He seemed embarrassed. "Was I rubbing my brow? It is an old habit; I have tried very hard to break it."
"Tell me, please."
"It started when I went to school, after my mother died. I suffered the headache frequently and rubbing it seemed to help."
"Poor little boy," Dinah murmured.
"Well, the headaches quit, eventually, but I was left with this habit."
"Generally when you are ill at ease."
"You see too much, Dinah."
"You must not call me so," she said.
"I must not use your name, I must not express my admiration... My rank is standing in the way of my happiness, I think."
"I...I don't know what you mean," Dinah said.
"I think you do. My name is Sebastian," he said. "I've a desire to hear you say it."
"I...I could not, my lord."
"You could," he assured her.
"I will not," she said unable to withdraw her gaze from his.
He gathered her hands within his own elegant fingers. They had neither of them redonned their gloves after eating; it had seemed too restrictive on such a warm and pleasant day. Of its own volition, it seemed, Dinah's right hand lifted to his strong jaw.
The faint scrape of stubble against her sensitized fingertips caused a shiver to curl down her spine. She stared up into his hazel eyes, noting absently, as she drowned in his gaze, that the length of his eyelashes would create envy in many a young lady's breast.
He seemed as captivated as she was. His broad shoulders bowed protectively as he bent to her and touched, ever so gently, his lips to hers.
Her eyes drifted closed. The exquisite pressure of his wide mouth was so entrancing that Dinah felt quite faint with delight. Her hand slid to his shoulder and gripped the long tense muscle there.
After a long dizzying moment, he drew suddenly away.
Horrified and ashamed Dinah sprang back from him. She could not look at him, but interlaced her fingers and stared at them speechlessly.
"I can hardly apologize for something I so much desired and enjoyed," he said at last. "But I do beg your pardon. My intention is not to trifle with your affections. You have my utmost respect and esteem."
"You need not apologize, my lord." She was aware of an urge to speak his name, but restrained herself. "I was not averse to the moment."
At that moment Hamilton galloped up to the temple. "Mama says we should be going," he shouted, "Come along, slow coaches." He seemed to notice nothing amiss between his sister and his hero, and loped away as suddenly as he had come.
"We cannot discuss this here..." Sebastian offered her the support of his arm.
She took it, after drawing on her gloves. "There is nothing to discuss," she said. "We were overcome by the day, the moment. That is all."
"Indeed?"
"In truth, my lord. We leave Harrowgate tomorrow, and we shall not see you again." She waved to Adelaide who was near the abbey end of the canal with Joseph.
"You are wrong," he said.
On the edge of tears, Dinah did not question his meaning. Her pleasure in the day was destroyed, and in silence they joined the others of their party.
If they were a little quiet on the return journey to Harrowgate it was not commented upon by their carriage mates. Mrs. Driffield had organized the seating so that Juliana and the elder Mrs. Driffield rode with Adelaide and Hamilton, and she and Harriet joined the viscount and her older daughter. Joseph and Geoffrey rode back to Harrowgate alternately racing and trotting sedately, but paid scant attention to the occupants of the barouches.
Dinah wished her mother had not so organized the seating. Her thoughts were disordered and she could scarcely conceal her lack of composure from her Mama's thoughtful eyes. Fortunately Harriet chattered to the viscount of the abbey and all manner of unrelated topics, and little other conversation was possible. Dinah let the southerly breeze cool her cheeks, and choked off any thought at all.
At the end of the afternoon as the carriages neared Harrowgate, Mrs. Driffield enquired, "And what are your plans now my lord; shall you join your friends in Scotland? We leave Harrowgate on Friday...tomorrow in fact."
Holly withdrew his obviously abstracted gaze from the verdant countryside, and answered her without hesitation. "No, I shall not," he said. "In fact, I have conceived a desire to visit Leeds."
"Oh that is famous!" exclaimed Harriet. "And we can show you everything. The Cloth Halls and the manufactories, the Canal and the Moot Hall in Briggate. Hamilton will no doubt drag you to the cricket at Chapel Town and John will take you to the races on Chapeltown Moor."
"Harriet!" her mother reproved her youngest daughter.
The girl subsided, but grinned to display that she was undaunted.
"We shall be pleased to welcome you to Park Square, my lord," Mrs. Driffield said, when Dinah did not speak. "There are several entertainments available in the town; I think you will find it not unappealing. Of course we are not a leisured family, but there is always someone busy at something of interest. Why, Dinah's schools--"
"Oh look here is Harrowgate," Dinah said quickly, "and Robin Hood Lane. Thank you again, Lord Holly, for a charming day."
Harriet was staring at her formality, but Dinah hurried on. "Perhaps we may see you in Leeds, but we shall be busy."
"I shall keep that in mind, Miss Driffield," Holly said, as the carriage pulled up before the elder Mrs. Driffield's home. "And endeavour not to be a nuisance."
"You are never that, my lord," Mrs. Driffield assured him with a reproving look at Dinah. "Rest assured."
The viscount bowed with his ineffable grace after handing the three ladies from the carriage. "Until Leeds then, ma'am. Miss Driffield, Miss Harriet."
* * *
CHAPTER FOUR
Despite the viscount's professed intention of traveling to Leeds, the Driffield family saw nothing of him following their return to that city.
It was no more than she had expected, Dinah assured herself repeatedly, desperate to believe it. Had she not known Lord Holly for an irresponsible, inconstant aristocrat who could not be relied upon? Despite that he was entertaining and charming and made her heart flutter; he was of the class that she must surely despise, and his behaviour could only confirm her beliefs. Holly had been part of a holiday fantasy such as existed only in summer places of pleasure and idleness like Harrowgate.
That interlude resembled a dream, Dinah thought, or a nightmare, depending on one's point of view. She had allowed herself to be seduced by aristocratic charm, emotionally and very nearly physically. Now she was returned to common sense. The episode was over and she was glad of it, she told herself.
She settled, with relief, into her beloved bedchamber in her family's spacious, comfortable house in Park Square. The precious ornaments, books and pictures that decorated her small domain emphasized that her world had not changed. The view from her silk-draped window still showed the young trees in the square's garden, and colourful flowers in the carefully tended beds, and she could still see the corner of St. Paul's Church if she leaned far enough. The sun still shone, fitfully now as summer waned, and the same neighbours went about their business. There was no sign that Lord Holly--Sebastian--had ever existed in her life. That he had visited her, walked, and danced with her. Or that he had held her in his arms and passionately kissed her.
Her thoughts in the following days wandered from dissatisfaction to contentment and back again. She put holidays and chance-met gentlemen from her mind and told herself that she hoped she would never see Lord Holly again. She returned to her schools, renewed her meetings with the female manufactory workers' group and redoubled all her charitable efforts. She sewed, pledging to herself to prepare fifty sets of baby linens by Christmas. Despite her endeavours, the future stretched out bleakly before her, unleavened by gaiety or joy.
One day, nearly a week after their return to Leeds, the ladies of the Driffield household gathered in the morning parlour to employ their various talents. Mrs.
Driffield was busy with a basket of mending, Adelaide worked at her tambour frame and Dinah was surrounded by ells of white muslin.
Harriet was, as usual, deep in the newspapers. "It says here that the upkeep of a five-person family is a pound per week. And, it says that most workers receive 11 shillings a week. That does not reckon well."
"That is why Papa pays more than 11 shillings a week. He is well aware of those numbers. And that is why the power looms in Stockport have been attacked. Change and high prices combine to worry the worker to death," Dinah said, as she inserted another stitch in a tiny muslin bonnet.
Harriet had been already distracted. "Oh, here is Mr. Burleigh Matherton mentioned. And several other gentlemen gone north for the grouse. I wonder if Juliana has seen this? There is no reference to Lord Holly."
"I thought he was to come to Leeds," Adelaide said. "Dinah, you must know."
"Why should I know?" Dinah strove to keep her words and her tone disinterested. "You know the viscount as well as I do. Mama heard his intentions as clearly as I. He must have changed his mind."
"It is just as well," Mrs. Driffield said. "We have little leisure with the workers so upset and distracted. With Papa spending every night at meetings explaining--constantly explaining--the new machines, we have not been sociable. We must make an effort. I think we shall attend at the Assembly next week; we cannot be forever stay-at-homes."
"I may be occupied. I have been busy discussing the new ways of doing things with my ladies. I cannot repeat too often that change can be a good thing," Dinah said. "I have no time for idleness, unlike some of our acquaintance." Her voice lacked conviction, even to her own ears.
"You cannot be too busy for an assembly, Dinah; you never were before," Adelaide protested. "You are become starchy and priggish. Have a care you do not slip into old-maidishness!"
Her sister's words were only half in jest, Dinah realized. In her effort to convict Lord Holly of frivolity, she was become sober, dull and illiberal. She would not, however, convict herself of prudery. She confronted the reason she was reluctant to attend at an assembly. She could not imagine dancing with any man other than the viscount. She shivered and applied herself to her sewing.
Bubwith, the butler who had served them for some twenty years, entered with a salver on which reposed two letters. "The post, ma'am." He offered the salver to Mrs. Driffield. "And a letter brought by hand." She thanked him and took up the correspondence.
"One for you Harriet, and this is from Mrs. Hesler." She broke the seal of the hand-delivered missive and scanned it. "Ah, they have had her mother, old Mrs. Melford, visiting with them. She leaves tomorrow. We are all bidden to dinner."
"My letter is from Amelia Welking. She is in London visiting her aunt, Lady Garst."
"The wife of Baron Garst?" hazarded her mother. "Harriet, you have not been inquiring about Lord Holly again, have you?"
"Well, yes. We must have information if we are to know what to think of him."
"Information yes, gossip no." Her mother reproved her. "And I think we may know him well enough by his actions and words."
"This is information, Mama. Amelia says Lady Garst has seen the viscount."
"Lady Garst would scarcely move in the same circles as Lord Holly!" Adelaide exclaimed.
"Well, no. But she has seen him, only not recently. He is an enormous swell, Amelia says."
"Language, dear," her mother said absently, perusing her own letter again. "Mrs. Hesler's dinner is tomorrow. Dinah," she added in an undertone, "Mrs. Hesler fears that Juliana still yearns after Matherton. She would be glad of any distraction you can offer."
Dinah was torn between listening to her mother, and catching Harriet's final words. She decided to focus on Harriet's discourse, but manufactured a disinterested expression, for she had no intention of discussing Lord Holly.
"Several young ladies dangle after him, and a Miss Painsford does so most particularly," Harriet continued. "He may be seen everywhere when he is in town, routs, balls, Venetian breakfasts, but he apparently disappears for days even weeks at a time. He is strictly his own master, has no family dependent upon him."
"Poor young man. He must be vastly lonely," Mrs. Driffield said.
"I wonder where he goes when he disappears," Harriet speculated.
"You, my dear, will stop gossip-mongering. If the viscount wishes us to know more of him, he will come to Leeds to further our acquaintance. Otherwise, he is entitled to his privacy."
"I wish he would come," Harriet said. "I liked him."
"I shall look forward to Mrs. Hesler's dinner, and I shall invite Juliana to help me at the dame school," Dinah said. Her abrupt speech surprised herself as well as her sisters. She put aside her sewing blindly, and stood up. Without another word, she rushed from the room.
Dinah had hoped--known--that her mother would follow her. She had been aware of being watched with carefully concealed concern. She answered the light tap on her door with permission for entry. Her words were muffled by the feather-stuffed pillows of her bed. She was conscious of trying to hide amongst them.
Her mother entered. "Sit up, my dear. It has been such a bustle since we returned home from Harrowgate that we have not had time for a comfortable cose."
Dinah sat up. All her restrained emotions expressed themselves in the two fat tears that coursed down her smooth cheeks.
"There now..." Her mama sat beside her and possessed herself of Dinah's hand. "There has been something bothering you since our return. And mention of Lord Holly sets you all on end. Do you dislike him so? Will you not confide in me, my love?"
"Oh, Mama!" Dinah indulged in an uncharacteristic burst of tears. Her mother allowed her to sob for several minutes before handing over her handkerchief of fine linen. Dinah then resolutely mopped up her face with her own and her mother's handkerchiefs. "It is not that I do not like him, Mama," she gulped. "I do not wish to like him. I hope that he will not come to Leeds. What can I have to say to him? He lives in a different world; he cannot be part of ours. And I have no liking for his world of the beau monde. It is a world in which I could find no comfort. Mama, could Papa not make it clear to him that he is unwelcome here, should he come? I cannot bear it should he run tame in our household here as he did in Harrowgate."
Her mother was silent, rather absently patting the slim hand that was clenched about the two sodden handkerchiefs.
"Of course, Papa could forbid him the house, Dinah. But in all charity, I cannot think it the right thing to do. My dear, I find Lord Holly to be a very sad young man."
Dinah stared in astonishment at her mother.
"Oh I know, he has every social grace, a quite remarkably handsome person, and apparently a fine position in the ton. But I see a shadow in his eyes and I believe him to be a lonely gentleman. And I believe that he found some solace for his loneliness within our family. Can we in good conscience deny him that if he comes? I cannot. He enjoys Harriet's lively conversation; he dotes upon Hamilton and shares his love of cricket. We cannot overlook his kind instruction of Geoffrey or his burgeoning friendship with John. I cannot think it right to reject his association with us, my dear, if he wishes to continue it."
"But Mama--"
"You are very wise to guard your heart, Dinah, but you need not suffocate your spirit. Be your joyous self. You need be little in his company if he should visit Leeds and call upon us. Your Papa will, of course, repel any unwanted advances he might make to you. But be very certain before you reject his overtures, my love. You may question his motives; perhaps you should examine your own prejudices."
* * * *
Neither Dinah nor Mrs. Driffield could know that Sebastian was even at that moment turning his curricle off the North Street at Lowerhead Road to join Briggate and the gentle hill that led down to the river Aire. Holly's stay in Harrowgate had been extended as he waited for his curricle and his valet to be brought from London by his invaluable groom cum tiger, a sharp one-eyed lad known as Wink. While he had waited in Ha
rrowgate he had occupied his time to advantage. He had purchased Challenger and had him sent on to Leeds. He had investigated purchasing some land to the north and west of the Lower town, and he visited Knaresborough and Bolton Abbey. On his way to Leeds he had spent two nights at Harewood House visiting his friends the Lascelles in their beautiful home. He knew he would not be telling his republican friend, Miss Driffield, about this visit at present.
A squawk from Wink, perched behind him, drew his attention back to his driving and his surroundings. The crowd in the Briggate was immense and fruit and vegetables stalls crowded the pavement. The traffic was not facilitated by the great mass of the Moot Hall which stood squarely in the middle of the street. Sebastian had little time to admire it as he concentrated on threading his carriage through the press of people and animals.
"A busy town this. Do you see the New King's Arms?" he said to Skelmer his valet, seated beside him. The inn had been suggested to him by Josiah Driffield before they had all departed Harrowgate.
"I cannot--ah, there it is, my lord. On the right side, beyond that draper's. My lord, there is a person glowering at you from the pavement there." Holly's pale valet made a discreet gesture to the market mélee left of the road.
Sebastian slowed his horses, looked about him, and saw Bernard Humberstone staring disbelievingly at him. He smiled politely and his bow was nicely calculated to both placate and infuriate the gentleman.
"An acquaintance," he told his servants. He allowed his tone to inform them that the big man was someone he neither liked nor respected. He directed his carriage skillfully through the narrow opening to the inn's spacious yard. Wink jumped down and ran to the horse's head.
"Skelmer, bespeak me a nuncheon. I am sharp set and I intend to visit the Driffields' this afternoon. Wink, see that Challenger is here, and in good trim. Bring him to the door at three o'clock."
After he had refreshed himself with food and drink and a change of linen in a large, comfortable chamber, Sebastian set out mounted on his grey to locate the Driffields' home. It was only as he neared Park Square that he realized he might easier have walked. The distance was less than he had anticipated. Nevertheless he had to request directions twice; once where Commercial Street changed to Bond Street and for the second time when he came to St. Paul's Church. Once around the handsome house of worship however, he was able to identify Park Square, and number five was clearly enough marked. He gave Challenger into the care of a small boy idling in the street.
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