by Sheila Walsh
‘If you don’t mind, my lord Duke, I would as lief not talk about it any more,’ he said politely. ‘Thank you very much for … for the food and everything, but I think I ought to be going home now or ’dora will wonder where I am.’
Heron regarded him steadily for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Very well, young stiff-rump!’ He rang the bell and a footman appeared on the instant. ‘Be so good as to discover from Mr Glyn whether Master William’s clothes are ready for him. No, better still, you go with him, William, and come back to me here when you are ready.’
At the door William turned, diffident but determined. ‘I wonder, sir ‒ might I ask you a favour?’
The Duke, wondering what he might be letting himself in for, signified assent.
‘Can I slide down your banister, sir?’ The words came out in a little rush. ‘Octavia won’t let me near the one at Brook Street … and anyway, your staircase has theirs beaten to flinders!’
Heron was laughing as the door closed behind William. Then he grew thoughtful, and finally he sought out his secretary.
‘Tell me, Ambrose ‒ what opinion do you hold of Mr Brearly?’
‘The present incumbent of Chedwell?’ Mr Varley, unsure what to make of the question, couched his answer in general terms. ‘When I have encountered him on my visits to Clearwater, I have always found him to be an exceedingly pleasant intelligent gentleman.’
‘One cannot always say as much of a clergyman,’ drawled Heron. ‘He has a growing family, I believe?’
‘Oh, yes. I am not sure how many children there are ‒’
‘Their exact number is quite immaterial, dear boy. What interests me is whether Brearly is a suitable person to undertake the care and instruction of a singularly bright little boy.’
Mr Varley was betrayed into momentary surprise. ‘Were you thinking of young Carlyon, sir?’
‘He is in need of just such a tutor,’ said the Duke reflectively. Then, making up his mind: ‘Perhaps you will oblige me by communicating to Mr Brearly that I should appreciate it if he could see his way clear to accepting the boy as a boarding pupil for a few months. The letter can go down to Chedwell at once by one of the grooms.’
‘Yes, sir.’
By now Mr Varley’s curiosity was stretched to the limit. It was so unlike his grace to interest himself in an obscure family like the Carlyons ‒ let alone to indulge the whims of a small boy. His immediate conclusion had been that William’s sister must be a regular stunner. But this notion was dispelled by Pinkerton who, when discreetly quizzed, had volunteered the information that the young lady of that name who had called upon the Duke several days since in Mr Varley’s absence, though a pleasant ladylike person, had been sadly plain. The mystery was vexing ‒ most vexing. Furthermore, from the glint in the Duke’s eye, he suspicioned that his grace was well aware of the confusion in his secretary’s breast and was enjoying the situation hugely.
‘And while you are about it,’ he said now, strolling to the door, ‘write also to Mr Lewis of Althrop, Pickering and Lewis, to inform him that a tutor has been found for young Master William. You had better give him Brearly’s direction. No doubt Mr Lewis will wish to convey the news to Miss Carlyon. If so, I have no objection so long as my name is kept out of the proceedings.’
‘But, sir …?’
Heron turned, his hand on the door, waiting for Mr Varley to complete his query.
‘Sir, should we not perhaps wait until we have Mr Brearly’s consent?’
‘Why?’ There was a touch of whimsicality in the soft reply. ‘Do you fear that he may refuse me?’
Chapter Six
Pandora had been shy of facing Lady Margerson. Although assured by the Duke that he had not revealed her indiscretion, her conscience would not be easy. But when she at last entered her ladyship’s drawing room resolved upon making a clean breast of things, she was scarcely given time to draw breath.
Lady Margerson sat before her writing desk with indecision, not to say total bewilderment, writ large throughout every rippling fold of her ample form. She turned as Pandora was announced, uttering a cry of such undisguised relief as to make her visitor blink.
‘My love … you could not have come more opportunely! See, here are all these invitations to be written and I do not know which way to turn! Pritchard ‒ my companion, you know ‒ vowed that she would have them done in a trice, but we had not gone beyond making out a list of guests when … you will not believe it, she has succumbed to a bout of the influenza.’
Pandora hid a smile and commiserated with her ladyship over what she clearly regarded as the inconsiderate timing of her companion’s indisposition …
‘Oh, well, I daresay she could not help it,’ came the generous admission.
She then offered, as was clearly expected of her (and indeed she did not mind), to take the unfortunate Pritchard’s place.
Lady Margerson sighed and relinquished any pretence of making herself useful, retiring instead to her comfortable sofa whence she was able to supervise Pandora’s efforts quite adequately without the least exertion. ‘I had thought just a small soirée,’ she said complacently.
Pandora, settling to her task, took note of the pile of cards and the length of the list and wondered wryly what Lady Margerson would regard as a large gathering.
‘… I did put down dear Lady Sefton, did I not? And Emily Cowper? She was so very kind to me last month when I was indisposed. And the Tillertons? She is a trifle odd, but her husband is a charming man …’
The non-stop commentary continued as Pandora wrote steadily in her very best script, pausing when necessary to reassure her ladyship about some newly imagined omission. It was in glancing down the list of names for the umpteenth time that one name stood out immediately above her own. She stopped writing for fear that her hand might shake ‒ and made a pretence of mending the pen.
‘Is … will the Duke of Heron attend, do you suppose?’ she asked in what she hoped was a casual way.
‘I shall be very much astonished if he does not!’ A certain coyness entered Lady Margerson’s voice. ‘He already knows a little about you, and is sufficiently intrigued to wish to know more.’
‘He is?’ Pandora gulped, wondering how to tell the old lady politely that she had windmills in her head if that was what she thought, and decided that it couldn’t be done. To attempt explanations now would be fruitless. Lady Margerson’s mind seemed unable to fasten on more than one idea at a time. The problem would have to be solved another way. ‘As to my own case,’ she began, ‘I really do not think that ‒’ She got no further.
‘It is no use your attempting to wriggle out of attending my little party, because I refuse to listen to any excuses!’
Lady Margerson sounded unusually firm. ‘Why ever do you suppose I am putting myself to so much trouble? I am determined to introduce you into society a little. You have been in London for all of a month now, and since it appears that Mrs Hamilton will do nothing for you, I must supply the deficiency. I am not quite without influence, you know.’
‘But, ma’am, I do not wish to be introduced to society.’
‘Of course you do! How else are you to meet with anyone in the least eligible? No, no, only listen to me, my love,’ pleaded Lady Margerson. ‘I am well aware that we do not see eye to eye in this, but I have been giving the matter a great deal of thought, and it is quite clear to me that I shall never be able to look your poor dear mama in the face when we meet beyond the grave … Oh, you may smile, but I do most earnestly believe that we shall all meet again, you know …’ She smiled with great sweetness. ‘And if I allow you to pursue this hubble-bubble notion of independence which you have taken into your head, without making a push to see you settled, then poor Arabella will be fully justified in cutting me dead! Oh dear ‒ well, you know what I mean.’
Pandora did not know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Ma’am, indeed you are very kind, but ‒’
The door opened to admit her ladyship’s footman, bearing a card
on a salver which he presented to her.
‘Heron,’ she cried, beaming with pleasure. ‘Show him up at once, Carr. There now!’ She turned triumphantly to Pandora, who had risen in a panic and was already collecting up her reticule and gloves. ‘Could anything be more fortunate? Almost as if it had been ordained!’ Much struck with this thought, she viewed her young friend’s preparations for departure with dismay. ‘Wait, my dear child … can you not see that if only Heron can be persuaded to take an interest in you, others will soon follow? No, no, my dear, you shall not run away! I forbid it!’ Pandora pulled her gloves on resolutely. Lady Margerson lowered her voice as the familiar impatient tread could be heard outside. ‘Besides, only think how odd such behaviour must appear!’
The door opened.
‘Ah, Robert! There you are … Such a pleasant surprise! Pandora,’ there was an unconscious pleading in her voice, ‘pray allow me to make you known to his grace, the Duke of Heron …’
While the Duke bowed with scrupulous politeness and Pandora, almost rigid with embarrassment, curtsied and murmured something incomprehensible and would not meet his eyes, Lady Margerson chatted on nervously.
‘I must tell you, Robert, that Miss Carlyon is the daughter of my late godchild, Arabella Wyndham. You will remember Sir Vernon Wyndham, Arabella’s father, no doubt? Or was he before your time? A charming man … though a little unsteady, perhaps. As I recall, he showed a decided partiality for games of chance … but that was all a very long time ago. His wife was one of my dearest friends …’
She saw that the two young people were still standing, Heron, as always, very much at ease, Pandora staring down at her hands and looking positively mulish. And as for that dress of grey muslin! The child was in mourning for her papa, of course, but that did not excuse a lack of style … cut with not the slightest attempt made to soften her almost boyish want of curves … not so much as a flounce or two! Lady Margerson could have cried with exasperation … and as for her nerves, they were all on end for she knew that neither of the two could be relied upon to behave in a conventional fashion. ‘Oh, do please sit down!’ she cried distractedly.
Heron’s mouth quirked ‒ and Pandora, no longer able to resist the temptation, stole a look at him and was caught in the act. It seemed to her that there was mockery in the smiling eyes, the curling lip.
‘Miss Carlyon.’ He indicated a chair and came forward to hand her into it.
She tightened her grip on her reticule.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I was on the point of leaving.’ She turned to Lady Margerson, hardening her heart against that lady’s beseeching look. ‘I will come and finish your cards tomorrow, ma’am.’
‘Oh, but if you will only wait just a little. The Duke never stays above a few minutes, do you, Robert?’
‘Never,’ he agreed, and Pandora could hear the amusement in his voice. ‘I came ‒ er, merely to inquire whether you mean to attend Eliza Chorley’s reception for the Czar’s sister this coming week, and if so whether I may have the privilege of escorting you?’
Lady Margerson’s look of puzzlement was imperfectly concealed as she fluttered her assent, but Pandora was too distraught to heed it.
The Duke noticed, however, and without giving her time to comment, he continued smoothly. ‘For my part I would not willingly go within a mile of the Grand Duchess ‒ she has the manners of a fishwife and I have yet to discern any redeeming quality in her. However, Eliza is simply doing what is expected of her and one can scarcely hold her accountable for the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg’s shortcomings.’
‘No, indeed! But they do say that the Czar himself is a charming man … though he is not expected for several weeks yet, of course.’ Out of the corner of her eye Lady Margerson saw that Pandora was making a move. She said in a last desperate throw, ‘Well, then, my love ‒ if you must go, I am sure that Robert would be delighted to drive you home …’ She looked meaningfully at the Duke, who bowed and agreed that he would be happy to put himself at Miss Carlyon’s disposal.
But Pandora, by now hot with fury and embarrassment, had reached the limit of her endurance. She pressed a swift kiss on the old lady’s cheek, sketched a curtsy to the Duke and moved to the door.
‘I should not dream of inconveniencing his grace,’ she said lightly. ‘Besides, it is such a fine afternoon that I have been quite looking forward to the walk home.’
She had not gone more than a few paces down the road when she heard his firm footsteps following her. He came abreast, his fingers closing inexorably round her arm, so that perforce she must struggle or come to a halt. He turned her to face him.
‘Why did you run away?’ he demanded.
‘Why did you come after me?’
He observed that although her eyes were bright accusing points of light, her voice sounded oddly stifled.
‘To drive you home. Why else?’ The pressure of his fingers increased as he attempted to lead her back towards the waiting curricle, but she resisted his efforts.
‘No. Thank you, my lord Duke, but I don’t wish to drive anywhere with you.’
‘Impertinent baggage!’ he said mildly. ‘I’ll have you know that you are being accorded a singular honour.’
‘And should be suitably grateful? Is that what you are saying?’ Pandora strove to speak calmly. ‘Well, I am very sorry, sir, but I cannot avail myself of your very kind offer. Lady Margerson may have advanced all kinds of persuasive arguments on my behalf, but I promise you I was not party to them, nor ‒’ and here her voice shook slightly ‘‒ do I in the least crave the sort of notoriety that being “taken up” by you would afford me!’
‘The devil!’ Heron exclaimed on an abrupt laugh, and then, cuttingly, ‘You flatter me, ma’am. I doubt whether even my most pressing attentions could achieve that much for you!’
She flinched, blinked several times in rapid succession and averted her gaze ‒ and he immediately wished the words unsaid.
There followed an uneasy silence.
What was he doing here, Heron wondered in some exasperation. Young ladies of unimpeachable virtue ‒ especially very young ladies who favoured unfashionable short-poked bonnets and dresses of insipid hue and little cut ‒ were emphatically not his style; the more so when they were sharp-tongued withal. Yet upon returning William to Brook Street the stab of disappointment he had experienced upon being told that Miss Carlyon was not at home had taken him straight round to Lady Margerson’s house with so feeble a motivation to explain his visit that she was probably puzzling over it yet!
He found himself studying the delicate line of jaw now tilted a little away from him ‒ a delicacy curiously at odds with the quality of enduring strength which characterized the rest of the face.
He began to grow impatient. Common sense dictated that he should abandon her to her chosen fate. Yet her continuing, unyielding silence baffled and infuriated him. Rejection was for him a novel experience ‒ and one for which he did not care.
And then he heard a sniff, so faint as to be scarcely audible, but a sniff none the less. Prosaic, vaguely comical even, it affected him as a display of tears could never have done. His voice was faintly chiding.
‘Miss Carlyon, you cannot be so paper-sculled as to suppose that I came after you at Lady Margerson’s bidding?’ When she did not immediately reply he put a finger under her chin and forced her head round until she must meet his eyes. ‘Is that what you are thinking?’
A solitary tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away with an impatient gesture. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted frankly. ‘I do know it is what she hoped for … your interest, that is. She said as much just before you arrived. It is supposed to open all sorts of doors for me!’
Heron mentally cursed the old lady’s heavy-handedness. ‘Lady Margerson may occasionally want for subtlety,’ he said dryly, ‘but her instincts ‒ are usually reliable and I believe she does have your good at heart.’
‘Oh, I know she does and I assure you that I hold her in
the warmest regard!’ In her earnestness Pandora forgot to remain distant. ‘But that only makes it worse, don’t you see? She will keep trying to make of me something that I am not!’
‘And what is that, pray?’
‘Well, you are certainly not paper-sculled, so you must know the answer to that!’
‘Must I?’ he said softly, but his eyes were smiling. ‘Suppose you refresh my memory as we drive back to Brook Street?’
Still she hesitated.
His smile grew quizzical, but there was no hint of mockery in it. ‘A truce, Miss Carlyon? And my word on it that this is no part of any deep-laid scheme.’
‘Are you quite sure that you wish to put yourself to so much trouble?’ she asked, allowing herself in spite of all her best resolves to be led back to the curricle.
‘If I did not wish it, I would not be here, ma’am,’ he said with damping reproof, so that she submitted meekly as he lifted her with ease into the curricle. ‘I may say I had nothing like so much trouble accommodating your brother! There was the small problem of the mud, but once we had overcome that, he thought it the most tremendous treat!’
‘Mud?’ Pandora stared down into that inscrutable face. ‘You are talking about William?’
‘Certainly. I have not as yet the honour to be acquainted with your elder brother.’ She saw the glint of a smile once more. ‘And lest you fear William may have importuned me, let me hasten to add that I offered to take him up, not more than three hours since. So you may remove that unbecoming frown, Miss Carlyon.’
Upon which remark he excused himself and went to speak to his groom, leaving Pandora to make of his words what she would. After puzzling the matter for a few minutes, however, she abandoned the exercise in favour of unreserved admiration of the Duke’s curricle.
Truly it was a most elegant equipage, its huge yellow wheels mirrored in the black polished coachwork. The interior was richly padded with buff-coloured leather and had deliciously squashy seats that felt as soft and warm to the touch of her exploring fingers as the texture of a particular blue silk dress of her mama’s that she remembered from long ago.
