Beauty and the Brooding Lord

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘At last,’ said Henry. ‘Come along, my dears, let us get home.’

  Serena followed as he pushed his way towards the door with a word here and there to clear the path. A large, commanding figure stood in their way. Serena could only see his back but she immediately recognised Lord Quinn’s tousled head. A word from Henry and he stood aside, but there was no smile, no word of apology. His rugged face was stony and although his gaze moved over Serena, she had the impression that he was looking through her. However, she did note that those eyes, which had laughed at her so insolently in the rose garden, were a warm brown, the colour of fresh hazelnuts.

  * * *

  Serena decided she would strike Sir Timothy from her list of prospective husbands, but at the Downings’ party the following day, he sought her out and told her he had come with the sole intention of apologising for his absence from the Grindleshams’ rose garden. He begged for the opportunity to make it up to her and Serena decided she would at least listen to what he had in mind for her entertainment. After all, he was extremely fashionable and very handsome, with his black curls and Grecian profile, and there was no denying that he had about him a dangerously rakish air. She decided to give him another chance.

  His proposal that he should escort her to Vauxhall when it opened for the Season was too tempting to resist. He painted an alluring picture of the two of them, cloaked and masked, wandering through the gardens and marvelling at the mechanical exhibits such as the famous waterfall.

  The clandestine escapade appealed to Serena’s adventurous soul and she dismissed the tiny voice inside that urged caution. She must allow Sir Timothy to kiss her, just once, for how else was she to know if she would like him as a husband? And from all she had heard there was no better setting for a romantic interlude than Vauxhall, with its shadowy arbours and dark avenues hung with coloured lights.

  Serena knew it was one thing to allow a hopeful young man to steal a kiss in a shadowy alcove of a private ball—which she had done once or twice—quite another to go off alone with a gentleman to Vauxhall, but Elizabeth had already told her that she and her family were going to the gardens that night and if it went horribly wrong, if she found she did not like being kissed, or Sir Timothy should become importunate, she would seek them out and beg their protection. That would be humiliating and once Henry knew about it he would probably banish her to the country for the rest of the Season, but one must be prepared to risk all in the search for a husband. All she needed now was to work out a way to slip out of her brother’s house without raising any suspicions.

  * * *

  Her plans came to fruition two days later, at breakfast, when the butler brought in the post and delivered a letter to Serena. Dorothea looked up.

  ‘What have you there—is it a love letter from one of your beaux, perhaps?’

  Dorothea’s arch tone grated, for Serena knew quite well that correspondence between herself and any gentleman who was not related to her would be highly improper. However, she replied calmly and with perfect honesty, ‘It is from Mrs Downing. She invites me to join her party at Vauxhall tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Vauxhall?’ Henry looked up from the perusal of his own post. ‘It is not at all the place for young ladies, especially tomorrow, for it is May Day, when all sorts of common folk will be out celebrating. I have no doubt that the disreputable among them will be masked, too.’

  ‘Mrs Downing sees no harm in it,’ replied Serena. ‘Mr Jack Downing will be with them, too.’ She glanced at her sister-in-law, upon whom the young man’s name acted like a talisman.

  ‘Henry, my dear, I do not see there can be any harm in it, if she is with the Downings. And I believe Madame Saqui is performing. I confess I should very much like to see her myself. I am told that last Season she ended her display by running along the tightrope with fireworks exploding all around her.’ Dorothea picked up her coffee cup. ‘Perhaps we should go as well, I doubt we would be able to obtain a supper box at this late notice, but we might enjoy the spectacle.’

  Serena held her breath. Her own plans for tomorrow evening would have to be drastically changed if Dorothea and Henry decided to go to Vauxhall.

  ‘To go all that way and not be able to sit comfortably for supper?’ Henry’s mouth turned down. ‘Bad enough that we should be mixing with heaven knows what class of person, but if we cannot sup in our own box it would be insupportable. Besides, I am already promised to dine tomorrow at White’s.’

  ‘I could report back to you upon Madame Saqui’s performance,’ Serena suggested. ‘Then you may decide if it is worth the effort for another time.’

  Henry turned an approving gaze upon his half-sister. ‘An excellent idea, Serena. I am sure, if this rope dancer is any good, you will wish to see her again.’

  She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘Indeed I shall, Henry. And perhaps you will order the carriage to take me to the Downings’ house tomorrow evening. Since they live en route, I do not wish to inconvenience them by making them come out of their way to collect me.’

  With the matter thus settled, Serena breathed a sigh of relief. So far, everything was going to plan. Her hints last night to Elizabeth had resulted in the Downings’ timely invitation, which had aroused no suspicions. Now she must carefully pen a note to be delivered tomorrow evening, regretfully crying off because of a malaise. She sipped her coffee. A malaise called Sir Timothy Forsbrook. She did not like deceiving her friends, but it must be done, if she was to find lasting happiness.

  * * *

  Serena dressed with care the following evening, choosing a high-waisted evening gown of lemon satin with an overdress of white gauze. As befitted a demure young lady she tucked a fine white fichu into the low neck of her gown. Lemon satin slippers, white kid gloves and a white crape fan completed her ensemble and over everything she wore a cashmere shawl, its wide border embroidered with acanthus leaves. Sir Timothy had promised to provide a domino and mask for her, because for Serena to carry such items would only invite comment from her brother or his wife.

  Darkness was already falling when the Hambridge carriage pulled up at the Downings’ house in Wardour Street. Serena stepped down and airily told the coachman there was no need to wait. She stood on the pavement, making a show of fussing with her reticule until the coach was out of sight, then she turned and ran quickly back to the chaise waiting further along the street. Sir Timothy jumped down as she approached.

  ‘You have come!’

  ‘Of course, did you doubt it?’ She laughed as he handed her into the chaise. ‘I sent my letter of apology to the Downings this morning. They will have set off for Vauxhall a good half-hour since.’

  ‘So, no one knows where you are. My clever, adorable angel.’ Sir Timothy tried to take her in his arms, but she held him off.

  ‘Not yet, someone might recognise us!’

  He released her and threw himself back against the padded seat. ‘Little chance of that in this poor light. But there is no hurry.’ He lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘We have all night. Tell me instead what you have been doing since we last met. I want to know every little detail.’

  * * *

  It was already growing dark by the time Rufus Quinn left London. The meeting at the Royal Society had gone on longer than he had anticipated, but he could not pass up the opportunity to talk with the celebrated astronomer Miss Caroline Herschel, who rarely came to London. After that he had taken advantage of the moonlight to drive home, rather than spend another night in town. He had no time for society, everyone was too set up in their own importance. If people weren’t vying for superiority they were all wishing to line their pockets at someone else’s expense. Quinn hated it, and had only allowed himself to be dragged to the Grindleshams’ ball because he wanted the Titian. In the event, Quinn had merely told Grindlesham to name his price and the painting had been his. He had wasted an evening watching the overdressed popinjays cavorting around
a ballroom when he could have been at home enjoying a glass of his excellent claret and reading a good book.

  Even when he had slipped away to enjoy a cigarillo he had been interrupted by an insufferable cockscomb who had wanted him to make himself scarce. Quinn had soon sent him about his business, but damme if the fellow had not gone off with never a thought for his mistress! A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered her reaction when she arrived. Spirited little thing, though, the way she had stood up to him. No tears or vapours. Reminded him of his Barbara, God rest her soul. His good humour faded, but he shook off the threatening black mood, blaming it on fatigue.

  By nursing his team, Quinn usually managed the journey into Hertfordshire without a break, but tonight he felt unaccountably tired. Another yawn broke from him. Confound it, he would have to stop if he was not to fall asleep over the reins. He gave a grunt of satisfaction when he reached Hitchin and spotted the Swan ahead of him, light spilling from its windows. He guided his team into the cobbled yard, where torches flared and ostlers came running out to attend him. The landlord appeared, wiping his hands on his apron.

  ‘Evening, my lord, trouble with your team?’

  ‘Nothing like that, Jennings, but I need a short rest.’ He saw the landlord look past him and anticipated his next question. ‘I left my tiger in town. Clem follows on tomorrow in the carriage with Shere, my valet. They have a rather valuable cargo.’

  ‘Been buying pictures again, my lord?’ The landlord gave him a fatherly grin. ‘I think what you’re wanting now is a bite to eat and a tankard of home-brewed, sir, to see you on your way.’

  ‘Aye, you are right. Lead on, Jennings. Find me a table and somewhere quiet to sit, if you will.’

  ‘No difficulty there, sir. It’s fair quiet here tonight, it being May Day. The night mail’s due in later, but there’s never time for the passengers to get out. No, the only other customers I’m expecting tonight is a honeymoon couple, travelling from London.’ Jennings winked and tapped his nose. ‘A servant rode ahead to say they wouldn’t be here ’til late and that they’d take a cold supper in their room.’

  * * *

  It was gone midnight when Quinn walked out of the inn, refreshed and ready for the final stage of his journey. It was very quiet and the yard was empty save for the ostler looking after his curricle and pair. As he crossed the yard Quinn heard a faint cry.

  The ostler looked up towards the gallery and grinned. ‘Sounds like someone’s having a good time, m’lord.’

  Quinn grunted. It was no business of his. He merely wanted his own bed. He stopped to pull his gloves on and give the greys a critical glance. They were rested well enough and should carry him home in well under the hour. He was just about to step into the curricle when a shrill scream rent the air. It was cut off almost immediately, but there was no mistaking the terror in the voice.

  Quinn did not hesitate. He raced up the stairs. A disturbance could be heard from the first door he reached, but it was locked. Quinn launched himself at the door, which gave way with a splintering crash. The inrush of air caused the candles on the table to flicker, but he took in the scene in one glance. The meal laid out on the table was almost untouched, but the two chairs were overturned and a drift of white gauze lay on the floor, like a wraith.

  A man scrambled off the bed and hurled himself at Quinn, fists flying, but one blow to the jaw sent him crashing to the floor. Quinn stood over him, hands clenched, but his opponent was unconscious.

  A whisper of silk made him look towards the bed as a figure scrabbled away and huddled in the corner of the room. In the gloom he could make out nothing but a mass of fair hair and a pale gown, and the fact that the woman was shaking uncontrollably.

  He untangled a wrap from one of the chairs, a large cashmere shawl, heavy and expensive. This was no drab from the stews picked up for a night’s gratification. He shook it out and approached the woman, who was fumbling to pull together the torn pieces of her bodice.

  ‘Here, let me put this around you.’ She did not respond, but neither did she shrink away as he threw the shawl about her shoulders. Gently, he led her out of the shadows. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘N-no, not really. I...he...’ Her voice failed and he caught her as she swayed.

  ‘You need not worry about him any longer,’ he said. ‘Come, I will take you out of here.’

  He escorted her from the room, keeping one arm around her, lest she stumble. The landlord met them at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘The lads said there was some trouble, my lord.’

  ‘The lady is, er, distressed.’

  ‘Ah.’ Jennings nodded wisely. ‘Had a falling out with her husband, has she?’

  ‘Is that what he told you?’ Quinn was surprised to hear the woman speak. The voice, coming from behind the tangled curtain of hair, was quiet but firm. She put a hand to her head. ‘He is not my husband.’

  The landlord regarded her with disapproval and Quinn’s arm tightened protectively around the dainty figure.

  ‘I came upon the lady defending her honour.’ His tone dared Jennings to dispute the fact that she was a respectable female. The landlord met his eyes, considering, then shook his head.

  ‘She needs a woman to look after her, my lord, and since the wife died...’ He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘I’ll find a chaise to take her home...’

  Quinn glanced down at the hunched figure beside him. She was calm enough now, but he doubted she would endure the long drive back to town.

  ‘Is there a maid you could send with her?’

  ‘Nay, my lord. As I told you, they’m all out, it being May Day.’

  ‘Then I will take her to Melham Court and put her in the care of my housekeeper.’ Quinn guided her to the curricle and lifted her, unresisting, on to the seat. As he took his place beside her he glanced up at the gallery. ‘Her companion is unconscious at present, but when he wakes—’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, my lord. We will deal with him. I don’t hold with such goings on in my establishment.’

  ‘And. Jennings...’ Quinn gathered up the reins ‘...the lady was never here.’

  The landlord nodded. ‘My lads’ll do as I tell ’em.’

  With that Quinn whipped up his team and the curricle bowled out into the night.

  Chapter Two

  Quinn drove steadily, but as the curricle rounded the first bend he felt the figure beside him sway and he quickly put an arm about her shoulders.

  ‘Easy now. I don’t want you falling out on to the road.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She sounded very calm and made no move to shake him off. ‘I do not feel quite myself.’

  ‘That is understandable.’ He frowned. There was something familiar about her voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  ‘No, what I mean is, my head is swimming. He made me drink the wine. He was trying to get me drunk.’

  ‘Did he succeed?’

  ‘Not quite.’ There was a long pause. ‘You must think me very foolish.’

  ‘I do. But you are not the first.’

  ‘I should have known better. Molly—my sister-in-law—is patroness of Prospect House, a refuge for women who have, who have been...’ A shudder ran through her. ‘I have met some of them and learned their history, but I thought it could never happen to me. I thought I knew better.’

  She was talking quite naturally, as if they were old friends, but Quinn guessed that was the shock. It would not last. Reaction would set in at some point and he must be ready for that. For now, talking was a way to distract her from her ordeal.

  ‘It is common among the young,’ he remarked, ‘to think they are awake upon every suit.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘To Melham Court. My housekeeper will look after you. I am Quinn, by the way.’

  ‘I know. You were pointed out
to me at the Grindleshams’ ball.’

  So that was it! He felt a stab of shock. The hair, the voice—he could place her now, the outraged beauty from the rose garden. Well, however wilful she might be, it was clear she had got herself into a situation far beyond her control.

  She said now, ‘I was told you are the rudest man in London.’

  ‘Which was your own opinion, when we met in the garden.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Do you wish me to apologise?’

  ‘No. I admit it, I was rude to you.’ He glanced down at her. ‘You have the advantage of me. I do not know your name.’

  ‘S-Serena Russington. I am Lord Hambridge’s ward. But I pray you will not blame him for my present predicament.’

  ‘I don’t. I have no doubt you told him some tarradiddle so you could slip away this evening.’

  She tensed, and said coldly, ‘I think you should release me. It is most improper for you to have your arm about me like this.’

  ‘Improper, perhaps, but necessary. In the dark you will not be prepared for the twists and turns of the road. My team, however, are very familiar with this route and need little guidance from me.’

  ‘You can drive one-handed?’ Her indignation died away as quickly as it had come. ‘I am impressed. Not that you wish to impress me, do you, Lord Quinn? You think me a sad romp.’

  ‘No, I merely think you foolish.’ The stiff little body beside him drooped a little and he softened his tone. ‘Perhaps you should tell me how you came to be at the Swan this evening. And who was your companion?’

  He thought at first she would not reply. Then she began to speak, her voice low and tightly controlled.

  ‘The man was Sir Timothy Forsbrook. He said he would take me to Vauxhall Gardens, but instead he was going to carry me off to Scotland. I did not realise the deceit until we were out of London.’ She added bitterly, ‘He tricked me finely! He said that he thought I wanted to elope with him, so he had arranged it all. Elope!’ She shuddered. ‘I am sure I gave him no such indication!’

  ‘Yet you agreed to go to Vauxhall with him.’