Regency Admirer/The Merry Gentleman/The Gentleman's Demand

by Meg Alexander

  Miss Grantham introduced Elizabeth, who looked at him with interest, thinking, as she did so, that this family was a race of giants. Tall though their mother was, the Earl of Brandon and Sebastian topped her by several inches, and Perry towered above them all.

  As Elizabeth made her curtsy, she found herself under scrutiny by a sharp-featured woman standing beside the Earl. This must be his wife, Amelia.

  She remembered Perry’s acid comments on the lady’s nature, but Amelia offered a gracious welcome. Elizabeth was surprised, and stole a glance at Perry, to find much amusement in his look. Then she understood. Not only was she the niece of the formidable Miss Grantham, but she was also an heiress, a sure passport to favour in these exalted circles.

  “You are honoured,” Prudence whispered further along the line. There was no need to say more. With her quick intelligence Prudence was in no doubt as to the reasons for Amelia’s singular cordiality.

  “I know it.” Prudence returned Elizabeth’s smile as she moved to join the other guests.

  She gazed at the milling throng in wonder. The ladies were all en grande toilette. In the centre of one group of gentlemen she saw a girl whose limbs were clearly visible beneath a gown of shimmering gauze.

  Another daring creature sat with her legs spread apart, and her drawers on display. Beside her stood a woman of voluptuous appearance, clad in flesh-coloured pantaloons. Her over-dress was drawn up at each side, exposing her legs as far as the thigh.

  “What on earth are we coming to?” Miss Grantham snorted her disgust at such wanton behaviour. “Those hussies might as well be naked!”

  Elizabeth made no comment. Her own gown had met with her aunt’s approval. Now she was glad that she had chosen to wear the plain white satin, with its over-dress of spider gauze. Simple in cut, it was the perfect foil for her startling beauty, though she was not aware of it until Perry came to claim her for a dance. The look in his eyes was tribute enough.

  Wisely, he did not disconcert her with fulsome compliments. He led her out with only the briefest pressure of his hand.

  Like many large men, he was light on his feet and danced extremely well. When he spoke at last, it was to tease her gently.

  “It is usual to converse politely with your partner, ma’am.”

  Elizabeth blushed. “This is my first ball,” she explained. “I must mind my steps.”

  “You are a natural. Why not relax and let me lead you?”

  “Oh, yes! I love to dance.”

  Looking at her, he could well believe it. Her little oval face was alight with pleasure and, as she looked up at him, her expression caused his heart to miss a beat.

  “Elizabeth, if you smile at me like that, you will distract me...”

  “Oh!” It was an inadequate reply, and Elizabeth knew it. She looked away.

  “Too many people here!” Perry looked about him. “I shall lose you in this crush. Don’t you find it over-warm?”

  Elizabeth nodded. The Earl of Brandon’s mansion seemed to her to be at hothouse temperature.

  “It’s for the Prince’s benefit,” Perry explained. “He dislikes cool rooms.”

  “He is expected here tonight?”

  “He may look in. If so, Frederick will present you.” He sensed her shyness at this awesome prospect, and when the dance ended he led her to a seat behind a pillar.

  “Would you like some lemonade?” he asked.

  Elizabeth nodded. Her throat was dry and she found it difficult to swallow. The thought of meeting the heir to the throne had overset her composure. She had heard so much about his early promise, his youthful passion for the actress Mrs Robinson, those fatal letters to his “Perdita’ from her “Florizel’, and the huge sum it had cost his father to rescue Prince George from his promises.

  Known as “The First Gentleman of Europe’, would he prove to be as handsome and as charming as his reputation suggested?

  Then her chin went up. The Prince was a man like any other, and neither in speech nor manner would she betray her nervousness. She must not disgrace her aunt.

  Besides, she would have Perry with her. The Prince, she was convinced, would never outshine him.

  Her lips curled. The Prince might be a social lion, but she need not fear his claws.

  Then she jumped as a hand touched the bare flesh of her shoulder.

  “Elizabeth, my only love! Tonight, you are more beautiful than ever!” The man who spoke had been standing behind her. Now he came to join her on the sofa.

  “Cesare!” Elizabeth could not believe her eyes. “What are you doing here?” At first she thought she must be dreaming, but the man beside her was no figment of her imagination.

  “I’m with the suite of the Italian Ambassador. Oh, my darling, it has been so long.” The Count seized her hand and raised it to his lips.

  She snatched it away as if she had been stung. “Stop! You mustn’t! And pray don’t call me your darling!”

  “So cold, my dearest? Did you think that I would never reach you? Believe me, I came as quickly as I could.”

  “You shouldn’t have done so,” Elizabeth said sharply. “There was not the least need...” She was irritated by his sentimental tone. To her ears it sounded false.

  “You have not forgiven me for deserting you?” The liquid eyes swept her from head to toe, and she had the uncomfortable sensation of being stripped of all her clothing.

  “Don’t be so foolish!” she snapped. “You must not say such things to me. If my partner should return—”

  “The Englishman? His mission will keep him occupied for some time. There is a sad crush in the dining-room.”

  “My aunt is here. She will think it odd to find me speaking to a stranger.”

  “How you have changed, my dear! You did not used to be so careful of the proprieties.” It was a clear reference to that night in Genoa when he had climbed up to her balcony.

  Hot colour flooded Elizabeth’s face, but she made a quick recovery.

  “We are in London now. Cesare, please go!”

  “But I have so much to say to you! Come, let us dance! That, surely, is acceptable?”

  Elizabeth shook her head in violent disagreement, but she could not escape him. The strength of his grip upon her wrist made her wince with pain. It was impossible to release herself without a struggle, and that would attract attention.

  With a stony expression she allowed him to lead her out.

  “That’s better! Tell me, dearest, how do you go on? Your father must have lost his reason to send you away like that.”

  “You will please not to criticise my father, and I am not your dearest,” Elizabeth hissed. Trembling with anger, she eyed him with dislike.

  The Count was dressed in the height of fashion. He was hung about with fobs and gold chains. A ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg adorned his cravat, and his waistcoat was of a dazzling hue.

  Now he was smiling down at her in a way which made her fume. His look was both patronising and proprietorial. How could she ever have believed herself to be in love with him?

  He ignored her angry tone. “The English climate agrees with you. You are in famous looks tonight. Or is there another reason? You will not tell me that you cherish a tendre for that great blockhead who has been squiring you about? I saw you in Hyde Park, and again at Kew.”

  Elizabeth was startled. “Have you been spying on me?”

  “Merely taking an interest in your friends, my dear. My wife’s good name must be my first concern.”

  Her blood ran cold. “Your wife? Are you mad? You know my father’s feelings. He has forbidden you to speak to me.”

  The Count’s expression was sentimental. “Did we not agree that we should not let that weigh with us? You cannot have forgotten.”

  “Let me go!” She tried to pull away, but he would not release her.

  “Take care!” His face grew stern. “You are attracting curious looks. As my betrothed, you must learn to behave with more decorum.”

  “
I am not your betrothed,” she cried in panic.

  “Odd! I was under the impression that you were, or has the gallant officer supplanted me? He left us early on that night, you will recall. What would he say, I wonder, if he learned that you had admitted me to your bedchamber?”

  Elizabeth felt sick with dread. “It isn’t true!” she whispered. “I sent you away.”

  “Will he believe you? You told him in my hearing that I was a friend of yours. The Lieutenant does not strike me as a moderate man.”

  “He isn’t!” she cried. “More than likely he will beat you to a pulp.”

  “I doubt it! Will he wish to cause you pain with an attack upon your loved one?”

  “You are not my loved one. How often must I tell you? Cesare, I was just a foolish child. Surely you will not hold me to my promise...”

  “There you are mistaken, dearest.” The superior smile appeared once more. “You will wed me, Elizabeth. I have not come so far to find myself rejected.”

  “I won’t! I won’t!” Her voice was rising in hysteria.

  “Then you must be prepared to take the consequences. When I tell my story in certain quarters, you will no longer be received in London, and nor will your aunt. Such a sad blow for your paramour!”

  “You would not dare!” She stared at him in horror.

  “Indeed, I would! Think about it!” The Count looked about him. “The music has stopped. You may go now.”

  Elizabeth stumbled away from him. Frantic to escape, she concealed herself behind a pillar and sank on to a nearby sofa. She could see no sign of Perry or her aunt.

  There, she pressed a hand to her aching brow, knowing that her world was in ruins.

  “Are you quite well, Miss Grantham?” Judith Aveton came to sit beside her. “You look a little pale.”

  “It...it is the heat, I expect. Perry went to fetch me some lemonade, but I don’t see him anywhere.” Elizabeth felt that she was babbling.

  “It is very warm. Many people have gone on the same errand, which must cause a delay. You do not mind the crowds?”

  It was difficult to pay attention when her mind was racing, but Elizabeth forced herself to reply.

  “Not in the least. Do you?”

  “I am an oddity, Miss Grantham. I never feel so lonely as when I am in a crowd. You will think me strange.”

  “Please call me Elizabeth. I don’t find you strange at all. You seem to me to have an inner strength.”

  “It is often sorely tried.” The grey eyes twinkled at her companion. “And I am given to daydreaming, even at a ball. It is a sad weakness, and has caused me to lose my sisters in this crush.”

  Elizabeth was grateful to this quiet girl, who had come to her simply out of kindness and concern. The conversation, trivial though it was, had given her time to recover her composure to some small extent. Then she looked up at the mention of her own name. It came from behind the pillar.

  “Does Miss Elizabeth Grantham know her recent partner well?” a deep voice enquired.

  “Elizabeth? I don’t know. Was she dancing? I left her here to wait for me.” It was Perry who replied. “Why do you ask? Is something wrong?”

  “You must just drop a word of warning in her ear. The Count is well-known to our agents in Italy.”

  “The Count. Which Count?” Perry sounded mystified.

  “Count Cesare di Tavola. He claims to be attached to his Ambassador’s suite. We know, however, that he is but lately come from France.”

  “What do you know of him?” Perry’s voice was icy, and Elizabeth’s heart sank.

  “Just that he will bear watching. He sells information to the highest bidder. We suspect that many of the sinkings in the Mediterranean must be laid at his door.”

  “But he is Italian, not French, and we are not at war with Italy.”

  “He is no patriot, Perry.” The Earl of Brandon’s voice was grave. “The French are his masters now, and they pay him well.”

  Elizabeth huddled further into the corner of the sofa, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

  “They can’t see you,” Judith observed quietly. “This pillar is in the way.”

  “Excuse me, please!” Overcome with nausea, Elizabeth fled with a handkerchief to her lips.

  Cesare was a spy. Now she understood why he could afford to dress so well, and to adorn himself with such expensive gew-gaws.

  All bought with blood money, she thought wildly. How could he send men to their deaths for the sake of a few bags of gold?

  There was no hope for her. She knew that now. If money was his god, she would never be allowed to escape him.

  Was this to be her punishment for a brief infatuation? Was she to be made to pay for her folly for the rest of her life?

  Cesare had made no idle threats. Such a ruthless opportunist would let nothing stand in his way. And she had imagined that he loved her.

  Now she knew the truth, and it was bitter to realise that he wanted her only for her father’s wealth. What a fool she’d been. If he’d cared for her at all, he would have accepted her refusal, and wished only for her happiness.

  She must find her aunt, and ask to be taken back to Mount Street. Aunt Mary would hide her. Then she remembered Cesare’s threats. She had no doubt that he would carry them out. Miss Grantham would be shunned as the relative of a wanton who gave her favours freely.

  Her own grief was too deep for tears. She loved her aunt. How could she destroy that lady’s good name? It was poor recompense for kindness.

  Blindly, she pushed open the nearest door, and found herself in a book-lined study. Now she needed all her courage if she were to face Perry again.

  She writhed in anguish as she recalled the anger in his voice. It was true. She had told him herself that she was betrothed to Cesare. Could she deny it? And would he believe her if she did so? It was too much to hope.

  She found that she was shaking uncontrollably. The shock of seeing Cesare again had been severe. Worse was the knowledge that he intended to destroy her. Her fate would be equally vile, whether she married him or not.

  She pressed her hands to her burning temples, remembering his threats. She didn’t lack courage, but how was she to deal with blackmail?

  Thankful for the fact that only a single lamp was burning in the study, she crept to the far corner of the room. If the door opened, no one would see her in the wing-backed chair. She felt like some terrified animal, pursued by a deadly predator.

  She fought a rising sense of panic. She would not wed Cesare. She could not. If only she’d been a man. Then she could have run a sword through his black heart. But no one could help her now.

  She froze as the door swung open. Was it Cesare? Had he come to find her, demanding her acceptance of his proposal? She would need all her courage now. She must think of some way to play for time, to put him off until she had considered what to do.

  “Elizabeth?” Perry’s deep voice startled her. She jumped, causing the chair to creak.

  He reached her in a few long strides, and swung her round to face him.

  “Your aunt has been searching for you. May I take you to her?” His face might have been carved in stone.

  Elizabeth tried to rise, but her legs would not support her.

  “Oh, come! You must not allow the sight of your lover to cause you to faint.” Perry addressed her as if she were a stranger. “Where is the gentleman, by the way?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth whispered. “I came in here to hide from him.”

  “A likely story! You danced with him, I believe?”

  “I had no choice.” She thrust her wrist towards the light. The marks of Cesare’s fingers were still visible on the milky skin.

  “He did that? What an affair you must have had, if rough handling takes your fancy.”

  “You don’t understand.” The tears were rolling unchecked down her cheeks. “He hurt me when I tried to get away.”

  Then Perry was on his knees beside her.

&
nbsp; “Ah, don’t, my darling! I can’t bear it! Why didn’t you call to me?”

  “I couldn’t see you...” she choked out. “Oh, Perry, you must believe me!”

  “Come here!” Perry took her hands and raised her to her feet. Then he slipped a hand beneath her chin and turned up the little tear-stained face to his. When his mouth came down on hers the world was lost to both of them.

  It was long before he released her, and in those moments their past disagreements were forgotten in an overwhelming tide of passion which swept away everything but their love.

  Elizabeth could only cling to him. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  Then Perry sat down and took her on his knee, raining butterfly kisses upon her brow, her eyelids and her cheeks.

  “I have disobeyed your aunt, my love. I promised to wait...to give you time to know your heart. It was impossible. Oh, Elizabeth, I’ve loved you for so long. Tell me I’m not mistaken, and that you feel the same?”

  “You know it.” With the simplicity of a child she lifted up her face for his kiss. His lips were warm and tender, and she abandoned herself to that caress in unrestrained delight.

  She thought he would never let her go, but he held her away from him at last, and looked deep into her eyes.

  “We have wasted too much time,” he murmured. “When shall we be wed?”

  Marriage? Elizabeth stiffened as memory returned.

  That very evening another man had insisted on it, and she had no doubt that the Count would carry out his threats if he risked losing his wealthy prize.

  If she accepted Perry he would protect her, but at what cost? When gossip about her reached his ears there would always be that little worm of doubt, eating away at his heart, no matter how he attempted to refute the rumours. He deserved better than that.

  She looked down at the beloved head. Now his lips were pressed against the palm of her hand. Very gently she withdrew it from his grasp.

  “My love?” Perry looked up in surprise. “You have not answered me.”

  “We must not be too hasty.” She found it difficult to control her voice. “I must have my father’s permission—”

  “Goose! He has given it already. Nothing would please him more.” Perry smiled down at her.