by April Munday
Finch felt Lady Caroline’s hand on his arm and his eyes focused on her again.
“I’m sorry to have upset you. I know you miss her dreadfully and I’m not suggesting that anyone could take her place. I know no woman can do that, but there are different kinds of love.”
Finch thought briefly of Sophia Arbuthnot. How easy it would be to marry her for her intelligence and humour, or Lady Louise, whose interest seemed to be of a more physical nature, or any one of the silly young girls whose parents tried to attract his interest for the sake of his wealth.
“I am lonely,” he admitted.
“Then the time is right to begin?”
“You haven’t found me someone suitable then?”
“Good heavens, Edmund, even I wouldn’t presume to go so far. But I will present you with opportunity.”
Finch took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“I have always known that I got the better part from my friendship with Meldon.”
“Oh, no. I think my mother and I reaped that harvest. Do you not remember what a horrid little boy he used to be?”
Finch laughed, for he had not thought about Meldon as a little boy for many years.
“Mr Finch, I thought you had forgotten me, but now I see you are with our hostess. Lady Caroline.” Lady Louise curtsied.
Finch didn’t miss the look of disapproval that crossed Lady Caroline’s face. Unlike her brother, she was very bad at dissembling.
“I hope you are enjoying yourself, Lady Louise.”
“Since I have been introduced to Mr Finch, I have been enjoying myself immensely.”
Lady Louise took the glass that Finch offered to her and took a sip. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips very slowly, as if to enjoy every last drop of it.
“Remember, Mr Finch, that I am at home on Wednesday afternoons.”
Finch tore his eyes reluctantly from Lady Louise’s lips to look at his hostess.
“Thank you, Lady Caroline.”
“And please bring Freddie, Victor enjoys his company so much.”
“Who is Freddie?” asked Lady Louise as they turned back to the other room.
“My son.”
“Oh. You are married?”
“Widowed.”
Finch could say no more about Emily. It was one thing to discuss her with Lady Caroline who had known her and had accepted her into her family; it was quite another to talk about her with a stranger, even one for whom it seemed he had plans.
“I am sorry. It must be difficult to raise a child without a wife.”
It was, but Finch had always been able to turn to Lady Caroline and Arthur Warren for help. He agreed with Lady Caroline that Freddie seemed to be growing up well. Motherless from birth, he had found willing surrogates in Lady Caroline and her daughter. Freddie had his father’s good looks and easy temperament and made friends easily, despite his initial shyness.
“We manage. I must find a tutor for him soon.”
“How old is he?”
“Six.”
Lady Louise took another sip of her drink. Again her tongue moved sensuously along her lips. Finch couldn’t take his eyes away from it and lost track of the conversation. They walked slowly back to the other room.
“It is a shame convention prevents us from dancing together again. I fear this is not a house where breaking with tradition would be welcome.”
“I would enjoy dancing with you again, but you are correct that it would cause gossip.”
It would also be tantamount to a proposal of marriage, in public and Finch had no intention of insulting his hostess in that way. Much as she might want him married, she would not be happy if the proposal were executed with such bad taste. No, she expected, as Finch himself did, that he would start visiting his friends with daughters and attending balls in order to get to know marriageable young women. It was not a game he had played before, since he had known and loved Emily all his life. When he had told their fathers that they wished to marry, neither had been surprised and both had approved whole-heartedly. It had been a very happy marriage.
Despite the interest that women showed in him, both before and after Emily’s death, Finch had not reciprocated. He wasn’t sure he wanted to now, but the feelings that Lady Louise was awakening in him were too powerful to ignore.
“Might I be permitted to call on you?” he asked.
She smiled that dazzling smile again.
“I should like nothing more. Tomorrow?”
Finch began to feel that things were getting out of his control, but agreed.
“Another drink?” he suggested, wanting to watch her mouth again.
She handed him her glass, with a boldness that left him no doubt that she knew what he was thinking and was only too willing to accommodate him.
“That would be delightful.”
This time he didn’t linger, but there was a small group of men around her when he returned. Lady Louise accepted her glass with a look that signalled that she would rather be alone with him and took a sip. This time her tongue remained unseen and her smile implied that that particular performance had been for his pleasure alone.
Feeling himself suddenly overwhelmed by the heat in the room, Finch excused himself and went into the garden where it was scarcely cooler.
There he found Sophia Arbuthnot sitting on the first bench he came to.
“I’m sorry,” he said as she looked up at the intrusion. “I’ll find somewhere to cool my heels.”
“Please, not on my account. This is easily the most beautiful part of the garden.”
“Even in the dark,” agreed Finch.
The paths closest to the house had been decorated with a few torches, so that those guests who found their way here should be able to see where they were going.
“Please sit.”
Finch took a deep breath as he sat beside her and was almost overcome by the scents that he encountered; his recovery must not be as complete as he had hoped. He began to feel light-headed.
“I must have been here after dark before, but I don’t recall it smelling like this.”
“I think Lady Caroline has some new plants. John did try to tell me about them when he brought me out here, but I don’t remember much of it.”
Sophia indicated that she hadn’t been interested in John Warren’s conversation at all.
Finch felt the danger of his situation even more acutely. There were other guests in the garden and they were visible from the ballroom; neither of them could be compromised.
“I’m not sure John would be the most qualified person to explain his mother’s taste in plants.”
“I would rather not discuss John Warren.”
“You brought him up.”
“So I did.”
A small smile raised the corners of her mouth.
“What would you like to discuss, or would you prefer silence?”
The latter would certainly be his own preference and he knew Sophia well enough to know that she would not be uncomfortable to sit in silence with him. All his senses suddenly seemed heightened and he wasn’t sure he was up to managing a young woman who seemed to want more from him than he was prepared to give. A very young woman, he reminded himself for good measure. A very pretty young woman.
“Why did you come out?” she asked and Finch managed to focus his attention on her words rather than on her person.
“It was too close in there for me, although it’s little better out here.”
“At least it’s quiet.”
“You’re not enjoying the ball?”
It was not something he could imagine himself, but he supposed it must be possible.
“Lady Caroline’s balls are always enjoyable.”
“But?”
She turned away and he watched her clasp her hands tightly in her lap.
“One doesn’t always see people to the best advantage on such occasions.”
Did she mean herself, John Warren, him? Finch didn’t know how to pro
ceed. Dimly he recognised that his body and mind were very tired and he could easily take a false step, if he hadn’t already done so.
“You’re not really in the mood for polite conversation are you?” she asked.
“I came out here to get away from someone.”
“Oh?”
“Forwardness is not an attractive quality in a woman, Miss Arbuthnot.”
He thought it might help to remind her that he was older than her by... What was it...? Twelve, thirteen years? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t even sure he had ever known.
“Is that a warning?”
“A comment.”
“You’ve seen Lady Caroline Lamb, then? I noticed that she was here.”
“Lady Caroline Lamb?”
He was confused by this apparent digression.
“She and Lord Byron are all the gossips can talk about.”
“Oh.”
Finch was angry that he didn’t know this; gossip was important in his work.
“And Lady Caroline is a forward woman?”
He was struggling to remember what he knew about her, other than that she was Lady Melbourne’s daughter-in-law.
“She is utterly shameless. If he is invited out and she isn’t, she waits around outside the house where he is until he reappears at the end of the evening.”
“So, Byron is here. Good. I wanted to talk to him about his poetry.”
Finch was keenly aware of the impropriety of embarking on a discussion of marital infidelity with Sophia and tried to steer the conversation back to something less inflammatory, although discussing Byron’s poetry was only slightly more proper than discussing his personal activities.
“You will not be able to get near him for a crowd of female admirers. You have been away a very long time if you don’t know that.”
“His poetry is popular with women?”
This was unexpected, but not incredible.
“His person is popular with women, as is his celebrity.”
“Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage is a success?”
“A great success. He is also a great success.”
“Have you read it?”
“I have. I found little to commend in it.”
“I must take exception with you on that point, Miss Arbuthnot. Byron’s character may leave a lot to be desired, but his poetry is a delight.”
“Do you know his lordship?”
“He was at Harrow at the same time as my youngest brother. They are good friends, although I have always felt Byron was a bad influence. Fortunately Frank has a good head on his shoulders.”
“I believe that you and I think alike on the subject of Lord Byron’s character.”
Finch hoped they didn’t; he hated to think she might have heard and understood the rumours he had heard, not least from Frank, who was also good-looking.
“I prefer a man to have a straightforward character.”
Finch almost sighed.
“Then I am glad to know that you are protected from Byron’s attentions.”
“If it is not Lady Caroline Lamb, who is the forward woman that you are avoiding?”
Finch was taken aback by another sudden change in topic.
“I am not avoiding her. I simply said it was not an attractive quality.”
“Then the woman herself is not without her attractions.”
“She has physical attractions aplenty.”
He dared not think too much about these while he sat with Sophia.
“But they are not enough?”
“Don’t you believe that a good character is more important than beauty?”
“Mr Finch, that is easy for you to say, for you have both.”
“I thank you for the compliment, Miss Arbuthnot. If I may say so, your own character is exemplary.”
“You do not say that I am not beautiful.”
She didn’t sound upset, just curious.
“In truth I could not say that you are. You are very pretty, but not beautiful. Why do you desire beauty? It is not the blessing many perceive it to be.”
“We live in an age in which appearance is important.”
Finch snorted.
“Only for the stupid and for those who don’t care to look beyond the surface. Besides...”
“Yes?”
“No.”
He thought better of his next remark. However unsure he might be about the difference in their ages, Sophia was a lot younger than him and a woman. He would not have been comfortable explaining his comment if she didn’t understand it and he would have been equally uncomfortable to discover that she was worldly enough to understand it.
“Shall we stop hiding and dance?” he asked instead.
“I should prefer to continue hiding. We cannot talk so easily when we dance and I like to talk with you.”
“As you command.”
He stretched his legs out before him in pretended ease and made a play of looking around at the plants.
“Is Lady Louise your forward woman?”
“Why do you ask?”
He bit back the sigh that threatened and turned his head towards her.
“She’s quite the most beautiful woman here and I saw her looking at you earlier.”
Sophia would bear watching. Finch hadn’t realised that she was this observant, or perhaps it was simply that her attention had been on him and she had noticed the other woman’s interest. Either way, it was something to think about later.
“She is certainly beautiful.”
“You say nothing about her attention to you.”
“I had not noticed.”
He was becoming angry with himself again. His observational skills had saved his life more than once. How could he carry on in the service if he noticed nothing?
“Now I think you dissemble.”
“There can be no purpose served in lying to you.”
Sophia studied his face as if trying to ascertain the intent of this statement. He tried to keep his expression bland and thought he had succeeded when she turned away from him again.
“People lie because they expect to benefit from it,” he explained. “I benefit nothing by telling you that I did not notice Lady Louise’s attentions.”
“It gives the impression that you’re not interested in her.”
“I am interested in her. I just did not notice her interest in me.”
“I see.”
Finch hoped that she did; he was becoming very uncomfortable with this conversation.
“I hope that she is what you hope her to be.”
“I believe I have already indicated that she is not.”
“Then why...? I’m sorry, that’s not a question I should ask.”
“Miss Arbuthnot, you are a clever woman, but there are some things that defy reason.”
“Then may I be allowed to hope that she doesn’t hurt you?”
“That is a very kind wish.”
Finch doubted it was one that would be granted; Lady Louise gave the impression of caring little about the men who might become entangled with her. He examined the thought in the silence that followed. At least he wasn’t going into this blindly, but that was unlikely to save him.
“Will you dance with me, Miss Arbuthnot?”
This time he hoped she would turn him down.
“I think not.”
“Then, will you excuse me, for, enjoyable as this evening has been, I find that I am weary.”
“Oh, Mr Finch, I’m sorry.”
“It is not on your account, Miss Arbuthnot, please be assured.”
“But I am driving you away.”
“No, I have been... unwell these last few weeks and I tire more easily than I used to. I have found your company most stimulating, as always.” A thought occurred to him. “May I invite you to supper next week?”
“That would be most agreeable.”
“Yes, I think it will be.”
Finch stood and bowed. As he left the garden he wondered whether it woul
d be better or worse to invite John Warren to supper as well. His guest list would take much thought.
He found Lady Caroline waiting for him as he entered the house. Her stern expression disappeared as he came into the light.
“Edmund, you look dreadful.”
“Just tired.”
“You’re welcome to stay tonight if you don’t want to return home.”
“Freddie will worry if I’m not there for breakfast.”
“I understand.” She signalled to a footman. “Have Mr Finch’s carriage brought up.”
She put her arm through his and led him to the front of the house. Finch was grateful for her support and knew he would have stumbled without it.
“I shall call on you tomorrow.”
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” said Finch, recalling his appointment with Lady Louise.
“It is never a trouble to visit a friend... unless he has other plans.”
“He has other plans,” admitted Finch.
“You are too old for me to warn you to be careful.”
Finch smiled.
“I know that to you I shall always be the twelve year old boy with the funny accent you first knew.”
“I know that you are a man, even if you sometimes behave like the boy.”
“The boy would never have dared to look at her.”
“As far as I can tell, she has done most of the looking.”
Damn! Things were very bad if Lady Caroline noticed more than he did.
“I had not noticed.”
“No, you had not and that is why I worry. Here is your carriage.”
Finch was inside and the carriage had moved off before he understood what she had meant.
Chapter Two
The house in Great Russell Street was larger than Finch had expected. He had made some brief enquiries that morning and discovered that Lady Louise Favelle was only recently come to London. She had no known friends and he had not been able to discover how she supported herself. Her parents, the Comte and Comtesse de Doussance had managed to escape France just after the revolution with little more than their lives and the clothes on their backs. They had settled in Worthing, on the Sussex coast, where they had had two children, Louise and Philippe. Philippe had died whilst still a child and the Comte and Comtesse had, indeed, been murdered three years ago. General Warren could not say whether they had been killed by common thieves or by agents of Bonaparte or for some other reason; the evidence supported almost any story. Either way, the effect was the same and Lady Louise had been left alone and more or less penniless. After the murder she had disappeared, but had recently attached herself to the circle of French exiles that surrounded Louis XVIII at Hartwell House and had come to London three months ago. Her beauty had opened all doors before her and London society had welcomed her.