The Painted Fan

by Elizabeth Aston

  Other Titles by Elizabeth Aston

  Mr. Darcy’s Daughters

  The Exploits & Adventures of Miss Alethea Darcy

  True Darcy Spirit

  The Second Mrs. Darcy

  The Darcy Connection

  Mr. Darcy’s Dream

  Writing Jane Austen

  Mr. Darcy’s Christmas

  Mr. Darcy’s House Party

  Children of Chance

  The World, the Flesh and the Bishop

  Unholy Harmonies

  Volcanic Airs

  Unaccustomed Spirits

  Brotherly Love

  Written as Elizabeth Edmondson

  The Frozen Lake

  Voyage of Innocence

  The Villa in Italy

  The Art of Love / The Villa on the Riviera

  Night & Day

  Devil’s Sonata

  Written as Leigh Knight

  The Brutus Coin

  Greeks Bearing Gifts

  The Soul Freezer

  Oh, Mummy!

  Double Trouble

  The Painted Fan

  Elizabeth Aston

  A Mountjoy Story

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Elizabeth Aston

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  Published by StoryFront, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and StoryFront are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781477876695

  Cover design by Inkd

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Miss Anna Gosforth longed for love.

  She longed to fall in love and to marry before the end of this, her first London season. After all, she was already nineteen and had been obliged to languish in the country until her older sister, Sarah, finally found herself a husband. How ashamed she would be to finish this year without a husband.

  She was having a wonderful time, revelling in the balls, the soirées, the routs, the rides, the picnics. It was delightful to go with her mother to all the most fashionable modistes and milliners, and thrilling to have so many new clothes: walking dresses and carriage dresses, muslins for parties, satin and gauze for balls. She had an elegant new riding habit, hats for every occasion, and all the fripperies essential to her well-being.

  Thank goodness the years of careful upbringing with a strict governess and an all-too-quiet life in the country were over. She had dutifully acquired the requisite accomplishments. She could play the piano and sing; she could speak some French and knew some Italian; she could locate most countries on the globe and could set stitches to sew a sampler or hem a handkerchief.

  But now she was out of the schoolroom; her governess was at home in Northamptonshire, exerting her power over two younger sisters, and since Mama was chiefly concerned with Sarah’s approaching nuptials, she made no effort to insist on music practice or an hour or two with a French grammar.

  For the first time in her life, Anna’s natural liveliness and sparkle and sense of fun were not frowned upon. She could be as merry as she liked and laugh and flirt. Only the most prim-faced matrons disapproved, and what did she care for them? Away with such stuffiness.

  Mama did her duty as far as chaperoning her to balls and all the other parties, but Anna was happy that she did not keep quite such a close eye on her as she had done with Sarah.

  Anna thought nothing of Sarah’s betrothed. “He is so pompous and so solemn,” she said to her best friend, Henrietta. “And Sarah will soon be just as dull as he is.”

  “Then they are well suited.”

  “I have every reason to dislike him. I overheard him say to Sarah what an empty-headed and frivolous creature I am.”

  Not that Anna cared a button for what either Sarah or her betrothed thought of her, not now that she had, at last, fallen in love.

  She first saw Mr. Standish at the theatre. He was in a box a little way along from the one she was in, and she noticed him as he stood up and moved aside to let another member of his party come forward. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and while fluttering her fan to try and hide the fact that her gaze was fixed on him, she whispered to Henrietta, who was sitting next to her, “Who is that man in the box there, the tall one?”

  “You mean the quiz with the red hair? That is Richard Freeling; they say he has the best manners in the world, but he is an ugly-looking fellow.”

  “Red hair? Oh, no, not that box; the next one along.”

  Henrietta laughed. “Haven’t you yet met him? That’s Mr. Standish, said to be the handsomest man in England.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Oh, oh, in ten seconds your mind has turned from a first sighting to marriage. Fie on you!”

  Annoyed, Anna scowled at Henrietta; she didn’t care to be made fun of upon such a subject. “Do you know him?”

  “We have been introduced. Mr. Standish is not married, nor do I think is he engaged or indeed attached to any lady in particular. He has been abroad, and I dare say has had some merriment with the ladies there, but he has not come back with any lustrous beauty from foreign parts, or I would have heard about it.”

  Anna had sufficient pride not to ask any more, and she must try not to look too often towards his box. She was helped in this by the fact that a few minutes later the man withdrew and—how disappointing—didn’t reappear. After the performance, when they were downstairs waiting for their carriage to come, Anna looked around, hoping that she might see him again. There was no sign of him, and at least she was spared Henrietta’s jibes, for Henrietta had her eye on a beau of her own who was there, and so she had no time to notice what Anna was up to.

  To her joy, Anna was introduced to Mr. Standish within the week. She confided to Henrietta, “It is as though it was meant and arranged by Providence, for I set eyes upon him and then just a few days later there he is.”

  She had met him at quite an intimate party—the kind of gathering that she had only gone to with reluctance. A cousin of her mother’s was giving a small dinner party, and no, Mama said, it was unlikely there would be dancing afterwards. This was promising to be an evening of infinite tedium, but Mama insisted she go, “For you have not seen Cousin Maria in an age, and she has asked that you go with us.”

  Anna remembered her cousin Mrs. Rufforth all too well, a woman of some forty years with a sharp eye and a sharper tongue. But, as it turned out, she had reason to be grateful for the invitation.

  True, there was no dancing, and the people were amazingly dull, talking about all kinds of things for which she cared nothing: serious books and Italian sculpture and the situation in France and the events in some German state. She would have yawned away the time had it not been that Mr. Standish was there. He arrived late, just as the company was going into dinner. Anna couldn’t believe her good fortune as he bowed over Mrs. Rufforth’s hand, murmuring his apologies.

  He was seated further along from her at dinner, on the same side of the table, so she couldn’t watch him, and she longed for the meal to be o
ver. Surely afterwards, when the men had finished in the dining room, he would join them in the drawing room and she might get to know him.

  The time between the ladies leaving the table and the gentlemen arriving seemed interminable. At last, the door opened, and the gentlemen came in. Mr. Standish stood beside his hostess, and then, with a gleam in her eye that Anna mistrusted, Mrs. Rufforth brought him over to where she was sitting on a small sofa.

  “Anna, my dear, allow me to introduce Mr. Standish. Miss Anna Gosforth is a cousin of mine, Mr. Standish, thoroughly bored by the conversation this evening”—she had noticed, horrid woman with her keen eyes—“so you may entertain her with some more amusing talk.”

  He laughed, and Anna, furious with herself for blushing, also laughed, and then Mrs. Rufforth moved away, and he sat down beside her, setting her heart beating so that she thought he must hear it.

  “Tell me, this is your first season, is it not, Miss Anna? I am sure I would have met you otherwise, for although I have been much abroad, I was in London last spring. How do you like London life?”

  “I like it a great deal. There are so many interesting parties to go to and things to see and do. I don’t know how I ever filled the day before, but now every hour is crammed with some scheme or pleasure.”

  He laughed at that. “Are you a great reader? My sister is always pleased to be in London, where she can borrow so many books from circulating libraries.”

  Anna said, “I love novels, but not serious books such as everyone here is talking about.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Rufforth always gathers high-minded people about her. She is famous for it.”

  Anna noticed that a tall, dark man standing by the fireplace, a little aloof from the company, was watching them, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “Why does that gentleman stare at us so? I did not catch his name. Who may he be?”

  “I will introduce you if you like. That is Mr. Vere. A rising man in government circles, he is destined for a distinguished career. I do not believe he stares; he is just wondering how I came to be so fortunate as to be seated by the prettiest girl in the room.”

  Anna was enchanted by the compliment, but said, “Oh, no, pray do not do any such thing. I merely wondered who he was, with that intense look. He looks to be extremely clever, and I’m sure I would have nothing to say to him.”

  Chapter 2

  From the other side of the room, Vere watched Mr. Standish with sardonic amusement. So he was setting up another flirt; it was to be hoped the young lady had a careful chaperone. His eyes moved on, sweeping the room with an indifferent air. Ah, there was the man he was looking for. He began to make his way towards him, bowing and saying a few words to people as he went. He spoke a little longer to a dark beauty, who smiled and summoned the Comte de Saint-Valéry to her side.

  “Saint-Valéry will do nothing to betray his country, but anything he can to bring down Bonaparte,” Vere’s chief, Lord Mountjoy, had told him. “I do not need to warn you to take care of how and where you speak. You know that Napoleon has eyes and ears everywhere in London. Even, I fear, among those who work in this department.” He sighed but said no more about it, merely telling Vere to report back as soon as he could.

  “There are rumours,” Saint-Valéry said, “that the First Consul, the odious Bonaparte, intends some new mischief at the point where war is declared again. I do not know just what he plans, but it will be some devilish scheme you may be sure.”

  Vere turned this over in his mind and wondered if he might slip away. No, it was too soon; he must make some effort with other people so that his meeting with the Comte was not in any way conspicuous. He looked over to the sofa, where Standish was sitting, still flirting with that young woman. Trust him to have picked out the prettiest girl in the room; my word, she was making eyes at him—charming eyes too—big and dark and full of sparkle. It was time that Standish found himself a bride, but not a miss like this, for all her fetching ways. He needed a wife of intelligence who could be of use to him as he climbed up the political ladder. A lovely wife was an asset in some circumstances, but there needed to be shrewdness and intelligence in any woman who was going to be a successful political wife. This young lady did not look likely to fit that description.

  Mrs. Rufforth beckoned to him.

  “You have that look in your eye that tells me you are planning to leave. What is so urgent that calls you away? The evening is young.”

  “I have another engagement,” Vere said.

  Mrs. Rufforth was having none of this, and she rapped his knuckles with her fan. “Mr. Vere, all this is nonsense. You have not enjoyed yourself, nor the company. And I see where you were looking. Confess: you are annoyed that Mr. Standish is monopolising the prettiest girl in the room.”

  Vere laughed. “She is not my style at all, my dear Maria. You know that.”

  “No, indeed, she is a little butterfly that one, but there are plenty of other people here worth your speaking to.”

  “I believe not. And besides, I have another engagement.”

  Mrs. Rufforth turned to her husband, a thin man with a long nose and a melancholy expression, and said, “It is always the same with Mr. Vere. I’m sure he came here with a particular purpose and not simply to enjoy my food and wine and the company.”

  “My dear, do not be harsh upon him. He is a man with some responsibilities, and someone in his position has other things on his mind than dining and conversation.”

  “Oh, do not be talking of war again. That is all over, is it not, Mr. Vere?”

  Vere’s reply was noncommittal: “Time will tell.” Then he added, “Who, by the way, is the pretty creature so engrossed by what Standish is saying?”

  “That is my cousin, Miss Anna Gosforth.”

  Vere frowned, thought for a moment, and then said, “Ah, Gosforth’s younger daughter. She should have a care. It would not do for her to lose her heart to a man like Standish.”

  Mrs. Rufforth lifted her brows. “Lady Gosforth is well able to take care of her daughter; she is in no danger. Come and meet her—no, I insist.”

  She led Mr. Vere over to the sofa where Anna and Mr. Standish were still deep in conversation. He bowed, said he was glad to have the honour of making Miss Gosforth’s acquaintance, exchanged some civil commonplaces as to how she was enjoying her London season, and drew away.

  He shook his head at Mrs. Rufforth, said he would be detained no longer, kissed her hand, murmured his thanks, and then made his unhurried way from the room, bowing to friends and acquaintances. At the door, he turned to cast a last look at Anna and Standish, gave a slight shake of his head, and was gone.

  Anna was unusually quiet in the carriage on the way home, and her mother inquired with some solicitude as to whether she was feeling all right. “You are normally such a chatterbox. I wonder if you have been gadding around too much. It will not do for you to get tired and worn out so early in the season.”

  “Oh, I am not in the least tired, Mama, just thoughtful. All those people there, talking in such a clever and serious way about such dull things. Two of the gentlemen were speaking about France, saying there will be war again. Is that true, do you think?”

  Lady Gosforth had just noticed a slight stain on the bodice of her gown, and she rubbed at it with her finger. “War? Oh my dear, do not be thinking about such things as that. It will quite spoil your enjoyment. But in fact things are not too good; your father was saying so this very day.”

  Although the threat of war was sufficient reason to satisfy Mama as to the cause of her unusual pensiveness, the real reason lay elsewhere. She had never felt so powerfully attracted to a man as she did to Mr. Standish, but did he feel the same way about her? If only she were more experienced, to know whether his sitting beside her and his conversation meant that he felt any attraction to her, or whether it was simple good manners.

  Warning herself to appear calm and not too interested, she broached the subject with her mama. “It was agreeable talking t
o Mr. Standish. He did not seem full of all the serious things that everybody else did. He is an amiable companion.”

  Lady Gosforth was still attending to her gown. “New on today; it really is too tiresome. Mr. Standish? Well, he is too much the gentleman to talk about serious matters with such a young lady as you, my love, but he is a man that people speak well of. I believe he has an important post in some government office or other. I forget which, if I ever knew, which I probably did not, because your papa, who knows about such things, is always so vague.”

  There was a silence, and then Anna ventured, “He is very handsome. I wonder why he is not married.”

  “I dare say he will be soon enough; he has reached the stage in life when a man must take a wife, particularly if he is to get on. He is quite eligible, an elder son who will come into a nice little estate. He will marry into one of the political families—you may be sure of it. He probably has his eye on some young lady already.”

  Anna longed to ask her mother why, if Mr. Standish were so eligible, he was not included among those young men that Mama was keen for Anna to know. She wasn’t a fool and could have written a list of the men that Mama had in her eye as possible matches for her. Not that it mattered, since she hadn’t felt any particular attraction for any of the men that she had met so far, and certainly nothing like the fascination that Mr. Standish was exerting over her.

  What was it that she found so irresistible? Her attention had first been drawn to him by his handsome features and his fine figure and his air. Now she had been introduced, she was enchanted by his engaging smile and the attention he paid her, as though there were no one else in the room. She sighed and then hastily turned the sigh into a yawn.

  “You are tired, my pet, and you shall go to bed the minute we get home. Tomorrow is a busy day, and you need to feel and look your best, because it is the Wellcomes’ ball, and that is certain to be one of the highlights of the season.”

  Chapter 3

  Mr. Standish seemed to be everywhere that Anna was, at soirées and drums and balls. He came to Almack’s, looking, she thought, extremely elegant in knee breeches and a flesh-coloured waistcoat, and stood up with her for more than one dance. He was even there, wonder of wonders, at a Concert of Ancient Music, to which she had reluctantly gone with her mother, who loved music. As it was, the music, the musicians, and the company all became more than tolerable in the presence of Mr. Standish, “a very Apollo in form,” she whispered to Henrietta, who cast her eyes heavenwards and breathed into Anna’s ear to have a care not to cast herself so wildly into love.