“Speaking of Sir Richard, he is coming to call on you this afternoon. Dearest, it would be best under the circumstances to make no mention of Lord Hadley. My step-son is desirous of keeping his presence quiet, at least until he decides whether he will stay in England or go back abroad. Of course if he were to wed, he would have a very good reason to stay.” She gave Mary a significant look.
“Does he seek marriage?” Mary asked.
“I am not in his confidence regarding the matter.” Lady Blanchard added archly, “But any man can be persuaded with…proper motivation…and Hadley is quite in need of money.”
Mary digested the countess’ words. She had come to London with only the faintest hope of finding a husband she could care for, and already her thoughts had fixed on him. She had no need of a wealthy man, but with no true title, properties, or connections, Sir Richard would never approve of Lord Hadley.
Come along now, Mary Elizabeth.” Lady Blanchard grasped Mary by the arm, trodding thoughtlessly on the remaining flowers.
“But—” Mary gestured to her unfinished potting.
“Really,” the countess sighed. “A lady does not dirty her hands. We have gardeners for such menial tasks. And look at you without even a bonnet!” she further chastised. “It is unfortunate enough that you have been cursed with a dairymaid’s complexion, but do you really wish to encourage those wretched brown splotches? With such atrocious neglect the lemon juice will do you no good at all!”
Mary felt more conscious than ever of her short-comings. Is this what she had to look forward to? A lifetime of social failures and disappointing others’ expectations? It seemed the harder she tried, the more dismally she failed…except with Lord Hadley. He hadn’t seemed to find her wanting. On the contrary, he’d been so kind, patient, and utterly charming.
In the music room she had been infatuated by the suave and elegant Conte di Caserta, but today in the garden, she was certain that something genuine had passed between them. Could that tiny seed be nurtured? Like her primroses, might it take root and thrive?
A secret hope implanted itself in her heart, a wish for something she would never dare confess to anyone, not to dear, faithful Jenny—and most especially not to Sir Richard or the Countess of Blanchard.
…
Upon returning to her chamber, Mary was surprised to find Jenny and a hot bath already awaiting her.
“I ordered it so you would be at your best when Sir Richard calls,” Lady Blanchard explained. “It’s past time you made something of your drab appearance.” She eyed Jenny with open disdain. “Shall I send you Nanette?”
“No, my lady. Jenny shall do just fine.” And thank goodness Mary still had dear Jenny. Although the countess had offered the services of her own abigail several times, and would have replaced Jenny without a qualm, it was the one concession Mary had insisted upon in coming to London—to keep her own maid. Although she questioned whether Jenny would have the skills to make her presentable by town standards, Mary nevertheless, stood staunchly by her faithful Jenny.
The countess raked her over with a look of mild disapproval. “Very well, then. You may have it your way…for now, but know that Sir Richard will have certain expectations. We shall look for your appearance in the drawing room at four.”
When Jenny let down her long plait for her bath, Mary eyed herself critically in the mirror, frowning at the mass of red-gold ringlets that she had always despised. She had always cursed her unruly hair, and the ginger colored freckles that plagued her. Mary had always thought she might have passed for somewhat pretty, were it not for such unfortunate coloring.
In an effort to hide what she most detested, Mary had habitually concealed her hair, but today Lord Hadley had seemed fascinated rather than repulsed by her red curls. She wistfully recalled the touch of his fingers on her hair, and for the first time, considered a more becoming style.
“Jenny, do you think we could try something different with my hair today?”
“Oh yes, Miss Molly!” her maid gushed. “You have such lovely curls. I have wished you would wear some of them down for such a very long time.”
“Do you really suppose it would make such a difference?”
“Aye miss!” Jenny insisted. “Just you wait and see if it doesn’t.”
Mary wondered if she would only humiliate herself with the effort to become more attractive. In comparison to the countess, it seemed futile to try, but the yearning to be the focus of his attention, to be the recipient of that wondrous smile and beheld with approval in his beautiful eyes, was a powerful inducement.
…
“I commend you, Hadley, for wasting little time,” Barbara remarked when he joined her in her private drawing room. “An outing to Kensington Garden should be quite the thing to charm such a rustic. And la! What a quaint pastoral scene I came upon this morning! There you were kneeling beside her gathering flowers. How cloyingly romantic.” She smirked. “Is that what you have planned, lover? To take the girl on a flower bed?”
Hadley tracked her with an impassive gaze as she crossed the drawing room to pour two glasses of sherry, giving one to him, and then downing her own.
“We were simply conversing.” He added dryly, “Perhaps you are unaware that there is more than one method of intercourse possible between a man and a woman.”
She emitted a throaty chuckle. “Maybe possible darling, but hardly diverting. Speaking of which, you did not come to my room last night. I don’t like to be disappointed.”
He shot her a dark look. “You may make use of my valet, James, if it suits you, but don’t expect me.”
“But, Hadley. Darling—” she pouted.
“No, Barbara. Servants talk, and I’m not about to jeopardize fifty thousand a year to gratify your whims.”
“Do you actually think to gratify yours with her?”
“Isn’t that the point?” he asked. “Seducing her was your idea, after all.”
“But I didn’t think you would cut me off! She’s a virgin! What would that naïve little twit know about pleasing a man with your appetites?”
“Perhaps I’m not as difficult to please as you think, nor do I have any trouble abstaining when the need presents.”
“Since when?” she scoffed.
“Many things have changed, Barbara. I’ve honed a number of skills, self-discipline being foremost among them.”
“Really?” Her lips curved in a vicious smile. “We shall just see then, won’t we? Take your little virgin if you will, but I give you a month tops before you come crawling back into my bed.”
“Just don’t come crawling into mine.”
“Do you still recall that night, Hadley?” She laughed. “I remember it vividly. You were so utterly scandalized. Still, you didn’t turn me away then, did you, lover?” Her smile became smug.
No, he had not, but he refused to gratify her taunt. He ran a long index finger lazily along the rim of the fine crystal snifter, lost for a moment in the memory of the treachery that had forever branded his soul. He shook himself briskly in an effort to eradicate the horrifying scene that still conjured nightmares almost a decade later. He rose abruptly, setting his glass down with a clink.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“To find some diversion—mayhap with a rustic wench in a flower garden, for the monotony of our conversation has grown beyond tedious.”
He left Barbara gaping after him. After closing the door, he counted slowly to ten, knowing well what would follow. He chuckled aloud at the explosive thud and sound of shattering glass against the wooden panel at his back.
Chapter Nine
Mary was in the midst of her new toilette when a footman came to the door with a note on a silver salver. Failing to recognize the writing, she broke the seal with a furrowed brow and stared at the missive in disbelief. The script was an elegant copperplate in bold slashing strokes.
My dear Miss Edwardes,
I have procured an open carriage for our proposed outin
g and only await your pleasure. Your humble servant—H
When Lord Hadley had invited her to view the gardens with him, he had not said precisely when. She had never imagined it would be so soon. She lowered the foolscap, trembling with anticipation. What could it mean?
“The footman says he was to await your answer, miss.” Jenny interrupted her private thoughts.
“Of course,” Mary replied, hoping her response was suitably dignified. “Pray have him convey to his lordship that I shall be ready within the half hour.”
…
“How do I look, Jenny?” Mary nervously smoothed the skirts of her floral chintz gown.
Jenny grinned. “Pretty as a picture, miss. The colors suit you.”
Jenny had swept up the crown of Mary’s hair, allowing a number of soft natural ringlets to frame her face with a longer fall of curls cascading down her back. Her maid pinned on her broad chip bonnet trimmed to match her gown.
“Truly? Will Lord Hadley think so?” Mary bit her lip and then wished she had bit her tongue instead.
Jenny’s eyes grew large as saucers. “Why, Miss Molly! Have you set your cap for his lordship?”
“N-no,” she failed miserably in her attempt to dissemble.
Jenny wasn’t fooled. “But why shouldn’t ye? If ye must take a noble gent for a husband, I think ‘twould be much more pleasant to have one so easy on the eyes, than some toothless old demon of beastliness.”
“Jenny!” Mary gave a protesting laugh.
“It’s only the bare truth, miss. Do you deny he’s handsome as Lucifer himself?”
“Yes…I mean no. He’s exceedingly so, but it’s more than that.”
“Aye?”
“Yes. It’s his manner. How he treats me, Jenny. He’s so kind and gallant and not the least arrogant. He’s the only one I’ve met here that treats me without contempt or disdain.” It was sadly true for even Lady Blanchard’s supercilious servants appeared to snicker behind her back and roll their eyes at her frequent blunders and her every gaffe.
“And that’s a problem, miss?” Jenny regarded her quizzically.
“Yes,” Mary declared. “That’s precisely the problem, for I become a complete hen-wit every time I see him. I either yammer on like an idiot, or my tongue becomes so tied I can barely speak at all!”
“You’re just not used to the fine gentlemen is all,” Jenny explained. “Don’t ye think that will improve upon further acquaintance?”
“But why would someone like him ever want to know someone like me? What do we even have in common?”
“It seems ye had enough in common to spend nigh on an hour together in the garden.” Jenny grinned. “Still, if ye be worried about your conversation, male and female relations don’t always have to be about talking.” She gave Mary a sly wink.
Mary blushed. “Was it really that long?”
“Aye. Her ladyship was beside herself when she saw the two of ye out the window.”
“She was spying on us?”
“Aye, miss. I don’t trust that one. She might be a grand lady and all—”
“I won’t hear a word against her, Jenny! I would be lost here in London without her guidance.”
“Lost, eh? But you have hardly left this house and garden since you got here, except to be measured for gowns. Seems to me you was almost a prisoner.”
“Nonsense! This very afternoon I am going on an outing and you will accompany me.” Mary cast an eager glance to the clock. “Pray look out the window and tell me if the carriage is here. I can’t do it, for I would be mortified if he looked up and saw me.”
“Aye, Miss.” The maid eagerly complied. “And a fine coach it be.” Jenny grabbed her own hat and shawl and followed her mistress out the door.
Mary was half-way down the staircase when she glanced to the bottom to find not Lord Hadley Blanchard with whom she had playfully tarried in the garden, but in his place, the elegant and urbane Conte Vittorio Amedeo di Caserta.
He was attired in the same splendiferous manner as when they had first met, complete with powder and mouche. His frock coat was fine damask silk in a shade of sky blue with a waistcoat rich in elaborate embroidery in tones of silver and midnight. His breeches were satin, frothy white lace fell from his neck and cuffs, and diamond buckles adorned his shoes.
He swept an elaborate bow and Mary’s step faltered. Though she had taken great pains with her appearance, she felt plain, dowdy, deflated, and once more completely out of her element. He advanced up the stairs with a questioning look. “Is something wrong, Miss Edwardes?”
“N-no, my lord…It’s just…It’s…you are so different from this morning.”
“Ah,” he nodded and answered with an ironic turn of his lips, “I perceive it is my ridiculous dress that has put you off.”
Mary was at a loss how to reply without insult.
He chuckled. “My apologies for the excess in my attire, but necessity dictates I continue to adopt the persona of the most noble Conte di Caserta on my public outings. I am so accustomed to it, that it never occurred to me you would be embarrassed to be accompanied by such a fop.”
“Oh no, my lord!” Mary protested. “It is quite the opposite!” She cast a look of dismay at her own simple chintz gown. “I could only shame you.”
“Preposterous, my dear.” He strode up three steps and offered his arm, adding in a soft voice. “I find you altogether delightful.”
The warmth in his eyes made her palms sweat inside her new kid gloves. It was sheer madness how she reacted to his smallest attention. She found no will to resist him when he placed her hand on his sleeve and escorted her down the rest of the stairs.
At the mere inclination of his head the footman flung open the door and scurried to lower the steps on the waiting coach, an elegant, black lacquered affair with open top and blue velvet interior. Lord Hadley assisted Mary up, waiting patiently while she arranged her skirts. Her stomach fluttered with nervous apprehension when she realized he intended to sit beside her rather than in the seat opposite.
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the plush forward-facing bench. “It will be much easier for me to point out the sites if we are facing in the same direction.”
“But of course,” she murmured and slid to the far side of the seat. As Jenny joined the coachman on the driver’s perch, he dipped his head, remarking in a low tone, “Might I repeat how utterly charming you look?”
“You are very kind,” she replied, down casting her eyes as a flash of heat invaded her cheeks. “But even if I were dressed in the finest of gowns, I could never be a lady of fashion.”
“Never let that disturb you, my pet.” He fingered a mass of curls that had settled over her shoulder just above the expanse of her modestly covered bosom. “I find fashion and beauty are rarely synonymous.” When he caressed a stray lock between thumb and forefinger and raised it to his lips, Mary felt the dizzying sensation from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.
…
From the bird’s-eye vantage point of her sitting room window, Barbara observed Hadley and Mary, grimacing as he handed her into the carriage. Although Hadley’s seduction of Mary was necessary to her plan, the way he had touched her, and the vision of them together made Barbara want to gnash her teeth. She clenched the sill when he lingered in releasing Mary’s hand, and then her knuckles blanched white when he sat beside her.
Barbara was about to turn away until he reached out to brush the hair from Mary’s shoulder. She hesitated, her palms pressed to the glass. When Hadley brought it to his lips, her nails scraped viciously down the pane with a long and jarring screech.
…
There wasn’t a second that passed while riding beside Lord Hadley that Mary wasn’t acutely aware of him—the occasional press of his thigh whenever the coach jostled, the distinctive masculine scent that wafted over her whenever he leaned in to indicate a point of interest. Although she made her best effort to ignore it, the constant and relentless assault to her sen
ses made her edgy and breathless, and muddled her mind.
By the time they arrived, Mary could recall almost nothing of their conversation in the interval that passed between Hanover Square and Kensington Gardens, and even less of the various sights he had pointed out along the way. While he was ever solicitous, witty, and attentive, Mary feared she must have bored him to tears with her mundane and monosyllabic responses.
When the carriage came to a halt, she was almost desperate to get some much needed distance between them. She rose when he alighted, expecting him to hand her down in the same manner as he had handed her up. Instead, he placed his hands about her waist. She inhaled to protest, but the air whooshed from her lungs when he lowered her to the ground far more slowly than necessary and much closer than appropriate. When her feet landed on the earth, she could hardly breathe at all.
…
Hadley released her with a smile and a curt bow, watching in amusement as she made a great production of straightening her bonnet and smoothing her skirts. He had managed to fluster her to a delectable shade of pink and all he’d done was lift her from the carriage, albeit in an intimate manner.
Humoring her…for the moment, he turned to answer the coachman’s query. “Let us say two hours. That should provide us sufficient time to view the gardens, enjoy a brief repast, and still return in time for tea.” And ample time to begin his seduction.
To be honest with himself, he found Mary’s uncorrupted virtue somewhat disconcerting, for in all his vast experience of women, and there had likely been hundreds of them, Hadley had yet to despoil a virgin. And Mary was more than just a virgin, for he knew to a certainty that her ripe mouth had never even been tasted, for if it had, she would have offered it to him in the garden at Blanchard House with a softly parted sigh.
Had he any lingering doubt, it had evaporated with the widening of her mossy-colored eyes and the slight tremor that shook her body when he had only plied his lips to her hair. It was the most innocent of caresses, yet she had responded with an intensity he was certain even she didn’t understand. She desired him already, even though she couldn’t recognize yet what sexual desire was.
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