A Season for Love

by Blair Bancroft

  “Then should you not call me Laurence?” the young Marquess of Huntley returned.

  “I should be honored.” Tony, grinning, sketched a bow.

  The duke’s heir grinned right back. “Good. May we go now?”

  The viscount swung him up beside Susan, who stared at her step-brother with unabashed curiosity. Disconcerted, Laurence lost his aplomb, offered her a scowl, then stared straight ahead.

  “I fear we are facing backwards,” Tony said softly to Lady Caroline as they stood, staring up at the children. “Wasn’t there something about the boy experiencing travel sickness?”

  “I believe it was mostly nerves,” Caroline confided, just as softly, “but thank you for thinking of it.” She leaned closer, frowning. “I had not thought when we were talking yesterday, but are we in danger of encountering a mob?”

  “Not where we are going,” Tony reassured her. “I admit there was trouble not long ago, mostly over the Corn Laws, but Prinny called out the Dragoons as well as the Horse Guards and there’s been no trouble recently.”

  “What about the wedding?”

  The viscount shrugged. “That was mostly high spirits. They wanted a good show, a look at Laurence—”

  “Perhaps we should not go,” Caroline declared, chin firm, amber eyes sparking in a manner highly reminiscent of her father.

  “You think me some country bumpkin who does not know his way about?” Tony mocked. “You think I would risk my sister’s child, let alone the heir to a dukedom?” Eyes dancing, Viscount Frayne turned on her the full power of his famous smile.

  There was little doubt about who was the country bumpkin, Caroline thought ruefully. She had little choice but to bow to his superior knowledge. And yet . . . had she not read of the mob surging into the West End, attacking, among others, the homes of the Chief Justice and the Lord Chancellor?

  But that was before the Prince of Wales called out the Dragoons.

  Less than two months ago.

  A shiver shook her, but she was Lady Caroline Carlington and she would not be afraid. With a gracious nod, she allowed Viscount Frayne to hand her into the carriage.

  ~ * ~

  Chapter Nine

  The Duke and Duchess of Longville returned to London after a wedding retreat of some nine days, during which the duke had expended considerable time and effort on discovering a suitable estate manager for Totten Court. He had, however—after succumbing to his wife’s entreaties—allowed the housekeeper and cook to stay on, but his wrathful gaze and acid words would comprise the stuff of legends in the area for years to come.

  The duchess had gone about her unexpected tasks at the Court calmly, making lists of required linens and plate, color schemes for new draperies and upholstery. Perhaps, the former Lady Eugenia ventured to suggest to her new husband, he might wish to offer the house for rent, thus adding to the ducal coffers?

  That remark earned her the sight of the duke’s back as he strode out of the breakfast room, not to be seen until the evening meal, when he cleared his throat and conceded that Totten Court would not have been allowed to fall into such a state of disrepair if it had been occupied. Possibly, just possibly, his wife’s idea might have merit.

  Not all the duke’s and duchess’s days had been spent in separate pursuits. They rode together, walked together—though not through the overgrown gardens where only the hardiest spring flowers had survived. They talked, each perhaps a bit surprised to discover the lively wit that had attracted them to each other had not disappeared with the speaking of their marriage vows. And returned to town, each encouraged that matters between them were going better than they had a right to expect.

  Since the duke had sent a messenger to Worley House, Susan was packed and ready, hurling herself at her mother the moment Jen set foot in the Norville townhouse. After the necessary polite conversation with Lord and Lady Worley, they were off to Longville House, the duke suddenly descending from a rather smug state of euphoria to the reality of his own two children awaiting him. Children he scarcely knew. Children whose welcome could not possibly be as ecstatic as little Susan’s greeting to her mama. What in the name of all that was holy was he to do with a once-bubbling child who had grown into a beautiful, but sometimes anxious-eyed, young lady? Or with a son who looked just like him, but was a total stranger?

  Was that not why he had married? Jen would manage—

  If Caroline would allow it. Hell and the devil confound it! Surely dukes were supposed to be above difficulties of this nature.

  As they entered Longville House in a flurry of footman rushing to get their baggage—to the beat of the butler’s stately orders—Lady Caroline came flying down the stairs. To the duke’s astonishment, three gentlemen were arranged behind her, peering over the gallery railing, evidently exiting the drawing room upon news of the newlyweds’ return. Frayne, Trimby-Ashford, and Willoughby. Good God, what were they doing here? And was that Laurence peeking through the balusters? He should be in the schoolroom, should he not? Inwardly, Marcus groaned. He had not expected his parental duties to begin quite so abruptly.

  Lady Caroline skidded to a halt before the bridal couple, dropping into a deep curtsy. “Welcome home, Your Grace,” she intoned, dutifully repeating the greeting to her step-mother. “And Susan,” she added, opening her arms to the little girl. “You will like living here, I promise you.”

  The duke and duchess blinked as Susan went straight into Lady Caroline’s arms for a hug. That, in addition to the array of stylish young gentlemen now descending the staircase to add their own greetings, seemed to indicate that a great deal had occurred in London in the nine days since the wedding.

  The duke forgot his dignity long enough to swing his son up in his arms before recommending his duchess go straight upstairs and get her daughter settled in her new room. If it occurred to him that nine days of country quiet and marital intimacy had not been the best preparation for the bedlam of three children, one of them old enough to have young men dangling after her, he gave no sign. He was, after all, the Duke of Longville and was expected to be above the petty annoyances, family distractions, and the outright difficulties lesser mortals experienced.

  The duke allowed his son to slide to the floor, as his gaze followed his wife’s slow progress up the stairs, Susan’s hand tightly clasped in hers. With no sign of his inner turmoil, he accepted the welcome-homes and polite farewells from Frayne and his friends, who were obviously escaping as fast as good manners would allow.

  Just what had been going on during his absence? Obviously, he would have to have a talk with his brother-in-law. Since Tony was also his friend, such a conversation could prove exceedingly awkward. Suddenly weary, and feeling all of his two and forty years, the duke turned to his son and held out his hand. “Come, Laurence, I believe you have escaped Miss Tompkins. Shall we go find her?”

  The little boy made an impish face, bringing back such a strong recollection of himself at that age that Marcus found his feet rooted to the entrance hall’s black and white diamond tiles. Children were wonderful creatures—how could he have forgotten? How could he have feared what was to come?

  They would manage, he and Jen. Somehow they would manage.

  At that moment the Duchess of Longville might not have agreed with her husband, for she was finding herself in the odd position of her small daughter introducing her mother to the newly redecorated room on the nursery floor, instead of the other way ’round. Obviously, Susan had been here before. But when? Jen wondered. Lady Caroline and Susan had scarcely been acquainted when she and the duke left town.

  Susan beamed in delight as she ran her small hands over the great swath of pink muslin, edged in white lace that created a nearly tentlike enclosure around her bed. The little girl then patted the coverlet, which was embroidered with cats, dogs, sheep, cows, and a sprinkling of wild flowers. Even the child-size china pitcher and washbasin, Jen noticed, were decorated with pink flowers and green leaves. Cheerful prints framed the walls above brightl
y painted cabinets, some for clothes, others for toys.

  “I like it,” Susan declared, as her inventory of the room ended with pink-and-white-checked curtains overlooking the gardens three stories below. “Do you like it, mama?”

  “Indeed I do,” Jen assured her, “but when did you see it, dearest? You have been here before, have you not?”

  Solemnly, Susan nodded. “The day I cried,” she confided.

  “You cried?” Jen dropped to her knees, taking her daughter’s hands in hers.

  “Uncle Tony took us to see the lions,” Susan said with seeming irrelevance.

  “And you cried? Were you afraid?”

  “No,” Susan declared sturdily. “’Course not. Laurence said they were skinny old things that wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Jen opened her mouth, closed it. The picture of her world-weary, sophisticated brother taking two small children to the menagerie at the Tower was beyond her imagination.

  “And we saw a lady dancing on a horse,” Susan added. “I wanted to dance on a horse and Uncle Tony said I couldn’t. That’s when I cried.”

  “But how did you come here, to Longville House?” Jen asked. “You said you saw this room the day you cried,” she prompted.

  Susan nodded. “Lady Caroline hugged me and gave me a sweet and told me you’d be home soon. ’N’ when we brought her home, we came up here and looked at my new room.”

  Merciful heavens, would wonders never cease? Jen was stunned. The young lady who had been little better than sullen in her presence had actually befriended her daughter. But Tony squiring children about town . . . the very concept was ludicrous. Unless . . .

  The Duchess of Longville, struck by an startling thought, turned her daughter and the unpacking over to Susan’s nurse and hurried off. She must consult with her husband at once.

  “My lord! Tony!” After greeting her father and his bride, Lady Caroline slipped out the front door of Longville House and caught Lord Frayne just as he took the reins of his curricle from his groom.

  The viscount offered his lazy smile, allowing a gleam of admiration to light his eyes as he gazed down at the young lady standing on the brick drive below. Soft wisps of golden blonde curls framed her lovely face above a slim morning gown of azure muslin, featuring a front panel embroidered with a graceful design in white. This, then, was the young woman who inevitably turned his steps toward Longville House, even when he had intended to go elsewhere. “Caro,” he drawled, refusing to succumb to the insidious attraction, “pray what is so urgent? Have we not been speaking for the past half hour?”

  “Do not call me that,” the object of his warm regard snapped.

  “Whyever not? I thought we were family.” Indeed, had he not suffered from his friends’ quizzing remarks about what they termed his addiction to the infantry? If he had been in company with Caroline, with and without the children, for six of the last nine days, he was only demonstrating his good manners in welcoming his sister’s step-children into the family. He had to keep that relationship firmly fixed in his mind. Family, family, family.

  “Because it likens me to Caro Lamb,” Lady Caroline huffed. “A perfectly dreadful creature.”

  “Do not tell me those tales reached all the way to the Lake District?” the viscount countered in mock horror.

  “I am quite certain they penetrated all the way to the Americas,” Caroline declared with a sniff.

  Viscount Frayne stifled a smile. She was so very young, so much in need of town bronze. And yet so enchanting in her earnest naiveté. Time to sidestep the sensitive topic of Lady Caroline Lamb, who had shamelessly pursued Lord Byron until her name had become a byword for unacceptable behavior. “You wished to tell me something, Lady Caroline?” Tony said.

  “Will you walk with me in the park, my lord? I have a matter to discuss that does not lend itself well to the drawing room.”

  Such a request from any other woman would have had Tony Norville feeling like Lord Byron caught in the heat of Caro Lamb’s pursuit. From Caroline Carlington, however, the invitation produced only curiosity. Throughout their excursions around London she had remained curiously detached, seldom, if ever, displaying the spontaneous eagerness with which she had described sailing her blue and white boat on the Serpentine. Her glowing looks and winsome smiles had been devoted almost entirely to young Laurence or to Susan.

  And now she wished to be private with him. In Grosvenor Square, a small park overlooked by the front windows of some of the finest residences in London. With an eye at every window.

  “Very well,” Tony agreed, handing the reins back to his groom and stepping down from the curricle. “But only for a moment or two, or Miss Tompkins will hand me my head in a basket.”

  Caroline actually giggled, a sound he had heard so seldom it warmed his heart. She had had a difficult time, this budding young woman. Lady Caroline needed not only her father’s support, but Jen’s steadying influence, so she might understand that responsibility for Laurence no longer rested solely on her shoulders. That she was free to enjoy life as a young lady of eighteen should.

  As they crossed the street and entered the park, Caroline asked, “Do you think they’re all watching us . . . eyes peeking from behind every drapery and curtain?”

  “Indubitably.”

  “Are we being naughty?”

  “Only a little.”

  “Good,” she declared, to the viscount’s surprise. “There’s a bench. Do let us sit down.” In her eagerness Caroline came close to dragging him toward the black wrought iron bench with a seat of polished wood.

  “Caroline . . . I’m not at all sure this is a good idea,” Tony began. “Walking is unexceptional, but I fear sitting—”

  “Nonsense! We are in full view of every house in Grosvenor Square.”

  “Exactly.”

  Lady Caroline sat down, tweaked her skirt into place, folded her hands in her lap. “That, you see,” she murmured, “is why I wish to talk with you.”

  “Yes?” Tony inquired politely, even while wondering if he should march her back to Longville House on the instant.

  “Did you truly mean it when you suggested a picnic in Richmond Park?”

  “Caroline,” Tony chided, “I would not have made the offer if I did not mean it. Though now that the duke and duchess have returned, I believe we should invite them as well, do you not?”

  “Of course.” The words were little more than a whisper. “Tony? I fear I was merely making conversation. Putting off what I really wish to say.”

  Viscount Frayne, curiosity rampant, gave his companion a sharp look. So Richmond Park was a false cast, designed to get her lips moving. Intrigued, and indulgently amused, he waited.

  “Tony . . . when do they hold the Cyprian’s Ball?”

  “What?” the viscount gabbled. It had to be Caroline’s innocence. She could not possibly know what she was saying.

  “You do attend, do you not?” Caroline persisted.

  Somehow the viscount found he could not offer his lovely companion an outright lie. He studied the bland earthen path beneath his Hessians with remarkable intensity. “I’ve been known to take a look in,” he finally admitted.

  “I was wondering . . . well, I was wondering if you might take me,” Lady Caroline ventured.

  His polished London manners flown on the four winds, Viscount Frayne seized both Lady Caroline’s arms in his, and, forgetting they were in full view of the ton’s best and brightest, gave his companion a hard shake. “Are you mad?” he cried. “The daughter of England’s premier duke amidst the muslin company? It’s unthinkable! Nor can I imagine why you should wish to do such a thing.”

  Caroline glared. Tony’s hands dropped to his sides. “I am well aware I cannot go to a brothel,” she told him primly, “so I thought the Cyprian’s Ball would be a good place to view these ladies who seem to be so much more attractive to men than their wives.”

  Though nearly speechless, Tony managed one word. “Why?” he croaked. But he knew, of co
urse. Caroline might be naive about some things, but she had never had an opportunity for the total innocence with which most young ladies were raised. Amy, the late Duchess of Longville, must have filled her daughter’s ears with tales highly unsuitable for a young lady of tender years.

  Ignoring his question, Caroline hastened on. “I also wish to see the Dark Walk at Vauxhall and a gaming establishment. Take a drive through St. John’s Woods. And . . . I don’t suppose you could smuggle me into a gentlemen’s club?” she added, raising amber eyes filled with glimmering hope.

  “I don’t suppose I could,” Tony responded roundly. “And here I thought you were such a proper young lady—”

  “I am! I merely wish to see the other side of the coin.” Caroline looked away, ostensibly examining the trees, the bright beds of flowers, or perhaps the squirrels scampering over the grass. “I am eighteen years old,” she said at last. “I am expected to parade myself before the ton, find a husband, be content with my lot. How can I do this with such a sorry example as my mother and father hanging before me?” Obviously agitated, Lady Caroline swept a golden windblown strand of hair away from her face. “I want to see these women, Tony, understand why men find them so fascinating.”

  The viscount did not bother to stifle a groan. “This is a matter you must discuss with Jen,” he told her. “She’s a good sort, my sister—”

  “No!”

  “Caroline, as much as I would like to assist you, I cannot. It is even shockingly improper for us to be having this conversation.”

  “I thought you were my friend.” Great amber eyes, swimming in tears, lifted toward his face.

  Hell and damnation, what a coil! “You’ve seen these women in Hyde Park,” he babbled in desperation.

  “Insufficient.”

  “I’ll take you down the Dark Walk.”