The Diabolical Baron

by Mary Jo Putney

  This evening started like the half-dozen other assemblies they had attended here: dowagers and unclaimed young ladies chatting in chairs around the walls of the main salon, couples dancing, and dozens of sharp eyes watching to see what interesting connections might occur.

  Also on schedule, Gideon Fallsworthy hurried up to claim Gina’s hand for the country dance now forming, and to beg the honor of a waltz later in the evening. Since he would be allowed only two dances with the lady of his choice, he definitely wanted one to be the exciting and erotic new Austrian dance that had taken London by storm. Traditionalists considered the waltz very daring, but young lovers were delighted to hold each other close in public.

  “You are in rare good looks this evening, Miss Gina. Will you join me for this dance? And pray save a dance for me, Miss Hanscombe,” he added to Caroline with a friendly smile.

  Gideon was a pleasant-looking young man with a slight tendency to beefiness. His intelligence was not profound, but he had a kind heart and a smile of great sweetness. He had endeared himself to Gina by his obvious belief that she was the handsomest and most amusing female he had ever met, and to Lady Hanscombe by being heir to a fine property in Lincolnshire. The match might not be a brilliant one but it was respectable, and her ladyship daily expected Gideon to call on Sir Alfred to request Gina’s hand.

  As the happy couple moved onto the floor, Caroline sat next to Lady Hanscombe and absently watched the elegantly garbed people dipping and turning in the figures of the dance. She could amuse herself indefinitely this way, withdrawing into the world of her imagination and mentally playing variations on the music.

  With her highly developed talent for invisibility, she should be left alone most of the evening. She had been very successful at discouraging possible suitors; the few men who asked her to dance seldom troubled to do so a second time.

  There had been one regrettable young man with rabbity front teeth who had been disposed to admire her, but she had discouraged him with references to her father’s violent temper and his oft-expressed wish to keep his eldest daughter as a Comfort in his Old Age, a view that would have much surprised that gentleman, since he barely troubled to tell his daughters apart and frequently said he looked forward to getting them off his hands.

  The evening was well advanced when she noticed purposeful movement in her direction. She recognized George Fitzwilliam, who had partnered her on several occasions when hostesses prevailed on him to help with the wallflowers. George was pleasant, unthreatening company, but she frowned slightly at the sight of his companion, a tall, darkly impressive man who radiated arrogance and power.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam arrived and swept his most graceful bow. “Lady Hanscombe, Miss Hanscombe, my friend Lord Radford has begged me for the pleasure of an introduction to you.”

  Lady Hanscombe bridled happily. “The pleasure is ours, Lord Radford. My other daughter is about, and I’m sure she would also be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  While Lady Hanscombe and the Honorable George exchanged polite nothings, Caroline looked up at his lordship’s dark eyes and froze under his piercing gaze. This must be how a rabbit feels while it waits for a ferret to strike, she thought wildly. She had no idea what he was looking for, but the dark stare under the ferocious brows was anything but casual.

  “Will you do me the honor of accepting this dance, Miss Hanscombe?” His deep voice was abrupt, projecting the same sense of power that his appearance did.

  Caroline nodded mutely; what else could she do? She rose and went onto the floor with him. Unfortunately the orchestra was striking up the first notes of a waltz. “Have you been given permission to dance the waltz here, Miss Hanscombe? No? Then it’s time you did.”

  Looking across the room, Radford caught the roving eye of Lady Jersey. He gestured expressively at his partner, Lady Jersey nodded, and then Caroline was swept into his arms.

  he was startled at his speed of action. Her lack of permission to dance the waltz would have been a good excuse to cry off from the dance, but before she could even voice her thought, the objection had been overcome.

  Looking down at the fair curly head, Jason didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated at her shyness. Certainly there was no lack of maidenly modesty. Pity she wasn’t taller; she seemed determined to spend the dance examining the buttons on his waistcoat rather than strain her neck to look in his face.

  The chit wasn’t at all bad-looking, he decided. Dress her properly, get her hair out of her face, and he would not be ashamed to have her by his side.

  For her part, Caroline felt like she was in a particularly bad dream. She didn’t know that Radford’s appearance at Almack’s was so unusual as to be noteworthy, but she felt instinctively that eyes all over the room were watching them.

  She concentrated on dancing presentably since her only previous waltz experience had been with her brothers and the dancing master. Being held so close by a man of rather overpowering masculinity was quite a different matter.

  Why on earth had he asked her? There was no social connection between them, and there could be nothing in her appearance to attract a fashionable gentleman who could have his choice of partners anywhere he went.

  “What do you think of your first London Season, Miss Hanscombe?” Radford asked urbanely.

  “It is very ... interesting, my lord.” The words were muffled by the downturned head.

  “Has Almack’s lived up to your expectations? Some find the reality a letdown from its reputation,” he continued.

  “I had no expectations, my lord.”

  Fitzwilliam certainly hadn’t exaggerated about her lack of conversation. Still, Jason persevered with polite commonplaces. It was heavy going, but a gentleman known for his address could converse well enough for two. As he returned her to Lady Hanscombe, he said, “I hope you would not object to my calling on you soon, Miss Hanscombe.”

  She stared at him blankly for a moment, then murmured almost inaudibly, “Of course not, my lord.”

  Lord Radford moved away, pleased that his campaign was under way. Complicated tactics should not be required; the mother had clearly been dazzled to have the chit distinguished by his attention. Lady Hanscombe seemed to be a bit of a toadeater, but that would work in his favor.

  Now that they had been formally introduced, he could call on the girl and further the acquaintance. He would not rush things by dancing with her again tonight; that he had singled her out was enough. It was just a matter of time. Boringly easy, really.

  * * * *

  While Lord Radford was searching for his friend Mr. Fitzwilliam to call this portion of the evening to an end, Caroline was being interrogated by Lady Hanscombe. Unsure whether to be pleased that Caroline had been sought out, or insulted that Lord Radford had no interest in meeting Gina, her ladyship was relentlessly extracting every iota of information.

  “And then what did he say?. .. And you replied? ... And I myself heard him say he wished to call on you. Straighten up, Caroline, don’t slouch! Perhaps he has decided it is time to start hanging out for a wife. Past time, really, the man has been on the town this age! Well, I’m very sure he must be pleased with you, there is no substitute for breeding and manners, and you are a very pretty-behaved girl.”

  Her ladyship interrupted her monologue to look dubiously at Caroline. While the girl had a well-bred air, it was difficult to imagine why someone like Radford would pay such distinguishing attention.

  Well, if he did call, it would give him a chance to meet Gina and note her superior charms. If his lordship was ready for a wife, Gina was just as well-bred, and more attractive as well.

  Lady Hanscombe conveniently forgot that her own forebears could in no way compare with those of Caroline’s mother. At least, not in the eyes of those who used the same standards for judging people as they used for horseflesh.

  Gina’s enthusiasm was more generous but no easier to bear. Throughout the ride home she talked ceaselessly about Lord Radford’s darkly handsome
countenance, his superb tailoring, and his well-known fortune. “They say, Caro, that he never comes to Almack’s, or dances with girls making their come-out. They say he has kept some of the most dashing high fliers—!”

  “Gina, how dare you refer to such things!” Lady Hanscombe interjected. “It is not at all proper for you to know how gentlemen amuse themselves.”

  “But, Mama, everyone does know,” Gina said irrepressibly. “He must have seen Caroline at a ball or in the park and decided he must make her acquaintance. It is so romantic!”

  Loyal to her older sister, Gina was quite willing to believe a gentleman would be struck instantly by Caroline’s sweetness and charm. Content with her Gideon, she felt not a shred of jealousy. “It will quite make Caro socially. Everyone will wish to meet the girl who took Lord Radford’s fancy.”

  Surrounded by such avid speculations, it was unnecessary for Caroline to say a word. And she could not discuss the most important fact about Lord Radford: that she didn’t like him and had no desire to see him again.

  She knew it was irrational but she had felt deeply uncomfortable in his presence. Silent and unhappy, she had a throbbing headache when they returned to the Adam Street town house.

  “Excuse me, Mama, I am very fatigued and wish to retire directly,” Caroline said in a thin voice.

  “Yes, yes, my dear, we must keep you in looks for Lord Radford’s call,” Lady Hanscombe said magnanimously.

  Caroline’s bedchamber had the slightly drab air common to rental properties, but tonight it represented safety. She tossed her cloak across the shield-back chair, then walked slowly to the window and leaned her aching forehead against the cool glass.

  Logically, it made no sense to read so much into a single dance. Even a wallflower such as herself had stood up with a number of men during the Season.

  But she had never been singled out in quite this way. She felt in her bones that the encounter with Radford was significant. She had a mental image of herself as a twig that had been slowly drifting down a lazy creek. Now abruptly she had been seized by a current that could sweep her away from the life of music and peace she longed for.

  Caroline suddenly chuckled. Such a to-do over nothing! Jessica always said she had too much imagination. Time to put her worries in perspective. Taking a worn instrument case from the wardrobe, she perched on the bed and carefully removed her lute.

  It was a very old instrument, dating back to the time when the lute was fashionable and widely played. She stroked the silky cedarwood of its sound box lovingly for a moment, then tuned it and started to play an air by John Dowland.

  The lute had been a gift from her beloved teacher Signore Ferrante when she came to London earlier in the spring. Both of them had known matters would never be the same again; she would marry or stay in London with her aunt, and the closeness of master and student would change in the future.

  He had chosen the perfect gift. Whenever she played it she thought of him and the happiness they had shared in exploring ancient and modern music. While the pianoforte was her first love, the gentle lute was easily carried and could be played without disturbing the rest of the household. After plucking several Elizabethan tunes, Caroline rippled out an Italian lullaby, singing softly in her sweet true voice. Half an hour later she was ready for sleep.

  * * * *

  Rising earlier than the rest of the family, Caroline had a quick breakfast and set out for her Aunt Jessica’s house with a young maid trailing behind for propriety’s sake. The housemaids took turns at chaperoning her, and debated among themselves whether it was easier to scrub steps or keep up with Caroline’s brisk pace.

  For all her fragile appearance, she was a vigorous walker and much preferred it to riding. Today she was to give her cousin Linda a lesson on the pianoforte, and she blessed the excuse to be out early.

  A late night rain had left the streets bright-washed as a new-minted coin, and Caroline felt her natural serenity return as she mentally translated the street rhythms to music. Irrepressibly social sparrows chattering overhead, peddlers making their rounds with fresh bread and early strawberries, a grave child on a pony headed toward Hyde Park with his proud papa—it would make a splendid concerto, or better still, an overture. As she softly whistled a melody, it was impossible to take seriously her anxieties of the night before.

  As an Army wife, Jessica had learned to keep early hours and her household was fully awake when Caroline arrived glowing with color from the fresh air. She looked around the small entry hall with pleasure.

  The house was not large, needing only two servants to be comfortably staffed. But it had a welcoming air and was possibly her favorite place in the world. The walls were light-colored and the uncluttered rooms free of crocodile-footed sofas and other such fashionable monstrosities. The furniture had the graceful lines of the middle eighteenth century, with some foreign accents Jessica had acquired while traveling with her husband.

  Being able to visit Jessica whenever she chose was Caroline’s compensation for the rigors of the Season. They had corresponded regularly ever since Caroline was old enough to write, but they seldom saw each other in person while Major Sterling was posted in distant places. After her husband’s death in the Battle of Salamanca, Jessica brought her daughter back to England and they took up residence in the small London town house she had inherited.

  Although she liked having her own household and independence, Jessica frequently took Linda to visit the child’s paternal grandparents in Wiltshire. Jessica had grown up in the area and had many friends there, and since the Sterlings lived within five miles of the Hanscombes, she could visit Caroline at the same time. But being within a few minutes’ walk of each other was a new and pleasant experience for both of them.

  Caroline entered the breakfast parlor but she had no time to greet her aunt before a small figure squealed and whizzed into her arms. “Caro! A kitten wandered into the kitchen and Mama says I can keep it!”

  Caroline laughed and gave her nine-year-old cousin a hug. “And how did this creature happen to ‘wander in’? In your pocket, perchance?”

  Linda ground a toe into the carpet. “Well...”

  “Never mind, poppet. I’m sure your mother was no more deceived than I am. Bless you, Jessica,” she said, reaching for the cup of coffee her aunt had just poured. “What did they ever do before coffee was discovered?” In the Hanscombe household, tea was the hot beverage since it was her stepmother’s preference; having coffee as well would have been wasteful. “I assume this undernourished scrap of orange fluff is your new friend?”

  Reaching under the table, she scooped the fur ball onto her lap. The kitten was a ginger torn with startlingly green eyes, and he seemed to find the Sterling residence much to his taste. Now he was content to purr in delight as Caroline expertly scratched under his small chin. “And what is this peerless pussy’s name?”

  “Wellesley. For the Iron Duke, you know,” Linda said seriously.

  “A fine name. He even looks as if he has the famous Wellington hooked nose. At least, as much as a cat is able.” Having duly admired the new member of the household, she said, “Jessica, the oddest thing happened at Almack’s last night.”

  “Does that mean you had a better time than expected?”

  “Not really,” Caroline said ruefully. “I was sought out by a rather elderly lord who insisted on waltzing and who threatens to call on me.”

  “Goodness! Who was this ancient gentleman?”

  “Well, he wasn’t really ancient—perhaps around forty. But old enough to be my father. His name is Lord Radford, and he looks like the devil in fancy dress. All dark hair, frown lines, and glowering looks. He stared at me as if I were a filly ready for market. I was so nervous I’m sure he thinks me witless. Which is all to the good. I have no desire to further the acquaintance.”

  “Lord Radford. . . . The name is familiar. I believe there is a family seat in Gloucestershire. He’s mentioned in the papers regularly—a famous horseman and h
unter. Cuts quite a dash. You have found yourself a very eligible parti, little one!”

  “Please don’t laugh at me, Jess! This is serious. What if he is interested in me? The man terrifies me!”

  “Isn’t that putting it a bit strongly?”

  Caroline frowned and twisted a lock of tawny hair around her finger. “I’m not sure if I can explain it. He is not really unattractive, though rather old for me. I just felt... overpowered by his presence. As if he were a bomb waiting to go off, or a fire that would consume me.”

  “I think I understand,” Jessica replied. “The Duke of Wellington is something like that. No one could be more affable on a social occasion, but one can always feel the power in him. He could never be mistaken for an ordinary man, even when he was plain Arthur Wellesley. Perhaps that is why he is called the Iron Duke.”

  “Well, Lord Radford is certainly no ordinary man. I would like him much better if he were.”

  Jessica shrugged. “A man like that will add greatly to your consequence. If you fall in love with each other and make a match of it, you would be established for life. Certainly his attentions can’t hurt. No one can force you to marry him.”

  “That’s the problem, Jess. Mama and Papa could force me. When they start shouting, and talking about my filial duty . ..” Her voice trailed off as she examined the ribbon she had twisted past any future use.

  “I shan’t let him have you!” Linda said. “I will say that you are promised to us here.”

  “It shouldn’t come to that, Linda.” Jessica chuckled and drew her daughter close to her side. They shared the same fiery auburn hair and glowing vitality, but the child had inherited her father’s brown eyes rather than her mother’s green ones. Laughing together in the breakfast parlor, they were perfect subjects for one of the livelier master painters—Rubens, perhaps, had he preferred a slimmer sort of female.