Claiming the Chaperon's Heart

by Anne Herries

  ‘Yes, I dare say,’ Jane replied with a faint twist of her lips. ‘Mama knew we were coming, of course, and I imagine she has informed most of her friends—and that includes everyone who gives decent parties...’

  Jane laughed softly as she saw an answering gleam in the housekeeper’s eyes, because Mama was well known in this house. She picked up the large pile of letters and cards awaiting her and flicked through them. Three were in her mother’s hand, each of them speaking of some party she really must attend or an exhibition she must see. Her mother intended to visit her the day after she arrived and she was to come to dinner that evening and bring the delightful young woman she’d invited as her guest.

  Laying aside her mother’s letters, Jane opened some of the others. Most, as her housekeeper had guessed, were invitations to dances, masques, picnics, dinner and a grand ball. If she tried to attend them all, and this was the tip of the iceberg because as soon as it was known she was in town the invitations would pour in, she would need to attend three affairs in an evening so as not to offend the eager hostesses.

  Picking up a neat cream-coloured envelope addressed to Lady March in a hand she did not recognise, Jane slit the seal and took out the piece of paper inside. She frowned as she read the few lines written on the single sheet.

  Madam, Lady March,

  Forgive me for writing when you do not know me, but I have been informed that my ward, Miss Amelia Bellingham, is to stay with you in town. I would ask that you let me know when it is convenient to call on you both.

  Yours sincerely,

  Paul Frant.

  Brief and to the point, not particularly friendly, Jane thought as she scanned the lines again. She had not been aware that there was any other guardian than Mrs Bellingham. As Melia’s father’s widowed sister-in-law, she would surely be the proper person to have charge of the girl, Jane thought, but obviously Lord Frant—whoever he might be—thought differently.

  It was slightly concerning, because the tone of the letter was distinctly cool. In fact, she would say that he’d been annoyed when he wrote the letter—only yesterday. She wondered if Melia knew of the gentleman and decided to ask when she came down for tea. Meanwhile, she continued to open her letters, discovering two more invitations for balls and one to the theatre from a close friend of her mother’s.

  Major Harte was some years older than Jane, but he had taken a fancy to her the last time she was in London and she’d received more than one proposal from him. As she knew he was a widower with two daughters under fifteen and needed a wife to keep them in order, Jane understood his persistence, but always gave him the same answer. She was not yet ready to remarry...

  She had just finished sorting her letters into piles, those needing replies in one pile and the others in another, when the door opened to admit the housekeeper carrying a tray. Melia followed her in and tea was poured.

  ‘I thought we would dine at home this evening,’ Jane told her. ‘It is the only night we shall be at home, because we are invited out almost every night for our entire stay, and will go from one to the other like bees gathering pollen from flowers.’

  Melia laughed and looked delighted. ‘Could we visit the duchess this afternoon? I do so like your mama, Jane.’

  ‘She informed me that she would be out but would visit us tomorrow afternoon and expected us to dine at night. What we might do is visit my dressmaker and milliner, Melia. I think you might like some new clothes. Your own are pretty, but not quite as stylish as the fashions in town.’

  ‘My aunt gave me fifty pounds, but I’m not sure how many clothes that will buy...’ she said doubtfully and Jane smiled.

  ‘Your aunt told me to have your dressmaking bills sent to her, my love. She would not expect you to spend your pin money on clothes. No, we shall have your measurements taken, and see if there is anything already made up that might fit you with some alteration.’

  ‘Do you think there will be?’ Melia looked anxious. ‘At home it takes ages to have dresses made up.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure Madame François will be able to accommodate us sooner than that,’ Jane assured her. ‘She has many girls working under her and takes no more than a day or so to complete a simple gown—and often there is a half-finished dress from a cancellation that we may have finished to your specification if you care for it.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ Melia said, excitement rising. ‘How soon may we go?’

  ‘We shall have our tea and some of these delightful sandwiches and biscuits Mrs Yates has brought us, and then we may fetch our bonnets. I shall have the carriage sent for in one hour...’ She got up to ring the bell, then remembered the annoying letter.

  ‘Do you know of a Paul Frant?’ she asked. ‘Is that the person who inherited your father’s estate?’

  ‘Lord Frant, yes...’ Melia looked wary, her hand suspended as she was about to eat a tiny cucumber sandwich. ‘He is in India I think...’

  ‘According to the letter I received this morning, he must be in England as he has learned that you were coming to stay with me here—he has asked to meet us both at our earliest convenience. Did you know he was returning?’

  ‘I didn’t know when,’ Melia said a little guiltily. ‘He sent a letter but it was vague. I did not see why it should interfere with my plans...’

  ‘No,’ Jane replied, but she wasn’t sure. Melia was underage and if her guardian had chosen to withhold permission for this visit he might have done so: Melia had clearly chosen to ignore his letter. ‘What did he ask you to do?’

  ‘Oh, he spoke of my returning to my father’s estate and said that he would provide a chaperon for me,’ Melia said with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. ‘However, his meaning was vague, and I had already arranged this visit. If he wishes me to live at Willow House with a chaperon he must arrange it with my aunt—that is the proper way, do you not agree? After all, I know nothing of Lord Frant—or this lady he wishes to foist on me.’

  ‘It would certainly be best for him to speak to both you and your aunt, to ascertain what your wishes are,’ Jane agreed, but she felt slightly anxious on her young friend’s behalf, for she surely did not wish to antagonise the man who might do something for her if he chose. Not that a dowry would signify if she took Will, because he could well afford to provide for his wife.

  ‘Oh, well, I shall write this evening,’ Jane said, dismissing the matter. ‘Finish your meal, Melia, and then we’ll change and visit my dressmaker. I wrote her that we might so she will be expecting us...’

  * * *

  ‘Oh, what a pretty little thing it is that you bring me to dress...’ Madame Françoise cooed over Melia’s trim figure. ‘She ees perfection, no?’

  ‘Yes, I believe Melia will take very well,’ Jane said. ‘Particularly, I think, if she is seen first in Society wearing one of your creations, Madame. Do you have anything at all that she could wear almost immediately?’

  ‘Yes, I believe perhaps...there is the blue silk, Michelle—and the yellow net... Fetch them quickly!’ Madame Françoise clapped her hands and the seamstress hurried to obey.

  In all, four half-finished gowns were produced. They were orders that had been cancelled or changed after the work had begun and Madame was delighted to do the small amount of work needed to finish them to Miss Bellingham’s liking. Melia was charmed with what she saw and easily pleased, agreeing to the four gowns and agonising over a wealth of materials, styles and trimmings until Jane declared it was enough for one day and assured Madame Françoise that she would receive more visits until an adequate wardrobe had been supplied.

  Riding home in the carriage with Jane later that afternoon, Melia was excited and talked endlessly of the gowns they had ordered until at last she grew a little quiet, and then looked at her hostess anxiously.

  ‘You do not think I have been too extravagant?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I have very
little money of my own and my aunt has already been generous...’

  ‘Mrs Bellingham is not a poor woman,’ Jane said. ‘She assured me that she wanted you turned out in fine style, Melia. I should not worry if I were you. I shall pay for everything, and your aunt will reimburse me in good time.’

  ‘You are both very good to me,’ Melia said with the shy smile which Will’s sister thought was probably what had drawn him to her. She had taken to the young girl and thought that if he did marry Melia he would most likely be very happy, for she had a sunny nature—even if she did bend the truth a little now and then.

  It was as they approached Will’s town house that they saw a man leaving it. He paused for a moment in the sunshine, looking about him in a manner that Jane could only describe as impatient, and then strode off in the opposite direction. She did not have long to wonder who it might have been for they encountered Will coming down the stairs as they entered and he exclaimed at once.

  ‘Ah, there you both are! Lord Frant called in the hope of seeing you, Melia. At first he was quite put out at finding you both out—and seemed surprised that you should be staying here in my house. I had to explain that Jane lives with me and that you were her very good friend...’

  ‘I do not see why he should be put out.’ Jane frowned at him. ‘I had his letter and intended writing to make an appointment for one morning this week. If he must call without one, he must not expect us to be sitting in waiting for him.’

  Will looked a little surprised at her tone, for she did not often speak so sharply. ‘I wasn’t aware that you knew him, Jane?’

  ‘I do not,’ she replied and laughed. ‘His letter rubbed me up the wrong way. You had gone to your club, Will—and we decided to visit the dressmaker to have some new gowns made up for Melia. Had he said he would call this afternoon I would have put it off until tomorrow—though how Melia can be expected to appear in public without some decent clothes I do not know...’

  ‘I dare say you’ve already taken care of all that,’ Will said and grinned at her. ‘Besides, Melia looks very pretty in what she’s wearing.’

  Since Melia was wearing a simple yellow gown of muslin over a thin petticoat with a charming bonnet of straw trimmed with matching ribbons, there was truth in his words, but only the silk shawl that Jane had lent her had given the ensemble a touch of town bronze. Since he saw his beloved through rose-tinted spectacles, he could not be expected to realise that—though, had his sister ever appeared in town in such a simple robe, he might have raised his eyebrows at her.

  ‘Well, I shall write to Lord Frant and explain,’ Jane said. ‘Will, please ring for some tea for us all while I see to my letter—Melia will keep you company. Unless she has something more urgent pressing?’

  Melia dimpled prettily and shook her head. She and Will walked into the front parlour, talking together animatedly. Jane thought the very ease of their manner together boded well for the future, but she was not certain that her young guest’s mind was as firmly fixed on marriage as was her brother’s.

  She went into the smaller parlour that was her own when in town and sat down to pen a polite letter, explaining that she had taken Melia out to order some of the wardrobe she would need for the season. She apologised for wasting his time; had she known of his intention to call she would have waited in but, since they had arrived only that morning, Melia had been anxious to see a little of the town.

  Feeling pleased with a letter that matched his in coolness, but was far politer, she sealed it with her own wax, mauve in colour, and pressed Harry’s ring into it. Lord Frant should see that he was dealing with the widow of Lord March and not some little nobody he could order about as he pleased! She had informed him that she would be at home any morning that week from ten-thirty until twelve and he would be welcome to call in those hours, but at other times he might find them all out.

  * * *

  Paul frowned over the letter that had been brought to his house just as he was changing for the evening. He and Adam had been invited to dine at a gentleman’s house and to play cards in the evening. Since the gentleman was an officer they’d known when serving with Wellington, both were delighted to accept.

  Paul was not sure what to make of the letter. The paper smelled delightfully of a perfume that pleased the senses, but which he could not have named for it was subtler than the heavy perfumes he’d been used to in India. The writing was beautifully formed, but the message seemed glacial to him. What could he have done to deserve such excessive politeness? He’d seen middle-aged ladies giving the cold shoulder to some junior officers before this, but he himself had never been on the receiving end.

  Lady March was probably some old trout with an acid tongue, he thought and grimaced. It was regrettable that he must call on her during the hours she’d set, for he normally steered well clear of those very haughty dames. However, since his ward had chosen to ignore his invitation to take up residence in her own home and await her chaperon and his ideas for her future, he had no choice. Had he been married, he would have had no hesitation in commanding Miss Bellingham to do as he bid her, but, as a single man of no more than one and thirty, he must be circumspect in his dealings with the young lady—and therefore he must try to get on to terms with the old biddy who had brought her to London. He had never met the Viscount Salisbury or any member of his family, but he’d been told by Mrs Bellingham that they were respectable people and rich. He’d thought Lady March a younger woman, but the tone of this letter made him think he’d been mistaken.

  Well, he would forget it for this evening. Paul had already set things in motion regarding the furnishing of his house. Lady Moira had returned to town after discovering that her charge was not in residence at Paul’s country house and, discovering that he was camping out in two rooms, promised to arrange for him to meet a very good man who would furnish his house in the latest style.

  He’d thanked her, for although he had his own ideas on what he wanted, he really had no idea where to start. Lady Moira knew all the best shops and the silk merchants—because, she said, when she called, all the drapes in the house needed refurbishment too.

  Adam had told him he needed a wife, and a certain unease at the back of Paul’s mind warned him that Lady Moira was thinking of herself as filling the position, which meant he would be reluctant to ask for her help furnishing his house. She was actually five years older, but because she dressed in the first style, was intelligent and up to date in her thinking, she seemed younger. Many men seemed to prefer a slightly older woman, and there was something very sensual about Lady Moira. Although Paul did not care for the perfume she wore; it was too heavy and reminded him of some that the ladies of easy virtue who pleasured the Army officers had a habit of wearing. Indeed, Lady Moira reminded him of a beautiful courtesan he’d been offered by the Indian Prince he’d saved from death.

  ‘I owe you my life, sahib,’ the young Prince told him. ‘Selima is of royal blood and she is yours for the taking. She is trained to please men and she will show you tricks you never dreamed of, my dear lord and saviour.’

  Paul had held his laughter inside for he knew the young man believed he was bestowing a great honour by giving him the services of the beautiful concubine, but he’d refused as politely as he could. A certain gleam in the woman’s eyes had spoken of a sly nature and she’d held no appeal for him. However, to refuse point-blank would have been considered an insult, so Paul was forced to fabricate an excuse. He’d been preparing himself for marriage with his English bride, he’d said, and must forswear the pleasures of the flesh until his wedding so that he could do his bride justice.

  This had found favour with the young Prince, who clapped his hands and said very seriously that he thought the sahib was wise not to waste his strength on a courtesan when he could have a sweet young bride. Selima would be waiting for him when he returned to India, his heir already born or on its way.

&
nbsp; Everyone had felt certain that Paul would return. Why would he wish to live in a cold, wet climate when he could have a life of ease in the heat and splendour of palaces made cool by tinkling fountains and little pools, with lilies and beautiful courtesans to play in them and await the attentions of their master? A wife was necessary for sons, who could inherit his wealth, but after one had sons there was so much more to enjoy.

  Paul did not truly know what he wished for. Since his return, almost two weeks since, he’d taken a trip into the country to look at various estates, hoping to find Miss Bellingham where he’d expected her to be. Failing that, he’d visited her aunt and finally returned to London in a less than contented mood. He was still not quite back to his full strength and felt the extra journey had been wasted. Finding that his ward was out when he’d called that afternoon had seemed the outside of enough, and now this letter... For two pins he would sell his estates here and return to India. There seemed little reason for him to stay and he had almost made up his mind to book a passage next month, leaving the winding up of his various estates to his agents and lawyers.

  * * *

  Jane had just come downstairs the next morning and was about to write some letters in her parlour when she heard the door knocker sound in a manner that was no less than imperious. She hesitated as the footman looked at her, inclined her head and said, ‘I’ll be in my parlour if it is for me, John.’

  Going into her parlour, Jane sat at her desk and dipped her pen in the ink. She had just begun her first reply to an invitation when a tap at her door heralded the arrival of the impatient guest. She waited as the door opened and the man she was expecting was announced. Getting slowly to her feet, Jane looked at the man that entered, her heart suddenly beating faster. He was at least a head taller than she, and she was a tall woman. Harry had been slightly shorter but that had never mattered because they were so much in love, but this man could look down on her. Her first thought was that he had a harsh face, but was otherwise unremarkable, and then she looked at his eyes—fierce, and wild, she thought with a little shock, untamed.