Teaching His Ward: A Regency Romance

by Noël Cades

  "Quite so. I myself received twelve offers before accepting the hand of Mr Linton-Smythe," the other woman said.

  Thirteenth time unlucky, Jemima thought uncharitably. She wished the pair of them would vanish so that she and Kitty could gossip once more. But Mrs Linton-Smythe was now addressing her. It took a nudge from Kitty for Jemima to realise this, since of course Jemima wasn't being addressed by her real name.

  "And you, Lady Julia, I trust that you are also enjoying your first season?"

  It was time to dissemble. "It is kind of you to ask, madam, but in fact this is not my first season. I made my debut last year in Ireland."

  "Indeed. You seem exceptionally young to have done so," Mrs Linton-Smythe remarked, with clear disapproval on her face.

  "Lady Julia is in fact already betrothed," Miss Berystede said. "To Lord Dalrymple of Dublin."

  This aroused a mixture of envy and relief in Mrs Linton-Smythe. "I am not acquainted with that gentleman," she said, "but I offer you my sincerest congratulations. I only hope Selina may be so fortunate as to make such a match."

  Selina simpered again in response to her mother's remark, but Jemima caught a gleam of satisfaction in the girl's eye. She suspected the Selina was not nearly as sweet and demure as she would have people believe. She hoped they would not have to engage with the Linton-Smythes too often. She rather feared the mother was set on furthering her acquaintance with Miss Berystede. The elderly lady was clearly very highly regarded in society despite her long absence from it.

  Finally they were rid of the Linton-Smythes. One of the young men who had asked Kitty to dance appeared, to claim her as his partner. Jemima was left sitting quietly at the side of the room with Miss Berystede.

  Jemima was approached by a couple other of young men, inquiring as to whether there were vacancies in her dance card. She turned them both down. The first because he was perspiring heavily, and the second because he had a look that reminded her of Sir Hubert.

  She knew that this was a breach of etiquette, for if a woman had accepted one man as a partner, she should not turn down future requests. But she hoped that her engagement, when discovered, would serve to absolve her. "The Lady Julia Carlingford refuses a great many partners!" "Ah, but she is recently betrothed, I hear, and may wish to allow other young ladies the opportunity for dancing."

  Miss Berystede had certainly misunderstood Jemima's reason for declining. When the second man had gone, she sought to reassure the young woman that she could accept if she liked.

  "My dear Lady Julia, you must not feel that you should not dance due to your engagement. It is perfectly proper for you to do so, should you wish. Not the waltz, perhaps. But there would be no impropriety in a Scotch reel or a quadrille."

  Jemima thanked the elderly lady for her advice, but had no intention of dancing with any man whom she found unattractive. Whereas the young man dancing with Kitty was perfectly pleasant, and Jemima would have been happy to accept him.

  The room grew hot with the bodies and the dancing, and Jemima felt a desire to visit the retiring room herself. She insisted that Miss Berystede did not need to accompany her, since that would leave Kitty unchaperoned when she returned from her dance. So Jemima made her own way towards the hall and the room in question.

  There, she dabbed rosewater on her flushed cheeks. She felt pity for the maidservants who were forced to remain in the close atmosphere of the retiring room throughout the ball, endlessly helping guests with their skirts and the bourdaloue chamber pots.

  Jemima and Kitty did not use any cosmetics, but there were other women applying powder and even rouge. Jemima could only imagine what Aunt Harlington would have made of that. One poor girl was being berated by her mamma for being struck dumb when in conversation with some nobleman.

  "What the Viscount must have thought, with you barely speaking a word in response to his questions. He must think you a ninny! What point is there taking you into society if you are going to make a cake of yourself at the first address from a man?"

  Jemima felt very sorry for the other girl and shot her a look of sympathy on her way out. She was glad to have left the room with the cloying scents of perfume and pomander masking other, less fresh odours.

  She was forced to take a different route on her return to Miss Berystede due to the crowds. At one point she was stranded, waiting for a group of people to allow her through.

  "It seems I find you once again unaccompanied," a voice said at her side. Jemima turned, already knowing who it was. She felt the same rush of delight and nerves as she looked up at his handsome and commanding features.

  "I am just returning to my party, sir." As she said it, Jemima wondered if perhaps he were an actual peer and whether she should have said "my lord".

  His eyes never left hers. "May I have this dance?"

  The musicians had just begun to play a waltz, and Jemima remembered Miss Berystede's words. Just as quickly she decided to overlook them.

  "It would be my pleasure," she replied, trying to speak with the gracious condescension that she imagined a more worldly, engaged woman might affect.

  There was a glint of something in his eye. He held out his hand and Jemima took it. Surely it was the heat of the room that seemed to make his touch burn her skin? He was by far the tallest and most powerfully built man on the dance floor. And certainly the best-looking. Had she not been so transfixed by him herself, Jemima might have noticed more than a few envious looks cast in her direction.

  What on earth had come over him, a second time? Marcus had been trying to restrain himself from approaching the mysterious girl again. He was already annoyed with himself for his earlier weakness.

  But the porcelain skin and the silvery eyes, framed by the dark rosewood hair, were too compelling. He felt his body stir just as he looked at her. He found himself intrigued to hear her soft, low voice again.

  It would be my pleasure. Her mere tone aroused quite a violent image in Marcus's head. Of the actual pleasure he would like to give a woman such as this. Shocked at himself, he wrestled more civil thoughts into his head, and held out his hand to escort her onto the floor.

  Damn. He had been so distracted that he hadn't even realised it was a waltz. Such an intimate dance spelled only further temptation.

  She was as graceful in his arms as a young swan. Each time he spun her around, the scent of her skin wafted towards him. Lilies mingled with roses, utterly intoxicating him. It was absurd. He felt like some young greenhorn.

  "You remain the Lady Incognita, I assume?"

  "Just as you remain Lord Sine Nomine."

  So she still wished to continue playing this game. Perhaps it was safer so, Marcus considered. He was aware that many eyes were upon them. George Gresham's too, no doubt.

  How her eyes shone in the candlelight. It was not easy to converse during the waltz, with its swift turns and movements.

  By the end of the dance Marcus was hot from more than the mere dancing. Doncaster House featured a terrace that opened off the next room. Many people were mingled there, enjoying the cool of the night air. As such it was not improper to lead a partner there, and Marcus did so, suggesting they take a turn outside.

  The young woman assented. He led her through the open windows, to an empty spot by the balustrade. The sky was ink black but clear, shining with a sweep of cold stars.

  Marcus felt at a sudden loss for words. Now he had brought her here, what was he to say to her?

  Chapter 5

  Jemima was quite certain that she should not be stepping outside with a man to whom she had not even been properly introduced. But she felt nearly faint with the heat of the room and the heat that her partner's proximity aroused in her.

  And they had just waltzed. If the rest of the guests had managed not to swoon from the scandal of that, she imagined they could tolerate a spell in the night air.

  So she let herself be led out onto the terrace. There were groups of people standing all about, it was nearly as crowded as the ballroo
m. It was, however, far more refreshing. Feeling revived, Jemima gazed at the stars.

  She could feel her partner's eyes on her and felt suddenly self-conscious, unable to look at him. She knew that her gown was nowhere near as revealing as some of the costumes worn by other women here. Nonetheless, her shoulders, arms and the top of her chest were quite exposed. The coolness of the night air against her skin made her particularly aware of this.

  Not knowing what to say, and unnerved by his silence, she babbled out one of the few quotes she remembered. "Suadentque cadentia sidera somnos." The setting stars urge sleep.

  She heard him draw in his breath. "You are acquainted with Vergil."

  "Only very little, I am afraid." Much to her long-suffering tutor's regret.

  "It is rare to find a woman conversant in the Classics."

  "I had a tutor, who was very rigorous in his lessons," Jemima said.

  Her tone betrayed some of her true feelings about these lessons. The tall, dark-haired man smiled at this. "I fear it takes some rigour to gain competency. For my own part I have found languages such as French, German and Spanish more easy to master."

  Jemima looked at him with interest. She had of course been schooled in French, as all young ladies were, as well as some German. But never Spanish nor any other language. She had never even heard it spoken. "You have learnt Spanish?"

  "I have, indeed. I have spent much time in Spain."

  She remembered that his business, whatever it was, took him abroad. "What is it like?"

  The man began to describe some of it to her and she listened, enraptured. The heat and the sun sparkling on the waters of the Mediterranean. Groves of citrus and other exotic trees. The rhythms of the guitar accompanying the flamboyant flamenco dance. Moorish cities with their arches and minarets and colourful brickwork.

  Jemima was transfixed. She felt a burning desire to go there. To see something other than the damp, endless green of Ireland and England, with their grey towns and long, cold winters.

  She questioned him about some of the things he spoke of, wanting to know more. She also wanted to extend their conversation as long as possible. She knew she could not dance with him again, since more than twice would be remarked upon. If indeed it had not already aroused notice, given that she had waltzed with him.

  "And the bullfighting, what of that? Have you seen it?" she asked him.

  "I have. It is not greatly to my liking, as a sport. But there is no doubt that it is enthusiastically watched by people there," he told her.

  Lord Sine Nomine. What was his real name? They were past the point of being able to exchange names in the normal way. "Lady Julia" would seem terribly mundane compared to the mysterious Lady Incognita, Jemima thought.

  And after all, who was she in reality? She had little to recommend her in terms of family name or fortune. Perhaps due to Hortensia Harlington's severe attitude, Jemima had little vanity. Or even any awareness that beauty itself might be considered sufficient bounty.

  She imagined that most men would desire a wife with a lofty pedigree and ample fortune, the order of importance perhaps depending on the man's own status and situation. From the few novels that she and Kitty had managed to obtain, Jemima had gained the impression that true beauty must involve flowing golden or ebony locks paired with sapphire or emerald eyes.

  Since her own hair was an odd sort of reddish brown, not quite chestnut, and her eyes grey, Jemima could not count herself a beauty.

  Why, then, this man should have taken notice of her, she had no idea. He was clearly someone of importance or desirability, for she had noticed other eyes upon him. Particularly the admiring glances of other women.

  The young woman's interest in his tales of Spain moved Marcus. He was not used to so enraptured an audience. He had to own that perhaps Gresham had some justification for his claim that not all young women's heads were filled with frippery and fluff.

  Nor were her questions any attempt to probe more knowledge of him. She did not ask what business took him to Spain. Nor had she made any further attempt to discover his name or offer her own. She did not ask where he was from, or anything of his family.

  Once again, Marcus was having to revise his prejudice of the fairer sex as perennially inquisitive and prying creatures.

  He was burning to know more about her. Yet he could not ask her, for this had become a game between them. It struck him that her act of anonymity might be a deliberate wile to entice and intrigue him. If so, he had to own that it was working.

  If this was the case, then she must know who he was. It would not have been difficult for her to find out. For a moment his heart hardened against the notion that some contrivance or stratagem was being employed against him.

  She had asked him about the horses in Spain, revealing herself to have some knowledge of horse stock. Marcus told her of the elegant Andalusian horses, with their thick manes and tails.

  "I have wondered what they are like, pure-bred," she said. "My father owned a stallion whose sire was Andalusian."

  Marcus began to speak of horse breeding and the programmes to introduce Norman and Arabian blood into Spanish bloodlines. Then he checked himself, realising that this was far from a suitable subject for the delicate ears of a young maiden. "I beg your pardon," he said, then saw the laughter in her eyes at his embarrassment.

  "There is no need to spare my ears from such a subject, sir. Horse breeding has been a special interest within my family for many years. My father's stables were renowned throughout… the wider district."

  Marcus nearly asked her who her family were, but managed to restrain himself. He perceived that she spoke in the past tense, and sensed that she had been going to reveal her family's location, but had stopped herself. He wondered if there were some tragedy here. Perhaps her family circumstances were now reduced, and the stables were sold. This might explain her reticence in revealing her family name.

  He also noticed that she addressed him only as "sir" and not "my lord". This suggested that she did not in fact know who he was.

  Realising that he had rarely enjoyed such conversation with a female in a long time, perhaps ever, he was frustrated for their tête-à-tête to be interrupted. A couple of old bores, whom Marcus generally avoided, foisted themselves upon him.

  "Southwell! It's a rare thing to find you in town, and at such a shindy." The speaker was a florid-faced and corpulent man, near-bursting his breeches.

  His friend, thinner and of lugubrious mien, also inquired of Marcus. "Moresby swore you were in Spain when I saw him at Boodle's last week. What keeps you this side of the herring pond?"

  Confound them. Marcus realised he was going to be faced with the awkward task of introducing the young woman who stood with him.

  Just as he wondered how he might do this, he turned to find that she had vanished.

  Although it was a very late hour when Kitty and Jemima journeyed back in the carriage with Miss Berystede, neither girl felt close to sleep. Both were burning to exchange news but had not been able to speak privately.

  Fortunately, Miss Berystede chose to retire as soon as they arrived home, and bade them goodnight. "Rest well, my dears. Until the morrow." She departed, accompanied by a sleepy-eyed maid who had woken to attend her, and the two girls were finally left alone.

  "O! If only every night could be like tonight!" Kitty said. She had danced with at least half a dozen young men, making a clear success of her debut. "But what of your mysterious suitor?"

  Jemima felt he could hardly be described as such. "There is little more I can tell you. I still do not know his name."

  "But you danced with him twice! And took a turn with him on the terrace," Kitty pointed out.

  This was true. Jemima had experienced a sudden fit of unease when the other men had arrived, and had chosen that moment to slip away. Better to preserve the mystery than to be forced into her awkward Lady Julia story. "There did not seem to be a suitable moment to ask him," she said.

  She had worried
about Miss Berystede's opinion of her, for dancing the waltz against her advice. Kitty had fortunately soothed any concerns here. "Cousin Beatrice cannot distinguish one dancer from another across such a distance. When she queried where you were, I told her you were conversing with some people you knew from Derbyshire. I cannot think why I said Derbyshire, but it seemed to satisfy her well enough."

  "So she did not recognise either of us?" Jemima asked. She had hoped to have perhaps discovered his name this way.

  "She did not appear to. We must find out who he is. I have all the names of my dance partners recorded on my dance card," Kitty said. "Do you think some of them will be at Viscount and Lady Rexford's ball next week?"

  Jemima imagined so. She still felt exhilarated by it all. It was a far cry from her stiflingly quiet life with Aunt Harlington. Considering this, Jemima felt utterly justified in her escapade. Given she had been accepted by society just the same as Kitty had been, then surely she had been ready to make her debut? Whether using a false name would properly count as coming out in society, she did not know.

  At breakfast, the two girls attempted to raise the issue.

  "We were introduced to so very many people last night, that I am quite certain I shall not be able to remember all of their names on a future occasion," Kitty said.

  Miss Berystede smiled in reminiscence. "A cousin of mine spent an entire hour conversing with a man whom she believed to be the Marquess of Wells. He turned out to be a Mr Yardley of Tunbridge Wells."

  "How mortifying!" Kitty said. "Did he discover her error?"

  "He did not. But I believe he suffered some consternation at being addressed as 'my lord' throughout their discourse."

  Ann Pargeter, Miss Berystede’s companion, interposed with a suggestion. "My sisters and I were fond of parlour games to sharpen the memory. Eliza, my youngest sister, invented quite a trick for recalling names. I will teach you, if you would like to learn."