by Carola Dunn
She smiled down at Sir Lionel, who looked anxious. “She is a dear. We shall do very well.”
“Sure?”
“Quite sure.”
He mounted his roan gelding and they set off for Hyde Park through the busy streets. After his remark about sailors and horses, Chloe watched him with some concern at first. However, he seemed perfectly at home in the saddle, though he sat rather more slouched than a purist might approve.
“Do I pass muster?” he enquired with a grin.
“I should have to see you in the hunting field before I pronounce an opinion.” She glanced back at the groom, following a few paces to the rear. “However, I doubt you need him to pick you up when you fall, and I do not.”
“My sister assures me a groom in attendance is de rigueur when a gentleman rides out with a lady otherwise unaccompanied.”
“With a young lady, certainly, but I am of an age to be not to need a chaperon.”
“You will have to take that up with Elizabeth,” he said, a disturbing glint in his eye. “I am her younger brother, you see. She finds it impossible to accept that I am now elderly, so to her you appear scarcely mature.”
“Humbug! I have not even had the pleasure of meeting Lady Molesworth.”
“A deficiency I hope to remedy soon. Do you ride a great deal at home?”
“Yes, quite often. Two of Edgar’s farms are up on the moors and they are frequently snow-bound for a month or two in the winter, accessible only on horseback. And at all seasons our lanes are liable to be hock-deep in mud. I had rather ride than get stuck in the gig and have to wait for someone to come along and push it out.”
“You drive too?”
“Oh yes. For many errands the gig is more convenient than going on horseback.”
Under his interested questioning, Chloe found herself telling him about her life in Lancashire: visiting the tenants and taking care of their needs; overseeing her brother’s household and his poultry-yard and dairy; shopping in the village with occasional trips to Lancaster or even Manchester.
“I am amazed you ever found time to mother your nieces and nephews,” said Sir Lionel, “still less to grow flowers and to read.”
“From what little I have seen of London, life moves more slowly in the countryside.”
“I confess I have not yet quite found my sea-legs in the tidal flow of country life. London is amusing for a month or two, though I suspect the constant round of entertainment will pall after a while. Both are distinctly different from life on a warship, which tends to be long periods almost ‘As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean,’ rudely interrupted now and then by tempests and battles.”
“And calls at foreign ports,” Chloe said eagerly. “You must have seen a great many interesting places.”
“What, you don’t want to hear about the battles? Everyone demands to hear about the battles.”
“Do you wish to talk about them?”
“Not in the least,” he said, sobering. “They are best forgotten.”
“I had much rather hear about your travels. Have you ever been to Brazil? I have been reading about it.”
Sir Lionel’s ship had been one of those transporting the Portuguese royal family and their entourage to Brazil when they fled from Napoleon’s invasion of Portugal. Chloe was fascinated by his stories of the people and places. Suspended only for a brief, exhilarating gallop in the nearly empty park, the subject lasted until they returned to Chingford House.”
“We never fed the ducks,” Chloe exclaimed as he helped her dismount.
“To tell the truth,” Sir Lionel admitted, “I forgot to bring bread. I’ve been hoping you would not ask.”
“Oh dear,” gasped Chloe, a much worse omission dawning on her. “I have not said a single word about Georgie!”
“We shall simply have to ride again tomorrow.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said doubtfully, stroking Opal’s nose.
“Then you are staying?” he asked with a smile.
“At least until tomorrow. Lady Chingford wishes me to go to a musicale with them tonight.”
“Miss Georgina mentioned the musicale when I danced with her last night. I shall be there. Your brother raised no objection to your attending?”
“He will not go against Lady Chingford’s express wishes.” She bit her lip. “But I am certain he is waiting for me inside right now, to rake me over the coals.”
“You can handle him,” said Sir Lionel confidently.
* * * *
“Where the devil have you been?” roared Edgar. “You knew damn well I wanted to see you.”
“Good morning, Edgar,” Chloe said with an outward composure she was far from feeling. Refusing to stand before him like a naughty child, she crossed to a chair and sat down. “I did not know you especially wished to speak to me this morning, and if I had, I did not know at what time you would come down. Is there something particular you wish to say?”
He stalked across the room and stood towering over her, his ruddy face distorted in a fearsome scowl. She forced herself not to quail visibly. Sir Lionel trusted her to stand up to him.
“First tell me where you disappeared to at an ungodly hour of the morning.”
“It was much later than we rise at home at this time of year,” Chloe pointed out, hastily adding, as his cheeks purpled, “Sir Lionel Tiverton invited me to ride with him.”
Edgar looked flabbergasted. “You went riding with Tiverton?” he asked incredulously.
“I thought you would not wish me to offend him by refusing, since, I gather, you expect him make an offer.”
“For Georgina, not you! Why the deuce would he want to ride with an ape-leader?”
What would he do if she told him her real reason? The mind boggled. He might literally explode! Chloe felt a smile forming on her face and quickly wiped it away.
A smile? When Edgar loomed over her, swollen with rage? Her mind boggled again. “I am Georgie’s aunt,” she reminded him. “No doubt Sir Lionel wishes to become better acquainted with her family, and perhaps to ingratiate himself.”
“Can’t see why he’d want to turn you up sweet,” Edgar grunted. “You’ve got no say in the matter.”
“How should he be aware of my lack of influence?” Chloe prevaricated.
“Daresay he’s not,” her brother grudgingly conceded. “Be damned if he knew of your existence before you turned up. And you still haven’t explained that!”
“Georgie mentioned in her last letter that you were wearying of the trouble of escorting her to the Season’s entertainments. It is a task I am very well able to take off your hands.”
“True enough, though you’d no business quitting Dene without asking leave.”
“Letters do go astray.” True enough—if irrelevant since she had not written for permission. Permission! She was his sister, not his servant, and an old maid, not a young maiden. Chloe was surprised to find herself quite indignant.
“What’s more, you don’t need fancy gowns to chaperon Georgie,” Edgar went on, his ire reviving. “Spending my hard-earned blunt on fal-lals and fripperies as if I hadn’t already got the expense of catching Georgie a husband to match her sister’s. Not that she can expect a lord! She’ll never match Dorothea’s looks, so she’ll just have to take what she can get. But as for springing for new dresses for you, Chloe, you’re too old for anyone to care what you’re wearing.”
“The new dresses were Lady Chingford’s notion, not mine,” said Chloe, trying to hide her hurt. She knew Edgar was right, but need he put it so bluntly? “Her ladyship, at least, cares what I wear, if only so I do not disgrace her and Doro. I fear I had not the courage to argue with her, but doubtless you will know how to explain that you intend to revoke her order.”
“Well...er....” Edgar blenched and tugged on his neckcloth as if suddenly aware it was tied too tight around his bull neck. “I didn’t mean you’re to countermand her, you looby,” he blustered. “A fine return that would be for her
ladyship’s condescension in inviting Georgie for the Season. Sometimes I wonder if you haven’t got more hair than wit. If anything makes Lady Chingford take snuff, I’ll know who’s to blame!”
He flung from the room, leaving Chloe limp but triumphant.
* * * *
The evening gown ordered by Lady Chingford arrived just in time for Chloe to change into it for dinner. An overdress of dark blue British net fell from the high, brief bodice to reveal several inches of the pale blue satin slip, set all around with white silk roses. Posies of tiny white rosebuds adorned the short, puffed sleeves, and a matching wreath ringed the small turban of blue crape.
Her ladyship’s dresser condescended to arrange Chloe’s fair hair in a topknot, with curls over her forehead and ears. Pinning on the turban, the woman looked Chloe up and down.
“Gloves, madam?” she said. “Slippers?”
Georgina had foreseen the need and consulted her sister. Dorothea, whose pin-money—excluding modiste’s bills—for a month exceeded her aunt’s dress allowance for an entire year, was only too delighted to oblige. The girls had dragged Chloe out to the shops that afternoon.
White kid slippers and elbow-length gloves, even half a dozen pair of silk stockings, Chloe gratefully accepted. Doro was sadly disappointed when she was not permitted to purchase for her aunt a charming fan painted with cherry-blossom in the Chinese fashion, and a shawl of the softest cashmere.
“I shall buy them for myself,” she had said, “and you shall borrow them, Aunt Chloe.”
With the addition of her gold chain and cameo pendant, Chloe wanted for nothing.
“I believe her ladyship will be satisfied,” the dresser deigned to admit.
Chloe stared at herself in the looking-glass. She was really quite smart, fine enough not to be discomfited by the fashionable matrons to whom Lady Chingford proposed to present her. Lady Molesworth would not be able to disdain her as a provincial dowd.
Presumably Lady Molesworth was going to attend the musicale, since Georgie expected to meet her daughter, and her brother had told Chloe he would be there. She could not wait to tell Sir Lionel about her passage at arms with Edgar.
Edgar cornered her in the drawing room before dinner. After a brief animadversion on the extravagance of her dress, he apprised her of the names of the ineligible young gentlemen she was to prevent Georgina encouraging.
“I suppose I must trust you to judge any new acquaintances,” he said discontentedly. “If she should contrive to attract some greater prize than Tiverton, I’ll have to decide whether a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“You are so certain of Sir Lionel?” Chloe asked.
“Of course I am, devil take it! Everyone says he’s looking for a wife—stands to reason, he needs an heir now he’s inherited the baronetcy—and he don’t spend half as much time with any other female. And why else should he bother to do the pretty to you?”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured sadly.
“So keep what wits you have about you and tell me if any better prospect looks set to bite. But don’t be taken in by a title. There’s many a lord living on the edge of the River Tick. Understand?”
“Yes, Edgar.”
Satisfied, he went off to give Georgina her instructions. Chloe promptly resolved to report to him at once any young, amiable lord who so much as exchanged a word with her niece—and to suppress any eligible who was disagreeable or over the age of thirty.
After dinner, Edgar went off to his club. Lord Welch and Dorothea had dined out with friends, so the carriage had plenty of room for the Chingfords and Chloe and Georgina. The musicale was held at a house just around the corner, but Georgie had explained to her aunt that one simply did not walk to an evening engagement.
They were shown into a large saloon, formed by two apartments thrown into one. At one end was a dais with a pianoforte; sofas and easy-chairs stood around the walls and the centre was filled with rows of straight chairs, many already occupied.
The first person Chloe noticed was Sir Lionel. He must have been watching for Georgina, for he came towards them at once, before they had even greeted their hostess. His face was alight with pleasure.
Chloe’s breath caught in her throat. How could Georgie fail to succumb to such a devastatingly attractive gentleman? And one so obviously delighted to see her!
Gathering her scattered wits as Lady Chingford presented her to the hostess, Chloe curtsied and received a nod and a smile in return. Then Sir Lionel was beside them, bowing to the Chingfords, greeting Georgina, and turning to Chloe as her niece whisked off to join Arabella and another girl.
“Are you fond of music, Miss Bannister?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, though I have had no opportunity to hear any but the band at our local assemblies and the amateur performances of neighbours’ daughters.”
He grimaced, his dark eyes twinkling down at her. “That is what I expected this evening. A horrid penance! But it seems we are in for a treat. Our gracious hostess has secured the services of Muzio Clementi.”
“Clementi? The name is familiar,” said Chloe, feeling sadly ignorant.
“No doubt you have seen it on printed music. Signor Clementi is a publisher, as well as a composer, piano-builder, teacher, and a very fine pianist. I believe you will be impressed. But come, we have a little time to spare. May I make you known to my sister, Lady Molesworth?”
“I shall be happy to make her acquaintance.” Chloe laid her hand on his proffered arm. Another proof of his devotion to Georgina—he wanted his family to meet hers. Not to mention that her presence must be the reason he came to a musicale he had originally regarded as “a horrid penance.”
He was saying something in a low voice.
“I beg your pardon?” she said in confusion.
“This is your first ton party, is it not? I daresay you find it as overwhelming as I did my first. I was just begging you to excuse Elizabeth if she does not rise to meet you. She is not in the most robust of health.”
“I am sorry to hear it, sir.”
Elizabeth Molesworth was on one of the sofas at the side, sitting very upright with a cushion at her back. Approaching on Sir Lionel’s arm, Chloe picked her out at once, for Lady Molesworth had her brother’s prematurely greying hair. In contrast to this, despite lines of pain, her face was youthful, her expression lively and interested.
She patted the sofa beside her. “I expect Lionel has told you about my wretched back, Miss Bannister,” she said. “Do pray sit down so I need not crane my neck. I have been looking forward to meeting you. Go away, Lion, and see what Arabella is up to. Miss Bannister and I mean to have a comfortable cose.”
“Only until the music starts,” he warned with a smile, accepting his dismissal in good part.
Or rather, accepting his sister’s permission to join Georgina, Chloe realised.
“Lionel is very fond of music,” said Lady Molesworth. “He is become the chief prop and stay of the Philharmonic Society, I vow.”
“Sir Lionel seemed very pleased that Mr Clementi is to play tonight.”
“Quite enraptured!” she agreed, laughing. “It is delightful to see how he blooms since leaving the sea, now he has the opportunity to enjoy the many activities for so long unavailable to him. But I would not have you suppose he has no time for his family. He has been an indispensable help to me in escorting Arabella about, for her father is much occupied with government business, and I find it necessary to limit myself, I fear.”
“How very distressing for you, ma’am, and for your daughter.”
“She goes on well enough, having a fortunate disposition to be contented. But please, do call me Elizabeth, for I am sure we are going to be the greatest friends, like Arabella and your Georgina. I must tell you how glad I am that they are so often together. Arabella is a sad scatterbrain and much in need of a leavening of Georgina’s common sense. What, Lion, back already?”
“They are opening the pianoforte.” Sir Lionel waved to
wards the dais. “I don’t want to miss a note.”
Chloe rose.
“Will you not sit with me?” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“I ought to find Georgina.”
“The girls will come to no harm. It is not a public concert, after all, and dashing young blades avoid musical evenings like the plague,” Elizabeth assured her with a smile.
So Chloe found herself seated between her new friend and Sir Lionel as their hostess led an elderly gentleman onto the dais.
“We are honoured tonight by the presence of Signor Muzio Clementi,” she announced to a burst of clapping. “Signor Clementi will begin his recital with one of his own compositions.”
Chloe was convinced nothing could distract her from the presence of Sir Lionel so close beside her, his sleeve brushing her arm. Yet after the first few notes she was conscious only of music. The flood of glorious sound filled her head, driving out all else.
She emerged from her daze too late to join in the applause. Sir Lionel was regarding her with a slight smile.
“There is a concert of the Philharmonic Society next week,” he said. “Will you go with me?”
“Oh, I—”
“And Miss Georgina, of course. You are going to stay in Town?”
“I think so. I want to tell you about Edgar....”
But Arabella Molesworth came over with Georgie to say hello, and as she turned away to ask after her mama’s comfort, Lady Chingford arrived. The countess bore Chloe off to be introduced as “my daughter-in-law’s aunt” to a bewildering number of ladies and gentlemen.
“Excellent,” said Lady Chingford as people began to drift back to their seats. “Now you may take Miss Georgina about with no need for me or Dorothea to accompany you. I am glad you came to Town, Miss Bannister, and I cannot imagine why your brother did not send you in the first place. So much more suitable!”
Chloe wondered whether she ought to go and sit with Lady Chingford or return to her former seat. She did not want to force herself upon Elizabeth Molesworth, who, for all her professions of friendship, was a very new acquaintance. Nor did she want to offend her by deserting her if she was expected. As she dithered, feeling rather lost, Sir Lionel appeared at her side.
