by Sheila Walsh
There was a silence.
‘It isn’t fair, tempting us with all that money!’ Mrs Blakewell looked Pandora fiercely in the eye. ‘How do you know we won’t use it for ourselves?’
Pandora stood up and put on her gloves. ‘If I had thought that, ma’am, I would not have come in the first place.’
The Duke of Heron, on his way back from Clearwater, had reached the outskirts of London when he found his way suddenly barred by some kind of altercation. The road ahead was blocked by several vehicles and a crowd had formed to cheer on the adversaries and proffer advice.
‘Devil take it! There is no room to turn. See what you can do, Grimble.’
The Duke’s man stood up, craning his neck to size up the situation before clambering down. ‘Appears to me that a wagon has got itself mangled with some young swell in a stanhope!’ he pronounced dourly.
A voice rose clearly above the rest.
‘No, no, you stupid man! Can you not see that it is quite futile to lash at the poor creature? You will never make a horse heed you in that way!’
The Duke stiffened, frowned and then, unhurriedly, handed over the ribbons. ‘On reflection, Grimble, perhaps I will investigate for myself.’
‘As you please, your grace,’ said Grimble, whose own ears had not been slow to pick up Miss Carlyon’s impulsive tones. ‘I thought as you might,’ he added beneath his breath.
Heron arrived upon the scene in time to behold Pandora, amid much expostulation and head-shaking and mutters that ‘she’ll be trampled into the ground … a slip of a thing like her, an’ serve ’er right, pushing ’erself in … she’s no business to be there at all!’, reaching up to grasp at the rein where it was buckled to the bit on a heavy wagon horse. The wagon had become entangled with a pair of nervy blood mares being ill-managed by a very young, very haughty gentleman in a smart stanhope gig, against all the advice of a tight-lipped groom.
Pandora had supporters in the crowd ‒ a vociferous minority, generous with their advice, urging her on with enthusiasm.
‘Watch out for ’is near side, my lovely … break your leg, ’e will, gal, if ’e lashes out!’
‘Never mind that old nag! It’s them fancy prancers as’ll do for ’er! Take no more’n a puff of wind to blow her away!’
‘Get you back where you belong, gal, and leave the job to them as knows how!’
‘I would gladly do so if I could see the least evidence of there being any such person,’ Pandora returned crisply and continued her chosen task of soothing the old carthorse, talking to it in a calm way, exerting a firm steady pressure on the rein to make him attend ‒ a task made more difficult by the owner of the stanhope, who was fast losing what little control he retained over his own horses ‒ and his temper.
When someone presently leaped up beside him and wrenched the reins from his clasp, he turned in a fury, but his expostulations died as he beheld the austerely handsome profile presented to him by the usurper of the reins, who was already issuing a number of terse authoritative instructions to the groom and those who ventured too close.
‘G-good God! Heron!’ he stammered. And in an effort to appear nonchalant, ‘Devilish tricky situation, what? G-good of your grace to honour me … beg you won’t heed this rabble!’
‘I don’t,’ said Heron curtly. ‘But there’ll be no peace for anyone if something isn’t done ‒ and I can’t abide to see fine cattle having their mouths sawn to pieces!’
The young gentleman’s groom concealed a smirk as his master’s mouth dropped open. But the Duke’s attention was already elsewhere.
‘You obviously know what you are about, Miss Carlyon. Can you contain that animal a few moments longer ‒ just where you have him now?’
Pandora raised a flushed face, astonished to hear Heron’s voice. Her answer was confident.
‘Yes, sir. He is already much calmer.’
In a very short space of time the combined efforts of Pandora, the groom and the Duke had the two vehicles separated and the crowd, seeing the drama at an end, began to drift away.
‘Well, Miss Carlyon ‒ your impulsiveness seems destined to lead you into contentious situations!’
‘If you mean, sir, that I deplore stupidity and must intervene when I see it, then I don’t deny it. It was, after all, no more than you did yourself!’
They stood in the dusty street facing one another. The wagon had gone, the haughty young man had driven away, much chastened after a dressing-down that must have rankled more had it not been delivered by such a nonpareil. Only the Duke’s curricle remained ‒ and the hack in which Pandora had been travelling. The driver moved restlessly on his box, his voice weary.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, miss ‒ but are you wishful to continue your journey? Only I can’t wait here all day.’
‘Oh, Gemini! I had quite forgotten!’ Pandora turned to the Duke. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I must go. This poor man has been held up quite long enough ‒’
‘Then let us detain him no longer.’
Before she could divine his intent, he had crossed the road, paid the man off and returned to offer her his arm, indicating his curricle where Grimble waited impassively. She ignored the proffered arm.
‘Really, my lord Duke,’ she exclaimed, ‘you take a great deal too much upon yourself.’
‘Do I?’ He seemed surprised at the accusation. ‘Forgive me, but my duty seemed plain. I do not know how you came to be here ‒’ he looked about him with vague distaste ‘‒ but clearly I could not leave you to proceed, unaccompanied, in a common hack.’
‘I don’t see why,’ she retorted with spirit, detecting a rebuke in the drawled observation. ‘I was managing very well without your help.’
‘Perhaps so. But would you not much rather ride home in comfort with me?’
Her glance strayed involuntarily to the waiting curricle, and was quickly checked, but not quickly enough. ‘That is hardly to the point now,’ she persisted. ‘Since you have dismissed my conveyance, I have no choice.’
‘Very true. However, if you are set on a hack, Grimble can doubtless procure you another one.’
‘Now you are being silly.’ Pandora met his eyes and against all resolution, her mouth began to quiver. ‘It would have been pleasant to be consulted,’ she maintained stoutly.
‘My apologies, ma’am. I am not, you see, accustomed to meeting with any objection. I will strive to remember in the future.’
His humility was so patently bogus that a giggle escaped her and she was lost.
‘That is much better.’ With an approving smile he drew her hand into the curve of his arm and led her across to the curricle. ‘The rug, I think, don’t you?’ he said, tucking its fleecy softness about her legs against the chill breeze, watched by Grimble, whose opinion of her had been grudgingly modified after witnessing her competence in dealing with the horses.
‘I expect you are wondering why you found me there,’ she ventured when they had gone a short distance.
‘My dear girl, I would not presume to incur your displeasure by quizzing you further!’
Pandora decided to ignore the sarcasm. ‘I have been seeing William off on the stage,’ she continued, and told him about their good fortune in finding William so promising a tutor.
‘He should be happy enough, at all events,’ said the Duke casually. ‘As it happens, Chedwell is quite close to an estate of mine and I am very slightly acquainted with the Brearlys. They seem a pleasant, happy family.’
‘How extraordinary!’ Pandora turned to him eagerly. ‘And you really think he will be well received? I declare it is the impression I received from Mr Brearly, but to have it confirmed …’ She sighed.
Heron glanced at her sidelong. ‘You will miss him, I expect?’
‘Yes.’
‘And your other brother ‒ Courtney, is it not? I trust all went well for him? He will be upon the high seas by now, I suppose, bound for adventure with his friend, Captain Greville.’
‘As to that, I’m not sure
. Courtney is the most dreadfully lax correspondent. But I did have a letter from Hugo only this morning, and he said that they were expecting to leave at any time, so perhaps they will have done so by now.’ Again she felt that terrible hollowing gulf of loss, but refused to give way to it beyond saying passionately, ‘Oh, how I wish I might be going with them!’
‘Do you?’ He gave no sign of having noticed the extent to which she betrayed her feelings.
‘It is very wrong of me. I must learn to be content with my lot,’ she said brightly. ‘Touching upon Courtney’s affairs, sir, I must make you our thanks.’
‘Indeed? How so?’
‘Well, Mr Bridge paid far more for Grandmama’s necklace than I had expected and I cannot but think that your grace’s interest … and recommendation … must in some measure have accounted for his generosity.’
‘I fear you credit me with too much influence, ma’am.’
‘I don’t think so. I would hazard that you are a much valued customer,’ she concluded shrewdly. ‘And that being the case, he will have taken your comment as a hint that we should be treated in a manner pleasing to you.’
‘Very perspicacious!’ he drawled.
‘You must not think I am complaining,’ she said hastily, ‘for in consequence we were able to fit Courtney out very comfortably and I am left with far more than I ever dreamed possible.’
‘Well, don’t go giving it away to every crippled soldier who happens along with a hard-luck story.’
The silence that followed was so pregnant with guilt that he glanced at her and found her pinkly blushing beneath her demure bonnet.
‘Oh, good God! I don’t believe it!’ As her chin took on its most stubborn aspect, he said, more harshly than he intended, ‘You can’t help them all, you know!’
‘I do know,’ Pandora returned swiftly, making no mention of Sergeant Blakewell. ‘As it happens, I am not so ninny-hammered as you seem to think! In fact, I know exactly what I want to do with the money. At least …’ she amended less belligerently, ‘I know what I would like to do.’
‘Which is?’
There was a touch of irony in his voice. Would he laugh at her if she told him? She had been going to broach the idea to Lady Margerson, but perhaps the Duke would be better placed to advise her. She decided to chance it.
‘I wondered … whether it would be possible to take a small cottage somewhere not too far from Chedwell?’ When no derision was immediately forthcoming, she continued with more confidence, ‘I shall have to see Mr Lewis about it, of course, but I thought that if some of the money was invested … well, I am very good with my needle. It must be possible to earn some money by taking in sewing, and I could be near William …’ Still he had said nothing. ‘It would be better than being a governess, surely? I’d have my independence.’
‘Were you intending to live alone in this cottage?’ he asked with unexpected mildness.
‘I suppose so.’ She frowned. ‘But … no one would take exception to that … in the country?’
‘My dear girl, they are like to be just as sticky about such things in the country as here. More so, in fact. However, that is not an insurmountable obstacle.’
His lack of opposition so surprised her that she could think of nothing to say. She had taken little heed of where they were going and looked up in some surprise to find that they were approaching Hyde Park ‒ she was even more surprised when the Duke turned his horses towards the gates.
‘Sir?’
‘One moment, Miss Carlyon.’ He successfully negotiated the manoeuvre, then gave her his attention. ‘My pardon. You were saying?’
‘N-nothing. I was not expecting you to come this way, that is all.’
He threw her something very like a boyish grin. ‘You are now a woman of substance, ma’am. I decided that it was time to show you how the fashionable disport themselves. It might dissuade you from wishing to bury yourself in the country.’
‘I think not.’ Pandora laughed, but for a while she was in serious danger of succumbing, for it seemed to her that there was a kind of magic about the park that afternoon.
She was used to seeing it in the morning or early afternoon, empty expect for an occasional purposefully striding nursemaid, her charges preceding her in neat array. Only a sedate barouche might pass her by, or a party of riders taking the air.
But now under trees bursting with new green the Duke’s curricle joined a slow-moving procession of gigs and high swaying phaetons, of lively curricles and graceful landaulets. In spite of the chill breeze, the walks and wide sweeps of grass were alive in the sunshine with the gentle shimmer of silk and muslin. Burnished curls gleamed beneath extravagant confections of swirling plumes and ruched ribbons, with many a lacy parasol to shield the more sensitive complexions.
Some ladies rode, some strolled about in the company of elegantly pantalooned dandies with tight blue coats and high-starched collar points and hessians that rivalled the sun for brilliance. The movement was intermittent as acquaintances were acknowledged and greetings exchanged.
Many a head turned to mark the approach of Heron’s famous bays; many eyes widened in surprise when they beheld his unlikely companion.
‘Egad!’ drawled Mr Chessington as he rode down the tan towards them with Sir Henry Dalrymple. ‘So that is Miss Carlyon!’
‘Eh? Where?’ Sir Henry, with a light in his eye and a reputation to uphold, glanced about him hopefully, and seeing Pandora for the first time, blinked. ‘Good Lord!’
‘Gently, Harry!’ murmured Fitz as the curricle came abreast of them, and introductions were effected.
Pandora could hardly tear her glance from the scene before her. ‘Does this happen every afternoon?’ There was a note of awe in her voice that made them all smile.
‘Every afternoon, ma’am,’ admitted Mr Chessington with his gentle sleepy smile.
Sir Henry felt that more explanation was required. ‘You have seen nothing as yet, Miss Carlyon. When the weather grows warmer and the season is at its peak, you will find twice as many people here.’
‘Gracious! And is this all you do ‒ just walk about talking to one another?’
‘Like exotic sheep,’ murmured Mr Chessington.
‘Certainly not, my child,’ Heron reproved her. ‘If you watch more closely you will observe that careful note is being taken of who is wearing what and, more to the point, who is conversing with whom ‒ or not conversing, which is much more diverting.’
Pandora turned to stare at him suspiciously. ‘You are bamming me?’ she accused him, sounding exactly like William.
‘One does not make light of such matters, Miss Carlyon,’ he replied with convincing gravity, and was rewarded by an attractive gurgle of laughter ‒ which was echoed in the eyes of her companions.
‘How extraordinary!’ she cried. ‘And what a shocking waste of time!’
‘No, really, ma’am!’ Sir Henry protested, though his eyes twinkled. ‘Would you deprive us of our harmless little amusements?’
On this they parted in a mood of high good humour.
‘Well now, Fitz,’ said Sir Henry when they were out of earshot. ‘Do tell me about Robert’s curious little friend.’
Someone else was showing a more than usual interest. In a carriage drawn up at the verge, a vision in blue twilled silk bit a pensive lip. Lady Sarah Bingly had just bidden farewell to a friend whose manner had betrayed a certain gentle malice in her revelation that the Duke was in the park ‒ and not alone, his companion being somewhat out of the common way.
Lady Sarah was annoyed rather than seriously troubled. She had a supreme confidence in herself. The daughter of an impoverished earl, she had at eighteen married a commoner with more wealth than wit, and had been less than heartbroken when, some years later, Mr Bingly had suffered a fatal fall in the hunting field whilst attempting to emulate his betters. She had spent the required period of mourning quite pleasantly abroad, returning thereafter to exploit her beauty, her late husband’s vast fortu
ne and her widowhood to the best possible effect, attaining for herself a much envied position in fashionable London circles.
Now well into her thirty-second year (though she admitted to no more than eight and twenty) she acknowledged that her looks would not serve her indefinitely. She must marry again ‒ and this time for prestige. There had never been the least doubt in her mind as to her choice of husband, yet ‒ though his grace of Heron had needed little in the way of encouragement, having singled her out from the first with a partiality and persistence which gave her cause to hope ‒ she had thus far failed to bring him to the sticking point.
The prospect of a rival at this delicate stage in their relationship did not amuse her, though nothing in her manner betrayed this when she presently saw Heron’s curricle approaching.
Pandora was much intrigued to meet the famous beauty whom Octavia craved to emulate. It was not difficult to see why. She, too, found herself momentarily envying the dark, smoothly burnished curls, the curvaceous figure and elegance of manner. She could not know how much conjecture seethed behind that charming façade.
Heron knew, however. He parried a look in those first moments that told him plainly how he would be quizzed later.
‘I have not seen you for days, Robert,’ Lady Sarah chided in an attractive husky voice.
He explained that he had been down to Clearwater.
‘Of course. Your wards. You are too generous, my dear!’
She wrinkled her exquisite nose. ‘I daresay you will be off to Paris in King Louis’s wake,’ she continued, ignoring Pandora. ‘The children will have connections there, no doubt, if all is not destroyed?’
