Melinda Hammond

by The Dream Chasers

  * * * *

  When Mr Lagallan arrived, shortly before eleven, he found Eustacia in high spirits. During a break in the dancing, he made his way towards her.

  ‘Well, Miss Marchant, are you enjoying yourself?’

  The glowing face that was turned towards him gave him his answer. He grinned.

  ‘I suppose I am too late to claim a dance with you?’

  ‘Heavens, yes. I am engaged for every dance! But you can expect nothing else if you will arrive so late!’

  ‘Shrew!’

  Her eyes sparkled.

  ‘No, how can that be when I am merely telling the truth? But, Vivyan, tell me honestly, do you like my gown?’ She stepped back, spreading her skirts and twirling before him. Vivyan grinned inwardly as those nearest raised their brows: it would seem Miss Marchant was unaware that fashionable young ladies should never display such enthusiasm at a party! ‘It is very beautiful, don’t you think? Godmama had it made up for me.’

  He raised his glass to study her. ‘Very fetching.’

  ‘Is that the best you can do?’ she demanded. ‘You should know, sir, that I have received some very fine compliments this evening.’

  ‘I’ll wager you have, you abominable brat! Very well, you look like. . . .’

  She waited expectantly, her ready smile hovering on her lips.

  ‘A frost-coated plant.’

  She gave a gurgle of laughter, and put one hand up to her red curls.

  ‘A marigold, perhaps, or even a carrot! Look, my partner approaches for the next dance, so I leave you, Mr Lagallan.’ She tossed her head, her eyes dancing. ‘You do not deserve that I should talk to you!’

  Smiling, he watched her skip away to join the next set, and wandered off in search of refreshment.

  * * * *

  After two energetic dances, Miss Marchant left her partner and went to find her godmother. As she pushed her way through the crowded rooms, she came upon Mr Lagallan. He was talking to a willowy young lady in a gown of celestial blue. Eustacia hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but even as she began to turn away she heard Mr Lagallan addressing her, and she turned back, smiling.

  ‘Pray, do not let me interrupt you.’

  ‘No, no, we were just talking of you.’ Mr Lagallan’s dark eyes gleamed wickedly. ‘You know Miss Pensford, I believe?’

  ‘Of course, we are neighbours,’ the tall young lady affirmed, turning her blue eyes upon Miss Marchant. ‘How do you do, Eustacia? I had no idea you would be in Town.’

  ‘N-no. My godmama invited me, at short notice.’

  Miss Pensford’s gaze rested on Eustacia’s flushed countenance.

  ‘You are heated from your dancing. How thoughtless of me to keep you standing here. Perhaps Mr Lagallan would procure some lemonade for us?’

  Vivyan bowed. ‘Of course. I will leave you two ladies to enjoy a little gossip!’

  Smiling, Miss Pensford linked her arm with Eustacia’s and led her to an empty sofa.

  ‘I wish you had written to tell me you were in Town, we could have met earlier.’

  ‘It - it was very much a surprise when Godmama invited me to join her, it was very unexpected.’ That much at least is true, thought Eustacia. ‘But what of you, Helen? I thought you were to remain at Combe Charlton until the New Year.’

  ‘And so we were, but - circumstances changed.’ A faint blush suffused Miss Pensford’s pale cheek. ‘Papa decided we had been in deep mourning long enough — it was not a very close relative, after all - and we have lived very retired at Combe Charlton these past months. Mama is not yet wearing colours, of course, but she thought it would not be unseemly to bring me to Town. Of course, we shall only attend a few select parties.’ Remembering the press of people in every room, Eustacia thought privately that Lady Trentham’s ball could scarcely be considered a select party. Miss Pensford’s gaze rested again upon Eustacia. ‘How is it you know Mr Lagallan?’

  ‘Oh, his - his sister-in-law, Mrs Philip Lagallan, escorted me to town.’ Eustacia held her breath, but her answer seemed to satisfy her companion, who merely smiled.

  ‘He is very agreeable, is he not?’

  ‘I — I hardly know him,’ muttered Eustacia, feeling very uncomfortable.

  Miss Pensford’s smile grew. ‘We met last season, and when we stood up together everyone said what a handsome couple we made.’ She lowered her voice, leaning closer to her companion. ‘He visited Papa at Combe Charlton a few weeks ago, and we came to an understanding. Nothing has been announced, of course, for Papa thought it would be best to wait a little while, for we do not wish to offend our dear cousin’s family by appearing to cut short our mourning, but still, I am sure it must be all over the county by now, so I can see no harm in you knowing.’

  Th-thank you. I wish you very happy.’

  Miss Pensford unfurled her fan.

  ‘I have no doubt we shall be; it is a very good match.’

  ‘But I thought your mama wanted you to marry a title!’ Eustacia flushed. ‘Oh, my wretched tongue! I beg your pardon!’

  ‘No, no, you are quite right, but when we considered the matter last season, they were all so unsuitable! Most were older than Papa, and the rest were looking for a rich wife to repair their fortunes or were of such unsavoury character that Papa would not countenance them, whatever their rank.’

  Miss Marchant stared. ‘And - and your Papa considered Mr Lagallan’s character sufficiently unblemished?’

  Eustacia found herself subjected to a puzzled look.

  ‘But of course! There was a little wildness in his youth, I believe, but that was many years ago. His character now is impeccable.’

  Miss Marchant was silenced; the object of their discussion was approaching, and she could only be relieved that she was spared the necessity of a reply: she was well aware that her unruly tongue might lead her into impropriety.

  ‘Well, ladies, have you had sufficient time to cover every possible topic of conversation?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Miss Pensford, smiling. ‘As a matter of fact we have discussed very little — in the main, yourself.’

  ‘Oh? And have you comprehensively destroyed my character?’

  Eustacia, in the act of sipping her lemonade, choked, but Helen replied seriously, ‘That would be most improper. I was merely curious to know how it is that you and Eustacia are acquainted.’

  ‘I explained that Caroline had brought me to town,’ put in Stacey, hurriedly. She found herself growing hot under Mr Lagallan’s quizzing gaze and, feeling that she had had quite enough teasing for one night, she excused herself and moved off into the crowd to seek Lady Bilderston.

  Eustacia was about to make her way downstairs to the supper-room when a familiar voice brought her to a halt. She turned towards the small chamber that had been set aside for cards: standing just inside the doorway was a group of gentlemen, and Eustacia fixed her eyes on the young man nearest the door. He had his back to her, but she took in the guinea-gold curls, brushed into fashionable disorder, the familiar line of his back, the shapely legs encased in black knee-breeches.

  ‘Rupert!’ Her cry was scarcely above a whisper. She tried to compose herself. ‘M-Mr Alleyne?’

  The gentleman turned and Eustacia forced her knees not to give way at the sight of his handsome face. The blue eyes that rested upon her widened in surprise, but the gentleman made a quick recovery.

  ‘Miss Marchant.’ He bowed to her. ‘But how is this? I thought you were in Somerset.’

  He did not appear overjoyed to see her, but Stacey realized how surprised he must be to find her in London.

  ‘I am staying with my godmother, Lady Bilderston – Fanshawe Gardens,’ she added.

  ‘Ah. I see.’ He nodded and smiled, and Eustacia waited, smiling up at him and taking in every feature of his dear face.

  ‘You did not expect to find me here.’

  ‘No, that is —’

  ‘Are you not pleased to see me, Rupert?’

  ‘Oh, of course. Del
ighted.’

  Her smile wavered, and she thought he looked anything but delighted to see her.

  ‘Miss Marchant, your godmama has sent me to find you.’ She looked up to find Vivyan beside her. He drew her hand on to his arm, smiling down at her. ‘Lady Bilderston awaits you in the supper-room. I am come to take you to her.’ He turned towards Mr Alleyne. ‘If you will excuse us, sir?’ Succumbing to the pressure of his fingers, Eustacia moved away. ‘That was your Rupert, I presume?’ Vivyan guided her down the shallow staircase.

  ‘Y-yes.’ Eustacia did not want to talk. The meeting had not been the joyous occasion she had imagined.

  ‘You surprised him, I’ve no doubt.’

  She turned to look at Vivyan.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did surprise him, didn’t I?’ She looked up at him, her eyes begging him for reassurance. Vivyan patted her hand. ‘Of course.’ He smiled grimly. ‘You gave him quite a shock.’

  Miss Marchant was unusually quiet during supper, a fact which Lady Bilderston ascribed to tiredness. However, a suggestion that they should leave early was vehemently refused. Casting her mind back over her meeting with Rupert, Miss Marchant was soon convinced that her sudden appearance had momentarily overpowered that young man. Now that the initial surprise was over she did not doubt that he would seek her out, that they would return to the easy intimacy they had shared in Somerset. She blushed a little at the memory of Mr Alleyne’s whispered endearments, and the secret kisses they had enjoyed. Of course, they would have to be more circumspect, but there was no reason why they should not see each other regularly in London.

  When the dancing resumed, Eustacia accompanied her godmother back to the ballroom, her heart jumping with excitement, but there was no sign of Mr Alleyne. She glanced into the card-room as they passed. He was not there. Screwing up her courage, she approached one of the young men she had seen earlier with Rupert.

  ‘Mr Alleyne? Why, he’s gone, ma’am. Left while you was at supper, I dare say. Something about a previous engagement.’

  Miss Marchant walked slowly back into the ballroom. The orchestra was striking up again but she excused herself to her partner and moved away to a vacant sofa to gather her thoughts. Across the room, Vivyan watched her. He noted the pale cheek, the faint crease in her brow, and went to sit beside her.

  ‘What’s this, not dancing, Stacey?’

  ‘What? Oh, no, I have had enough of dancing for this evening.’

  ‘And where is Mr Alleyne?’

  Eustacia put up her chin.

  ‘Rupert?’ she said, with studied carelessness. ‘Oh, I don’t know — gone, I think.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes. A — a previous engagement.’

  ‘Of course.’

  After a pause, she forced herself to converse.

  ‘Where is Miss Pensford?’

  ‘Dancing with some young buck. She thinks it would be wrong for us to spend the entire evening together until we are formally engaged.’

  ‘I had not expected to see Helen in Town.’

  ‘No more had I. When I left Combe Charlton, I thought they were settled there for the winter.’

  ‘I think Mr Pensford has brought Helen to Town to keep an eye upon his investment,’ observed Miss Marchant.

  ‘You mean myself?’

  ‘Of course.’ She chuckled. ‘Helen considers your character to be impeccable.’

  ‘The devil she does! Well then, I had better not sit here with you for too long, or it will ruin both our reputations. Do you drive out with Caroline tomorrow?’

  She instantly became serious.

  ‘No. I shall be at home tomorrow. Rupert may call, and I must not miss him.’

  * * * *

  But Mr Alleyne did not call at Fanshawe Gardens the following day, or any other day that week, and it was not until Lady Beasley’s rout that Eustacia saw him again.

  She was standing alone at one side of the room when Mr Alleyne came in, and her hostess, observing Eustacia’s anxious look, brought the young gentleman to her, making it impossible for him to do other than ask her to dance.

  As they took their places on the dance-floor, Eustacia glanced up at her partner and, observing that he looked a little uncomfortable, asked him bluntly if he was not pleased to see her.

  ‘P-pleased? Of course I am, Miss Marchant,’ stammered Mr Alleyne, flushing. ‘It’s just that—’

  Eustacia felt hot tears stinging her eyelids.

  ‘If you don’t love me, Rupert, pray tell me so at once.’

  ‘No, that’s not it! I mean — dash it all, Stacey, I can’t talk about it here, in the midst of all these people!’

  ‘Then where?’

  Mr Alleyne cast about in his mind. ‘Tomorrow, somewhere . . .’

  ‘There’s a little park in Fanshawe Gardens, where I walk Godmama’s dog. I could be there tomorrow morning, if you like.’

  Mr Alleyne swallowed nervously.

  ‘Well. . .’ He looked down to find a pair of trusting green eyes raised to his, and his courage failed him. ‘Very well – eleven o’clock.’

  Chapter Eight

  For Eustacia, the next twelve hours seemed interminable. She woke soon after dawn and tried to curb her excitement. At 10.30 she collected Snuffles, and dragged the little animal out for his morning walk. By eleven o’clock she was already in the park, anxiously looking out for Mr Alleyne. He arrived ten minutes late, by which time Eustacia was so overwrought that she threw herself against him, crying, ‘Oh, Rupert, I have missed you so!’

  Mr Alleyne, aghast at this public display, held her away from him, and begged her to be a little more circumspect.

  ‘But I love you, and I have come all the way to London to tell you so!’

  ‘That is very good of you, Stacey, but — I told you when I left Somerset that it cannot be.’

  She clutched his hands.

  ‘But I do not understand! I am not quite a pauper, you know! I thought that if we were to face your father together, and tell him that we love each other, he could be persuaded to let us marry.’

  Mr Alleyne gazed down helplessly at the little face upturned to his. He was not a cruel young man, although a childhood indulged by doting parents had made him thoughtless. A series of ill-placed bets and the importunities of his tailor had made it necessary for him to withdraw from London the previous summer to await his next quarter’s allowance, and he had chosen to pay a long-overdue visit to his uncle at Burnett Lodge, where he had whiled away his enforced rustication by conducting a heady flirtation with the prettiest young lady in the area. That Miss Marchant had fallen head over heels in love with him had not worried the young man at all, and when it was time to return to London he had made his excuses and left Somerset and Eustacia with no regrets, salving the very minute pricking of his conscience with the thought that, although she might shed a few tears for him, she would soon recover and settle down to happily married life as the wife of some country squire.

  But Mr Alleyne was a poor judge of character, and he had not understood the depth of Eustacia’s feelings for him, nor her determination. His excuse for leaving Somerset had been that his father wanted him to marry an heiress, and even now, with Miss Marchant’s gaze turned so trustingly to his own, he could not bring himself to tell her the truth. With an exasperated sigh, he ran a hand through his elegantly pomaded locks.

  ‘Oh, Stacey, you are such an innocent, you don’t understand these things.’

  She gazed up at him lovingly. ‘Don’t fret, my love. Now we are together I am confident we can find a way to persuade your papa. When may I meet him?’

  Mr Alleyne felt the ground being cut away from beneath his feet.

  ‘He — he’s out of town at present.’

  ‘Oh, that is too bad! But it does not matter, we shall just have to be patient. Having travelled all this way, I am not to be daunted by such a little set-back.’

  ‘Yes, and that reminds me, just how did you get to London?’

  ‘Oh, Rupert, it
was such an adventure!’ Eustacia declared, her eyes shining. ‘I told Grandpapa I would be staying with my old governess for a few weeks, then I borrowed a suit of boy’s clothes and set off to catch the mail from Bath.’

  Mr Alleyne regarded her with horror. ‘Alone? Dressed as a boy? Stacey, you did not!’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact I didn’t!’ she retorted, her elation dying in the face of his disapproval. ‘Mrs Lagallan came upon me, and – and persuaded me to travel with her.’

  ‘She would have served you better had she sent you home again!’

  ‘Rupert, how can you say so? How else was I to find you?’

  At that moment, Snuffles chose to take exception to a well-bred poodle walking in the opposite direction. Eustacia gave her attention to the spaniel, pulling him up sharply, and thus did not see Mr Alleyne’s hunted expression. By the time Snuffles had finished uttering his challenge and was again walking quietly beside Eustacia, the young man had gathered his wits.

  ‘Stacey, Miss Marchant! My — my behaviour in Somerset was perhaps a little . . . reprehensible. It would not do for us to conduct ourselves quite so — so freely here in Town.’

  ‘Oh, I am quite aware of that,’ came the sunny reply. ‘I do not expect you to stand up with me for every dance, nor would I want you to live in my pocket—’

  Mr Alleyne frowned. ‘A most unladylike term,’ he muttered repressively, ‘but you are right, and there must be no more meetings such as this. It is not at all the thing!’

  ‘B-but Rupert, I thought you wanted to see me?’

  ‘I do, of course, but I would not have any scandal attached to us — to you.’

  Miss Marchant put her hand on his arm and smiled up mistily at him.

  ‘How very thoughtful you are, Rupert. I do love you!’