by Jayne Davis
“I’m not courting her, Father.” Someone so headstrong would be completely unsuitable.
His father did not reply, but merely gazed at him and waited.
“Wingrave, her brother, asked me to keep an eye on her while he’s away on business.”
“She has a father and an aunt,” his father prodded.
Nick sighed—he should have known he would not get away with such a brief explanation. “You know what Marstone’s like. He’ll marry her off according to what he sees as his advantage, without reference to her own wishes.”
“A most unpleasant man,” Lord Carterton agreed. “And I suppose the aunt will do as Marstone commands. What are you doing to help?”
“Not much,” Nick had to admit. “Merely keeping in touch and seeing who is showing an interest.”
His father’s brows rose. “And if Marstone does pick someone unsuitable?”
Nick ran a finger around the top of his neckcloth. “I’m not sure. It depends who it is.”
“How did you help Wingrave get rid of…what was his name? The one he picked a couple of years ago for Lady Theresa?”
“Drayton. I helped Wingrave win money from him at cards—that gave Wingrave something to use against him. But that wouldn’t have worked with a better player, or less of a drunkard.”
“Hmm. Marstone might pick a decent man, then—”
Nick snorted in disbelief.
“He did pick you for Lady Elizabeth,” Lord Carterton pointed out. “All you’d have to do in that case would be to point out to the man that he’d be getting an unwilling bride.”
If only things could be that easy.
“Well, you can address the problem if the need arises, but come to me, Nick, if I can help. There is not much I could do personally, but not all my friends have yet turned their toes up. I might be able to find a weakness that you can use.”
“I will, thank you.”
“So what did you talk about with the Marstone girl?” His father was nothing if not persistent once he got an idea into his head.
“It wasn’t a drive in the park. I… well, I escorted Lady Isabella into St Giles, to find—”
“St Giles? Good grief, boy, what were you thinking to do such a thing? What in heaven’s name did she want to go there for?”
Nick explained, omitting all reference to Fletcher’s bastard child. His father’s frown increased as the tale proceeded.
“Nick, it’s bad enough you venturing into those places, but to take an innocent young girl…” He shook his head. “Spirited lass, eh?”
Nick shrugged. Spirited she was, but she had also been affected by what she’d seen. He hadn’t wanted to talk to her in front of the seamstress, and Lady Tregarth had taken her away as soon as they set foot in the house. He hoped that Lady Tregarth’s trust in Lady Jesson was justified—Wingrave would certainly be displeased if the expedition resulted in gossip about his sister.
He needed to reassure himself that she was none the worse for the expedition. Lady Tregarth would know—he’d send her a note later.
“So if you’re not courting her, who are you considering?"
“Miss Roper. Of good family, and makes sensible conversation. I’m taking her for a drive tomorrow.”
“Good, good. Let me know how you go on, Nick. Pass me the paper before you go, will you?”
As he left the room, Nick suppressed the thought that sensible conversation wasn’t always interesting.
Chapter 15
“I met Lady Jesson again at Lady Tregarth’s house yesterday,” Bella said, sipping tea while her aunt carried out her usual morning sorting of the invitations and calling cards she’d received.
“Jesson?” Aunt Aurelia’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Jesson is a baron, if I recall correctly. A bit wild, from all accounts.”
“She has invited me to drive with her this afternoon.”
“That is good. Lady Tregarth must approve of her, and it will allow you to be seen. Better than Miss Yelland or Miss Quinn. Spiteful cats.”
Bella blinked at the unexpectedly candid statement.
“I’ve heard some of the things they say about you, Bella,” Aunt Aurelia added. “I’m not unobservant, or stupid, you know.”
“Yes...I mean, no.” She cleared her throat. “Aunt, may I use the calèche? Lady Jesson…” Maria had been very honest with her yesterday about the state of her finances, but it didn’t seem right to repeat any of it to her aunt.
“Not a feather to fly with, I know.” Aunt Aurelia nodded. “I will not be needing it, so you may as well give the coachman something to do. Now, you have a few more days until Lady Yelland’s ball—it would not do to make missteps in public.”
“I have been paying attention to my lessons, Aunt.” She was looking forward to dancing with someone other than Herr Weber, and to wearing her new ball gown. Would Senhor da Gama be there?
“You must be sure to dance with Lord Barnton, and Mr Carterton. They seem the most likely men to make an offer for you.” She poked at a letter on the table, its seal broken. “Your father wants a list of your suitors.”
Bella’s anticipation faded. Could she not be allowed to enjoy herself for a time, without being reminded that the purpose of all this was to find a husband?
“I’ll omit Lord Narwood, if you wish.”
“Please.”
“Although if he’s seriously interested, it’s possible he’s written to Marstone. We’ll know soon.”
Bella pushed away the remains of her breakfast. She wanted to see Mr Carterton to thank him for yesterday’s expedition, and she should tell him about Lord Narwood’s interest at the same time.
Why didn’t Papa just put an advertisement in the newspaper? One daughter, with dowry. Available for marriage to man of suitable status.
“It does feel grand to be riding in a carriage like this,” Molly said as Langton descended from the rear step to knock on Lady Jesson’s door. Aunt Aurelia had insisted that Molly accompany her as far as Lady Jesson’s house. Bella was wondering if she should ask Molly to wait here, when the door opened wider and Lady Jesson came out, followed by her own maid. It wasn’t until they both climbed into the carriage that Bella recognised Fletcher. She wore the same drab garment as yesterday, but her face looked different. The lines of care had faded—she almost looked happy.
“Have you arranged something?” Bella asked, leaning her head close to Lady Jesson so her father’s coachman could not hear.
“The wet nurse I used for the boys lives nearby,” Lady Jesson replied, her voice as low as Bella’s. “Billy is with her for now. Fletcher is going to be my personal seamstress for a while.”
Bella glanced at Lady Jesson’s redingote—her friend did not appear to be in need of new clothing.
“Oh, this is several years out of fashion,” Lady Jesson said, allowing her voice to rise to normal levels. “Fletcher can update my wardrobe and make some new gowns for much less than I would pay at a mantua-maker.” She glanced at Fletcher, sitting opposite. “I suspect they will suit me better, as well.”
Fletcher smiled. Bella turned her head away, swallowing hard. The things Fletcher had coped with made her own troubles seem less desperate. She was right to have helped her, even if she hadn’t gone about it in the safest way.
“Her advice to me was very useful.”
“You need not be without it,” Lady Jesson said. “We will be great friends, I’m sure. You must call me Maria.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve brought Fletcher along so we can take a look at current fashions. We will dissect everyone’s appearance ruthlessly…”
Bella chuckled. This drive promised to be much more fun than being put on show by her aunt.
“…and both you and I will learn the tricks that will best suit us.”
An hour later they had circled the park several times, discussing hair powder and the height of one’s coiffure, the shape of stomachers and necklines, colours, and patterns. Fletcher had been silen
t at first, but Molly had asked her how to achieve different styles, and she had soon gained confidence. Bella had spotted Lord Barnton riding in the distance, and was happy that he had not noticed them. Mr Carterton, too, was enjoying the sunshine, driving a phaeton with Jemima Roper by his side—she fleetingly wondered what they were talking about, before Maria drew her attention to the tallest plumes she’d yet seen on a bonnet. Her enjoyment was only dimmed a little by the sight of Senhor da Gama standing by a carriage with the same lady she’d seen him with a couple of times before. As she watched, Senhor da Gama bowed, and the carriage drew away.
“What is so fascinating that two of you must needs stare at it?” Maria asked.
Bella turned to see that Fletcher, too, was looking at the carriage.
“That was Lady Milton, I think,” Maria added.
“Yes, my lady,” Fletcher said. “She was my last mistress.”
The woman who had taught Fletcher some of her sense of style. “Is she the one who turned you off, Fletcher?” Bella kept her voice low.
“She had no choice, my lady. No-one will have a maid who’s with child, and the master would have believed the footm—” She broke off. “She gave me a reference, but that wasn’t any use when I was increasing and then had a babe to look after.”
Fletcher still felt some affection for her previous mistress, it seemed, in spite of the circumstances.
“Who was that with her?” Maria asked. “I’m sure I’ve seen him before.”
“Senhor da Gama,” Bella said. “The son of a Portuguese viscount.”
Maria raised an eyebrow.
“Lady Brigham introduced him to society,” Bella said, not understanding why she felt defensive. “He said Lady Milton was a family friend.”
“I didn’t hear of any Portuguese connections when I was working there,” Fletcher said, then bit her lips as if afraid she’d spoken out of turn.
“Hmm,” Maria said. “I always thought Sir Edward didn’t pay her enough attention. Spends too much time at Whitehall, from what I’ve heard.”
“What’s at Whitehall?” Molly asked, to Bella’s relief. Will had mentioned Whitehall in some of his letters, but she hadn’t known what he was referring to.
“It’s where a lot of government offices are,” Maria explained. Bella pressed her lips together and looked away—that was something she should have known, if her father hadn’t kept her shut up at Marstone Park all these years.
Bella turned her gaze back to Senhor da Gama. Another open carriage pulled up beside him, and the lady in it extended her hand over the side. Senhor da Gama bent over it.
“That’s Lady Sudbury,” Maria said. “Not another family friend, I suspect.”
Lady Sudbury turned to look back at Senhor da Gama as the carriage set off again, raising a hand in farewell.
“She could be,” Bella said, with an odd feeling that she was trying to justify something that was wrong. “Many men kiss a lady’s hand, do they not?” Senhor da Gama had kissed her hand.
Maria did not answer Bella’s question. “I’ve seen enough fashions for one day,” she said. “I mean to let Fletcher off in Bond Street to buy some fabric, if your coachman will allow, that is. And you must join me for tea before you go home.”
Relieved at the change of subject, Bella happily agreed.
Nick read through his conclusion one last time, then shuffled the pages of his final report into order. Outside, the sun shone on the people and carriages in the street; he was due to call on Miss Roper in an hour, which gave him enough time to deliver the report to Gilbert on the way.
Miss Roper was ready when he arrived, dressed in a deep green redingote that brought out flecks of green in her eyes and set off her dark hair. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, and Nick escorted her out to his phaeton.
It wasn’t far to Hyde Park, and their conversation during the drive started with the usual subjects—the weather, her enjoyment of the musicale, other entertainments that she planned to attend.
Nick stopped listening as he reined the horses in at the back of a crush of stationary vehicles around the park gates. “Finch, get down and find out what’s going on.”
The groom jumped down and hurried off.
“I’m sorry, Miss Roper, you were saying…?”
“Nothing of import, Mr Carterton. Oh, look, the carriages are beginning to move.”
Nick tried to spot Finch in the crowd still milling around the gate, but couldn’t see him. He could not remain here without becoming an obstruction himself, so he flicked the reins to start the horses moving, drawing to a halt again a little way beyond the gates. Finch found them there before Nick had run out of things to say about the most recent opera he’d seen.
“It was a poor woman with a child, sir, trying to beg from the carriages. A gentleman attempted to push her away, and she fell.” He shook his head. “She’s a bit cut and bruised, sir.”
Nick felt in his pocket and handed the groom some coins. “See she gets some help. Wait here when you’ve finished. I’ll pick you up on the way back.”
Finch set off back to Park Lane as Nick drove further into the park. “Do you ride, Miss Roper?” he asked. Could that be something they had in common?
“A little, when we are in the country, but I prefer being in a carriage.”
Oh, well.
“Papa says it is too expensive to stable riding horses in Town.”
That was honest, at least. “Where is your family’s home?”
Nick listened as she described a house near Cambridge, with more enthusiasm for its proximity to the city than for the surrounding countryside. That was a shame—he loved the position of his father’s house on the High Weald and enjoyed the time he spent there.
“Do you enjoy riding, Mr Carterton?” she asked, after an awkward pause.
“Very much. When I’m in Sussex, particularly.” Given that she didn’t care for the activity, what more was there to say? He could describe Oakley Place, he supposed, but it didn’t sound as if she would enjoy living there if…
No, that was getting too far ahead of himself. Much too far.
“It was good of you to help that woman, Mr Carterton.”
Nick glanced at her—although her words were approving, her tone had been uncertain. She was looking at the horses, not at him.
“It will help for a little while,” he said.
“Why does she not go to the workhouse? Mama says that is why we pay poor rates, to have such people taken care of. She says I should not give money on the street, as it only encourages them to beg and cause a nuisance to decent people.”
Like mother, like daughter?
“What is your opinion, Miss Roper?”
She gazed at him for a moment without speaking. “I… I suppose she is right. I had not really considered it.”
Nick nodded. That was what any well-bred young woman was supposed to say. The aim was obedience to parents, and then to a husband—so why did he find her answer unsatisfying?
“Does your father take an interest in politics?” He asked the question, even though he guessed what her answer would be.
A small crease formed between her brows. “I don’t know. He would not discuss such a subject with me.”
As he’d expected.
“He spends a lot of his time at his club, I think.” She glanced at the sky. “Do you think it will come on to rain? The clouds are thickening.”
They didn’t look like rainclouds to Nick. Nevertheless, he took the hint, agreeing with her as he turned the phaeton back towards the gate. He felt a trifle guilty at his relief in drawing the expedition to a close. They had conversed well enough at the musicale, about singers—perhaps he should accompany her to a museum or gallery, where they would have something in front of them to discuss.
“So, is Miss Roper the most beautiful woman you’ve seen?” Lord Carterton asked, as the dishes were removed and Hobson set the port decanter on the table.
Rather taken aback by this dire
ct approach, Nick wasn’t sure what to say. It was her calm demeanour and pleasant manners that had drawn him to her, not her features, attractive though they were.
“I see she is not,” his father said. “That is promising.”
Nick set his glass down. Was his father’s mind beginning to wander? “How so?”
“A match based mainly on physical attraction is unlikely to be a happy one.”
“I’m not about to offer for her, Father. A week or so isn’t long enough to make such a decision.”
“It can be. It only took me a couple of meetings to decide that Catherine was right for me, and I never regretted that, even though we had no children.”
Nick found it difficult to imagine his father as a young man, courting his first bride. “What about…?” Should he ask? It mattered to him that his own mother had also been a good choice. “How long did you take to decide on Mama?”
“A little longer,” his father admitted, “but that was an excellent decision, too. She was so much younger than me, I wanted to be sure. Now, tell me more about Miss Roper.”
“She would make a good wife. She wouldn’t cause scandals or gossip, or outspend her allowance, I think. And she’s punctual.”
“Good heavens, boy, you sound as if you’re appointing a secretary!”
“You wanted me to marry and get an heir, Father.” He had expected his father to be glad he was getting on with the business of choosing a wife, not to criticise the woman he was considering.
“I want you to be happy, Nick, not simply to choose someone who can tell the time! If you’re going to do that, I can interview some candidates for you and inform you which you should accept.”
Father looked serious, but Nick caught the twinkle in his eyes. “Point taken,” he said, with a smile.
“Joking aside, my boy, if your feelings for the woman are so tepid, do not offer for her. I want you to make a suitable match, but that means one in which you can be happy. Lady Isabella sounds a much more interesting woman.”
She was attractive, certainly, but he shook his head. “Too impulsive, Father.”
