’s finger, as he raised his glass to his mouth.
The silence stretched again, broken only by the faint sound of a night watchman making his rounds through the streets below.
“Justice can be difficult to come by, amongst this glittering world of privilege. Yet I agree that it is not unreasonable to expect. I have some expectations of my own. I have sought out, as friends, others who also believe such things. It can be a comfort to be amongst those of like mind.”
Intriguing the Viscount: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 2) Page 6