‘Miss Bainbridge? You appear to be in some difficulty, ma’am. Allow me to assist.’
He had placed one hand under her elbow and helped her to her feet before Amy could refuse. She blushed, stepped back from him and bumped herself on the cart, smoothed her dress down and found that she had managed to spread the soil from the potatoes on to her skirts. She saw Joss Tallant’s gaze sweep over her, saw him smile and felt her blush get hotter.
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘Have you injured yourself, Miss Bainbridge? I noticed that you winced a little when you stood up.’
Amy took a tentative step and tried not to wince again. ‘No, I thank you. I am very well.’ She bent to retrieve the basket and slipped the potatoes back inside it, hoping he had not noticed.
‘May I escort you somewhere?’ Joss Tallant enquired. ‘Back to Curzon Street, perhaps?’ He was leaning against the side of the cart now and showed no sign of leaving her.
‘Oh, no, thank you!’ Amy was horrified at the thought. Could the man not simply take himself off? Surely the last thing he would want to do was play the gallant for her. ‘I am happy to walk and I am sure that you have other things to do.’
Against her will, her gaze drifted to the bland front door from which he had just emerged. She had no wish to dwell on what his other activities might be, but she found it strangely difficult to drag her mind—and her gaze—away. Despite herself, her inflamed imagination presented her with all sorts of images…And then she met Joss Tallant’s gaze and realised that he had read her thoughts most accurately. He raised his eyebrows, a speculative look in his eyes.
Amy discovered that she could not blush any harder. Her whole body was already one burning mass. She looked hastily down at the cobbles, where an apple still lay against the kerb.
‘I assure you,’ Joss Tallant said, the twinkle still in his eye, ‘that I am not engaged until later in the day, Miss Bainbridge. However if you do not wish to accept my escort, perhaps I could procure you a hack?’
‘No, thank you,’ Amy said again, very quickly. She could not afford to pay for a cab and did not wish to assume that he would do so for her. She grasped her basket tightly. ‘I shall walk. Good day, sir.’
‘Then you must permit me to walk with you in case you require any assistance,’ Joss said, falling into step beside her, ‘and please allow me to carry your basket. So many apples and potatoes—I hope they were not damaged?’
‘It is quite unnecessary for you to accompany me,’ Amy said, holding on to the basket as he took hold of the handle. ‘Thank you for your consideration,’ she added ungraciously, fearing she might sound too abrupt, ‘but I have no need of your help.’
She tugged on the basket; Joss did not let go. She tugged again. He tightened his grip.
‘Are we to play tug of war in the street, Miss Bainbridge?’
‘This is ridiculous!’ Amy let go of the basket and glared at him. ‘You cannot possibly walk through the streets of London carrying a marketing basket, my lord—’
‘I assure you, my reputation would suffer more were I to permit a lady to carry her own shopping. That would be most ungallant in me.’
‘You are absurd!’ Amy cast him a furious sideways look. ‘You have no need to put yourself to all this trouble! Indeed, I would that you did not!’
Joss merely shrugged, placed the basket over one arm and offered Amy the other, which she pointedly ignored. In this manner they made their way down Shaftesbury Avenue—mainly in silence, since Amy did not offer any remarks of her own and answered Joss’s comments on the weather as shortly as possible. After a couple of awkward minutes she turned her head to look at him and saw that he was watching her with quizzical amusement. She turned her face sharply away.
Inside she was seething. The persistence of the man in the face of her obvious reluctance for his company was bad enough; she could not believe that he was really so obtuse not to realise that she wanted rid of him. Then to make her a laughing stock by insisting on carrying the basket as though he were a footman…She could see people staring and pointing and she wished she had accepted the offer of the hackney carriage.
‘You are looking as though you wish me in Hades, Miss Bainbridge.’
Joss’s words interrupted Amy’s furious thoughts and she swallowed hard.
‘It is simply that I do not understand your insistence on accompanying me, sir.’ Amy forced herself to be civil. ‘It is very good of you but quite unnecessary—’
‘And quite unappreciated?’
‘I do not appreciate having company forced upon me,’ Amy agreed coldly.
‘I see.’ Joss seemed amused. ‘Would that be my company in particular, Miss Bainbridge?’
Amy struggled with her annoyance. ‘I am flattered by your notice, my lord—’
‘I doubt that. You disapprove of me, do you not, Miss Bainbridge?’
Amy looked at him, startled. It was true, but she had not realised that she had made it so obvious. She felt a little ashamed that she had allowed her dislike to show. It was not that she cared whether or not she hurt his feelings, for surely such a hardened rakehell had none, but more that she knew it was bad manners.
‘Well, I…’ She met his sardonic gaze and raised her chin unconsciously. ‘Yes, of course I disapprove of you.’
‘It is obligatory for young ladies to do so,’ Joss murmured. ‘What are your reasons, Miss Bainbridge?’
‘As you ask, my lord…’ Amy took a deep breath. ‘I do not approve of gaming and I deplore those who lead the young and impressionable astray.’
Joss gave a crack of laughter. ‘Good God, surely you do not consider your brother young and impressionable? He could teach most hardened gamblers a thing or two!’
Amy set her jaw. ‘Your attitude merely confirms my opinion, my lord. It is all very well for gentlemen such as yourself and the Duke of Fleet, who have the substance to support their obsession, to throw their fortune away as they please! It is another matter for you to encourage those who do not have the means to support their gambling!’
‘Nobody forces your brother to gamble,’ Joss said pleasantly. ‘If he does not have the means to support the habit he should not play for such high stakes.’
Amy felt a rush of dislike for him that almost overwhelmed her. ‘I might have known that you would not understand! Or that you would deliberately choose to be obtuse—’
‘My dear Miss Bainbridge,’ Joss drawled, ‘I understand perfectly. You are the one who does not understand. The truth is that if Fleet and I were not taking your brother’s money you may be sure that he would be giving it to someone else. The gambling is his problem, not ours.’
Amy’s fury was swelling inside her like a vast balloon. Her blue eyes flashed fire. ‘You take advantage of his weakness, sir.’
Joss shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He shot her a look and she was infuriated to see that he was still smiling. ‘Your brother was doubly unlucky, was he not, Miss Bainbridge? For all his charm, it seems that you possess the strength of character that he lacks.’
Amy looked away. She was not about to agree with his criticisms of her brother, no matter how near the mark they were.
‘We shall just have to agree to differ, my lord,’ she said tightly, ‘and perhaps we should refrain from further conversation until we reach Curzon Street.’
Joss raised his brows. ‘Must we, Miss Bainbridge? We are only in Piccadilly and I always find that time passes so much more quickly when one keeps occupied! Perhaps we could talk of something innocuous, however, so that I need not incur your wrath any further.’
Amy was silent. She was not being deliberately stubborn but she was feeling so irritated that she could not think of a single inoffensive topic. After a second, Joss laughed. ‘Oh, dear, is it that bad, Miss Bainbridge? And we have already discussed the weather…’
Amy looked at him. He was smiling at her and there was a warmth in his eyes that made her feel uncomfortable in an entirely different way. It was very confus
ing. She disliked him intensely, particularly for his callous dismissal of her plea about Richard, and yet she was aware of a thaw setting in around the edges of her mind. She deliberately froze it up again.
‘We could raise the subject of the weather again,’ she said coldly. ‘After all, it is very sunny at the moment.’
Joss inclined his head. ‘That is true. Though I do believe that if this heat continues we shall have a thunderstorm. Do you dislike thunderstorms, Miss Bainbridge?’
‘Yes indeed, I dislike them intensely.’ Amy looked around. ‘I find the cold preferable to the heat. Too much sun can be very oppressive.’
‘Yet too much snow can be most inconvenient.’
‘I suppose so.’ Amy stopped. ‘Oh, look, we are almost at Curzon Street already.’
‘How fortuitous. Though I do believe that the weather would have sustained us for several minutes more.’ Joss put the basket down by the railings as they reached Number 3.
Amy hesitated. She did not wish to invite him in but civility demanded it. ‘Would you care for any refreshment, my lord, following your exertions with that basket?’
Joss smiled. He took her hand. ‘No, thank you. I have remembered one of those pressing engagements that you mentioned earlier, so I fear I must go. Thank you for your company, Miss Bainbridge. I hope that you will soon be better—I noticed that you were limping a little.’
‘Oh…’ Amy blushed self-consciously. ‘It is nothing, my lord.’ She tried to retrieve her hand. Joss appeared not to notice.
‘I did think of carrying you,’ he continued, ‘but given the fuss that you made over the basket I felt it would be inadvisable.’
‘Very wise, my lord,’ Amy said crossly, ‘though I must thank you for your assistance, I suppose. Good day.’
Joss let her go at last and raised a casual hand in farewell. ‘Goodbye, Miss Bainbridge. I am sure we shall meet again soon.’
Amy paused, one hand on the door. ‘I doubt it, my lord.’
Joss grinned. ‘You may depend upon it, Miss Bainbridge. You might even bet on it—if you were the gambling kind! It is inevitable when you are trying to avoid someone!’
He turned away and Amy watched, a little bemused, as he disappeared around the corner of Clarges Street. She hoped that he was wrong about them meeting again, although there was some truth in the fact that one often bumped into the very person one was trying to avoid, as though some kind of perverse fate was at play. She shrugged a little uncomfortably. There was something about the Earl of Tallant that she found entirely disconcerting and it would be better to forget all about him. They had nothing in common, not the least little thing.
Amy retrieved her basket and went into the cool of the hall. The parlour door was ajar.
‘Is that you, Amy?’ Lady Bainbridge called. ‘Oh, dear, I have just partaken of luncheon and there was not sufficient for two. I was so hoping that you would not be back until later!’
‘That is all right, Mama,’ Amy said, stifling a sigh. She selected one of the bruised apples from the top of the basket. ‘I will have this for my luncheon with some cheese and make the rest of the apples into a stew that will do us for the rest of the week.’ She bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘Is all well with you?’
‘Yes, my dear,’ Lady Bainbridge said, settling back in her chair. ‘I have had a very pleasant morning. Lady Vestey stayed for far longer than she ought, though. I was hard pressed not to serve up another pot of tea.’ She bent a look of enquiry on her daughter. ‘Were you speaking with someone just now, my love? I thought that I heard a gentleman’s voice.’
‘No, Mama,’ Amy said, avoiding Lady Bainbridge’s eye. ‘There was no one. No one at all.’
Lady Bainbridge slumped back in her chair. ‘A pity. For I have not quite given up hope for you, you know, Amy. I am sure that there is a pleasant gentleman somewhere who wishes for a conformable wife. An older gentleman, perhaps, or a widower looking for a mother for his children…’
‘It sounds a delightful prospect, Mama,’ Amy said, reflecting how different from these imaginings was the Earl of Tallant. ‘However, I fear I know no widowers or older gentlemen looking for a suitable wife. And I have no dowry, nor even my looks to recommend me…’
Lady Bainbridge patted her cheek. ‘No, but you are a dear, sweet girl, Amy! We shall not look too high for you, though.’
‘Any gentleman will need to look high,’ Amy said with a smile, ‘to see the shelf that I am on, Mama! Now, if you will excuse me, I shall eat my apple and cheese, and then I have some visits to make.’
‘To the poor, I suppose!’ Lady Bainbridge waved a languid hand. ‘You are so good, Amy! That former landlady of ours, Mrs Wendover…You will persist in keeping in touch with her although you should not feel obliged, you know!’
‘No, Mama,’ Amy said, selecting the most battered-looking apple from her basket and biting into it, ‘but at least I get a good piece of fruitcake when I am visiting in Whitechapel!’
Lady Bainbridge’s eyes brightened. ‘Then slip a piece into your bag for me, my love! You know I love a good fruitcake!’
Chapter Three
‘I’m sure that Patience has beaten these rugs too hard,’ Lady Bainbridge said that evening, peering at the carpet in the dining room by the light of one dim candle. ‘The pattern is quite faded, you know. One can ruin a carpet with too much beating.’
‘I imagine that the rugs are faded because they are old, Mama, not for any other reason,’ Amy said. She pushed her apple stew listlessly about the bowl. Dinner had been as lacklustre as ever, but that was not the reason for her blue devils. She had been feeling restless ever since she had returned home from visiting Mrs Wendover and she was at a loss to explain why. The evening stretched ahead of her in the same pattern as every other evening for the previous two years; a book or sewing, a cup of hot milk if there was enough left and it had not curdled, and an early bed. For two years she had been quite satisfied with this routine, but tonight she felt as though she would explode.
A door slammed and Richard’s voice echoed down the corridor, then he breezed into the room with his customary flamboyance. Lady Bainbridge, who had been drooping over her bowl, brightened immediately.
‘Richard, darling! Do you go to Lady Aston’s ball tonight? Oh, you look so elegant!’
A dart of envy, as painful as it was unexpected, pierced Amy. She blinked a little. Ever since the disaster of her come-out she had sworn that she never wished to set foot in a fashionable ballroom again and, until tonight, she had never felt remotely like changing her mind. It seemed extraordinary that she could envy Richard the pleasure, yet now she was jealous. Amy examined her feelings carefully. Yes, she was envious of her brother’s good looks, his elegant appearance and, more than anything, his invitation to Lady Aston’s ball.
She looked at him. Tall, golden and good-looking in his evening dress, he reminded her so forcibly of their father that for a second her throat ached. Lady Bainbridge was still cooing over him and Amy told herself fairly that it was not surprising. If she saw George Bainbridge in Richard, how much more poignant must it be for their mother.
‘Be sure to dance with Miss Loring,’ Lady Bainbridge was saying. ‘They say that she has fifty thousand pounds—’
‘I do not suppose that Richard will see much of the ballroom, Mama,’ Amy said. ‘Surely it is the card room that will have his attention!’
Both Lady Bainbridge and Richard stopped talking and looked at her and Amy realised that the words had come out in a decidedly waspish tone. Fortunately Richard was so easy going that he never took offence. He gave her a speculative grin.
‘You sound as though you’re jealous, Amy! I thought you scorned the amusements of the ton!’
Amy pressed her napkin to her lips, then threw it down beside the rejected bowl of apples. ‘I am sorry, Richard. I feel blue-devilled tonight! I am sure it will pass.’
‘With a bit of judicious sewing, or perhaps a passage or two from an improving book?
’ Richard had never made a secret of the fact that his own interests and those of his sister were decidedly divergent. ‘You would do better to come out with me! Play a hand of whist, dance the waltz!’
Lady Bainbridge started to object. ‘Oh, not the waltz, Richard! It is a positively dangerous dance! And Amy cannot go without a chaperon, and certainly not to Lady Aston’s. The place is a hotbed of immoral activity!’
‘I hope so,’ Richard said, grinning.
‘Of which the most immoral is whist,’ Amy said. ‘That is even more dangerous than waltzing for it can be prodigiously expensive!’
Richard leant on the back of a chair and viewed his sister with his very blue eyes. ‘I tell you what, Amy, you’ve been eating too much fruit. It gives one a sour disposition!’
Amy threw her napkin at him. Richard ducked. The chair creaked as he leant his weight against it.
‘Children, children!’ Lady Bainbridge expostulated. ‘Richard, do not break that chair, we cannot afford to replace it!’
‘Your pardon, Mama.’ Richard retrieved the napkin and sat down. He turned back to Amy. ‘Now here’s the thing, Amy! I’ll escort you to Lady Moon’s ball next week—and you cannot say fairer than that, for it is the slowest thing to escort one’s own sister—but only if you agree to play a hand of whist! You are for ever complaining about my gambling! Now it is time for you to understand what it is you are complaining about!’
‘Lady Moon’s ball,’ Lady Bainbridge said thoughtfully. ‘I am not perfectly sure that we may attend, Richard, for we cannot afford any new clothes—’
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