“This is the outside of enough, Hart. You must stop being so secretive and tell me what it is that ails you,” he declared at last, quite at the end of his patience. He couldn’t abide the stony detachment with which the marquess had taken to navigating society. It set his teeth on edge to watch his friend act out his ridiculous mummery.
In fact, it was putting Frederick right off his food, which was a damned shame.
They were seated at their club over a splendid supper, and it seemed that Hart was quite content to stay there indefinitely, though he paid very little attention to the meal before him.
Hartley looked up at his oldest friend, face impassive.
“Hah! Secretive, nothing. By the by, it occurs to me that you may soon have a very distinguished brother-in-law. I have been back an entire month, after all,” the marquess said cryptically, though he would not say any more on the matter, choosing instead to drain his glass of wine.
Brother-in-law? Frederick thought, noticing the grim look in Hart’s eyes.
Matters in Paris were obviously a lot more interesting than Hart was letting on.
He decided to try another tack. “And if the journals are to be believed, a point on which I reserve judgement, you shall soon have yourself a wife,” said Frederick, raising an eyebrow at Hart.
“A wife! Unlikely, I assure you.”
“I daresay you are mistaken. Pray don’t look so astonished – for why else would the most esteemed and eligible Marquess of Hartley be taking such an active interest in the Season? Particularly when it comes to dancing with Lady Alice.”
“Lady Alice?” Hart repeated, shaking his head and frowning over this news. “Have I been paying her any particular attention?”
“Well. That is a matter of perspective, I should say. But you have danced with her at every ball that you have attended, and there has been some speculation over whether she was seen driving with you in the park.”
“Banbury stories. I am not in the habit of driving ladies, aside from your sister, and only because she was a right pest about it.”
Frederick shot him a very curious glance. “Yes… Maggie is certainly a handful. I was always concerned that Society might ruin her for it.”
Hart thought back to Paris for a moment, and Maggie’s shocking gowns. “Society has done no such thing, you may be certain. She has Society prostrated at her feet.”
“Well, that’s a relief at least.”
“Indeed.”
*
If Hartley was a bit more impassioned than usual during his evening visit to Angelo’s School of Arms on Bond Street, then Frederick did not bother commenting on this, choosing instead to watch and wait.
Fortunately for his own state of mind, he did not have long to exercise this godly patience because a fresh and urgent letter from his very own prodigal sister arrived at his London townhouse that very evening.
In a few brief lines, Maggie assured him of her well-being and informed him that she rather thought she might return to London for a while, and that he could expect her in town in the next few days.
This announcement was high-handed enough that he was quite astonished. Whether or not she really had fashionable society conquered at her feet, Maggie had certainly acquired the commanding manner of a princess. The confidence with which she had written him was most unlike her.
And why the urgency? Something had clearly set her back up. Did Hart know that she would be in London? Surely not.
Things were certainly unfolding in a most entertaining manner. Frederick had a distinct feeling that the London Season was about to get a lot more interesting.
*
The dark, mud-splattered vehicle drew to a shockingly sharp halt in front of Chenefelt townhouse. The porter came out, lamp in hand, to quint at this late-night arrival, a little scandalised at the ruffian’s unseemly driving. He was very surprised to find the occupant of the coach to be none other than Miss Maggie, who had not been expected at least another two days given the state of the roads after the recent summer rains.
With much haste, the young lady was bundled into the house, and sat in front of the fire while a footman hurried to summon her brother.
The fuss seemed quite unnecessary to Maggie, because the balmy weather did not call for a fire, but she was much too preoccupied with sorting through potential strategies for confronting Hart, to protest.
Frederick met his foot-loose sister with an explanation of relief. “Oh, by Jove!” he exclaimed, flying into the room, just as Maggie dashed over to hug him.
Wasting no time, Frederick enfolded her into a warm embrace. “I am so very glad to see you. I own you do look very dapper in that cloak. You know, I was somewhat concerned you would take it into your head to go to Italy next, or some such, and forget about England entirely. ”
Maggie pulled away slightly, and smiled. “Italy is very much the fashion, I am told. It is where all the poets escape to at the first hint of winter.”
“Thankfully, you were never any good at verse. You had better tell me your adventures. Oh Maggie! What on earth possessed you? Father was utterly beside himself and I could not –”
Maggie stepped away and stilled Frederick’s speech with a gloved hand on his arm.
“Later, Frederick. I promise I shall tell you the whole later. But for now there are more urgent matters at hand.”
“You said as much in your note. Oh Maggie, pray tell me you are not in another of your scrapes. Is it debt?”
She frowned, taken aback. “Not at all. You know I haven’t the patience for gaming. But I shall need your help, my dear brother, for I have certainly been the fool.”
“There is some scrape, then! Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Frederick declared, grinning at his sister with the rare, doting expression of an older brother.
Chapter 11
To Frederic’s surprise, Maggie had not the least intention of taking time to recover from the two days she had spent in the coach and the frightfully unpleasant crossing.
“You know that I have never been one for patience. It is not in my nature,” she explained, somewhat chagrined.
“It never was, I am well aware. Certainly, your retribution was always swift to follow.”
“Then you should have learnt your lesson and ceased to play tricks on me. Now, there are some questions I must ask you…”
Having partaken of a quick, though delicious, supper, hurriedly concocted by her brother’s excellent cook, Maggie wasted no time asking Frederick about the gossip that had flooded every English publication exception the new quarterly edition of The Boy’s Own Guide to Outdoor Amusements. And that, Maggie thought, was only because the journal had come out too early to have been able to include it.
“Gossip? Well, yes,” said Frederick thoughtfully. “The journals do seem to think that Hart is quite set to offer for Lady Alice, but I doubt that he would agree with the assessment. He seemed to me quite preoccupied with some other matter entirely. If you ask me, my dearest Maggie, I would tell you that Lord Hartley has been dashing about town with an air of a man desperately trying to forget something that will not leave his mind. I don’t suppose you would know anything about that?”
He gave her a very shrewd look, which was quite out of place on his good-natured features.
Maggie gave her brother a wide smile as relief and determination flooded her soul. “Well, you may suppose it,” she answered. “Now, do you happen to have any notion of where Hart may be, just right now? I think I had better go speak to him, and immediately.”
“Ah! And so my suspicions are confirmed,” her brother laughed. “Well, I suppose I ought to have expected such a turn-around. I can’t say that the notion does not have a certain appeal. And I own I’d very much rather have Hartley for my brother-in-law than Stanhope or the like.”
Maggie paled at that. “Cousin Stanhope! Oh, I completely forgot about him. Is he in London?”
This seemed to amuse Frederick even more than Maggie’s romantic tangles. “Indeed
he is. He has been a very busy bee these past few months. He even has the striped yellow waistcoat to prove it, my dear. Wore it to the club.”
Maggie could very well believe that. “I should be so mortified to meet the man. I expect he’ll be more odious now than ever before – I’m sure I won’t know the right way to go on at such a meeting.”
“Perhaps, but I expect that he will, if you endeavour to speak to him – but he has been quite preoccupied. It’ll be his new bride keeping him busy. He means to wed Miss Laurel Hervey, the heiress with the infamous temper, before the month is out, and has been very busy negotiating wedding settlements.”
“The infamous Miss Hervey of the ratafia throwing incident?”
“The very same! I expect they shall be truly content together, don’t you?”
“Oh, infinitely content. But if he is to be wed, then he can have no further interest in me or my marriage portion.”
“None at all. Even our father has had to admit defeat. He has been heard to say that it might be for the best that you are acquiring some polish in Paris – at no cost to himself, of course. It might perhaps help you snare a title after all. Seems to me that you might have been completely forgiven – or near enough to it, anyway.”
“Well, I am glad that he is not overly furious. It is not good for his health. But, Frederick, you must understand that it doesn’t matter. I love Papa, but I shall not let him rule me.”
“Then I hope you are prepared to stand your ground, for I believe he has marital alliances on the brain much as he ever did. He is nothing if not calculating. As always. But you wanted Hartley and we had better go find the man before he takes off to Gentleman Jackson’s or the like. No. Better yet! He shall be at Vauxhall tonight. I think it is well past time I introduced my beloved sister to London Society. Have you a suitable dress? ”
Maggie laughed at that.
“I do.” As well as a hat, gloves and everything else a lady might need to strike a man dumb at the sight of her.
She and Cecile had devoted a good few hours to selecting the perfect ensemble. Even her velvet travel garments had been carefully chosen, just in case.
*
Maggie spent some time preparing for her debut at Vauxhall, and a look in the mirror told her that the effort had been worth the trouble. She looked more put-together than she ever had in her life.
She felt blessedly refreshed, largely due to the accidental nap she had taken after going upstairs for a brief rest. Lying down on the soft bed, Maggie had closed her eyes for a moment, and surprised herself by not waking till it was time to dress.
A maid was summoned to help her with her hair and gown, and she was very happy that she had chosen her dress in advance, for she couldn’t afford a single chink in her armour.
She wore a light summer half-cape over her flattering silk gown, though Frederick still looked her dress over with mild disapproval. It was of the sort of daring fashion that he would never have previously associated with his sister.
Maggie ignored this.
“Are you sure that I shall be received? Has there been any word of the incident with Kingsley?”
“None! He knows better than to go tattling. But if there had been, what of it? In the words of that Sheridan play we saw together last spring: in London, even scandal dies.”
Maggie thought of her plans for the night. “Good.”
“Now, I think we had better start by driving through Piccadilly,” Frederick said, getting into the spirit of things.
Maggie smiled, then leaned over and hugged him before they stepped out of the house.
“I really do love you very much, bother. Even though you had been an utter beast to me when we were children.”
“Oh, I say, Maggie. What is all this? You’ll put me to the blush speaking of love and sensibilities and such other ghastly business. I think you had better have some fresh air.”
“And get my sensibilities under control?” she said with a wide-eyed look of innocence.
Frederick just waved her away in exasperation.
*
After their drive about town, which was a pleasant distraction for Maggie’s tense nerves, they headed for Vauxhall.
Frederick glanced over at Maggie with undisguised amusement as he drove them. “I should warn you to be careful of the cups at the garden – they can be quite potently mixed. Ladies have been known to accidentally have a glass too many of the arrack punch.”
“If that is your way of warning me away from making a spectacle –”
Frederick laughed. “Whatever gave you that notion? Though I own I am very curious to see the expression on Hart’s face when you make your grand appearance…”
“As am I.”
She took a deep, fortifying breath and noticed that London smelled of summer.
It was a good night for an open-air concert and Frederick’s appearance with an unknown young lady, who bore a striking resemblance to him, and was dressed in the very latest Parisian fashion, drew its fair share of interest. Maggie surprised her brother by doing rather splendidly under all the scrutiny.
“I have been in society for some considerable time now,” she chided gently, noticing his astonishment. “Did you think that I would wilt at the sight of an earl?”
They spoke to some guests as they worked their way through the milling crowd in search of the Marquess of Hartley. Maggie felt herself tense at the thought of seeing him again. What would he say? What would she? And what if, despite Frederick’s scepticism, he really did mean to marry Lady Alice?
Her brother kept up a pleasant stream of conversation despite Maggie’s preoccupation. “I am only sorry there are no patronesses that I can see for you to meet, but I expect your attention is rather elsewhere tonight. Ah, there is our quarry right now. Conversing with Lady Cowper – what could Hart have to say to her? And, of course, there also is your elusive patroness. Be polite to Her Ladyship, Maggie. Ah, and Lady Strathavon. She is Aunt Compton’s friend. The duchess is all the rage again this Season. I have even seen her make her husband smile – in public, no less.”
The fashionable woman stood with Hart and Lady Cowper, enjoying a glass of cool punch and seemingly sharing a private joke.
“Yes,” said Maggie, “I’ve met Lady Strathavon. She is the kindest soul imaginable.”
Lady Strathavon seemed to notice them too, for she excused herself from Lady Cowper and the marquess, before hurrying over.
Maggie was surprised to see the duchess stride purposely towards her.
“Well! Mr Dacre, Miss Dacre – what a pleasure it is to see you,” Her Grace said, beaming at them.
Frederick bowed politely, and Maggie executed a curtsey, but the lady waved away all ceremony.
“Do stop with the abominable bobbing, my dears. It make one quite light-headed. Now, Miss Darcre, I had not realized you were already returned from Paris.”
“Already?” Frederick asked, surprised.
Lady Strathavon raised an eyebrow. “Why, yes. I had the good fortune to meet your sister in the course of her travels. The Grand Tour, was it not?” the duchess’s eyes glimmered impishly. Not for the first time, Maggie wondered how much the woman really knew. The lady took in her gown and her pensive air, and smiled a little wickedly. “I am pleased to observe that you found your visit to France to be rather educational.”
“Oh, very much so, Your Grace,” Maggie said, a little breathlessly. She ignored Frederick’s curious frown because at that moment she happened to look over his shoulder and see none other than Lord Hartley watching her. He’d noticed her at last. He was resplendently dressed for Vauxhall, and there was a frown on his handsome face, his eyebrows drawn down.
“Excellent. Education is never a wasted thing,” the duchess said approvingly, following Maggie’s gaze and lifting her eyebrows. “Now, Mr Dacre, you must tell me about your new carriage – I saw it in the park, and I couldn’t help but notice…”
As the conversation turned blessedly away from her, Maggie
excused herself, certain once more that the duchess had knowingly helped her out. Was the woman omniscient?
Far from storming over to Maggie and sweeping her off her feet, Hart was now speaking to another young lady.
Maggie watched him from what felt like a safe distance. Just as Hart looked up, perhaps sensing her gaze, their eyes met and the world seemed to freeze.
As if she were in a dream, she took a step towards him. A part of her really wanted to turn tail and run. It would be so easy to get lost in the Vauxhall crowd. But Maggie was done with running. That was why she was in London. She had come back for him.
Clenching her jaw stubbornly, she steeled her nerves. She was afraid, certainly, but that would not stop her. The Duchess of Strathavon had been correct – an education is never wasted, and Maggie had certainly had an education.
Slowly, she took another step.
Hart excused himself from his companion, and started towards her, his own steps faster and brisker than hers.
A part of Maggie expected the crowd to part for them, and was grateful that that did not happen. The moment was theirs alone.
Hart’s gaze was intense and his face pale, as though he didn’t quite believe in the lovely apparition before him.
Maggie hesitated. She had been through a great many uncertainties in the past few days, and surely she had learned a great many melancholy things in the months since Hart’s departure from Paris.
She was about to make a very big gamble.
What if he thought of her now as nothing more than a nuisance – a silly girl who did not know her own mind? She did not think that she could bear it, for her sentiments remained decidedly, undeniably unchanged. She did not think she could even stomach his indifference: there could be nothing in the world worse than detached politeness.
Should she adopt a politely detached manner also? But no. This was no time for games. She had to be direct and learn the truth of his feelings. It would be cowardly to do anything else, and there was nothing worse than running away from love because of cowardice.
The love she felt was worth risking her pride.
But perhaps there was yet hope… She remembered his words to Sir Lucian again. Those strange words that had haunted her. It is a rare thing to have everything in the world that one could possibly want.
Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley Page 20
