By the following morning she was feeling more cheerful, though she determined to avoid the Park for the time being, especially early in the morning. She wanted to cry off when Mary said they must take a drive that afternoon, but forced herself to agree. Sir Thomas had arrived from Yorkshire, the new nurse was installed, and Mary had tucked at least a dozen invitations to balls and soirées and routs in the frame of the drawing room mirror.
'Soon we'll be out every night,' Mary said happily. 'You can meet dozens of young men. What did you think of George Fanshaw?'
'He's a friend of yours.'
'No, I hadn't met him since he was at Eton, but his mother was a great friend of Sarah's.'
'He seemed younger than his years,' Damaris said.
Mary sighed. 'Yes. Young men all seem so callow these days. But what of Ryecot? He is older, and much more sophisticated. Of course, he has seen fighting, and that helps a young man to mature.'
'He – oh, Mary, I don't want to offend you by criticizing all your friends!'
'But?'
'He was arrogant, too confident, too sure of himself, and he thought I was just a little country mouse, and made no attempt to disguise his opinion. And I don't like men who take snuff! He barely spoke to me all through dinner, even though we were seated next to one another at the table.'
'Yes, it did seem that way. There are plenty more eligible men in town, though, even if so many of the younger ones are fighting that monster Napoleon. And your old dress did not help. Just wait until we have your new ones, and I have had your hair cut in a more fashionable style. Then they won't want to ignore you.'
Damaris refrained from contradicting her. Mary has promised her grandfather she would sponsor her for a Season, and she would no doubt be introducing her to all the possible suitors. It wasn't her fault Damaris wanted none of them.
When Netta came to help her dress for the opera they both looked at her evening dresses and the maid sighed.
'They're all very well for Yorkshire, where you hardly ever went out,' Netta said. 'You haven't had a new gown for years apart from your blacks after your grandfather died. Most of these are four years old, made for you when you were sixteen, still a child.'
'At least they still fit me,' Damaris said. 'I'll wear the cream silk, and one of the new shawls will go with it. I think the cream one with the roses. That will cover up most of the deficiencies.'
Mary chatted all the way to Covent Garden, speculating who might be there, and wondering how many people would call on her the following day.
'I left several cards, and it's surprising how many people are in town. News will soon get round. I hope Madame de Courcy can bring one of your new day dresses tomorrow. She promised she would put aside all her other orders and make your gowns first.'
Damaris was enchanted with the theatre. The tiers of boxes were highly decorated, and filling with people dressed in the height of fashion. For the first time she felt ashamed of her own gown, and pulled her shawl tightly round herself to hide it. Perhaps she would enjoy her new dresses after all, and not consider them a necessary nuisance. While she did not wish to attract the attention of potential suitors, neither did she wish to be pointed out for her lack of fashionable gowns, and be stigmatized as a drab country mouse.
The pit was filling, and everyone was talking, it seemed to Damaris. People in the boxes were waving and sometimes shouting to friends.
'The theatre burned down three years ago,' Mary told her. 'They soon rebuilt it, fortunately, or there would only be Drury Lane to go to. I don't care to go to any of the other theatres, their programmes are less interesting.'
Damaris wasn't listening. In the box immediately opposite an elegantly dressed man was levelling a quizzing glass and looking towards them. She hadn't thought she would be able to recognize the man from the Park, she had been too furious to take note of his features, but she now knew she was mistaken. His features were imprinted on her memory, and even without the livid mark on his cheek she would have known him instantly.
*
Luke knew she had recognized him, and lowered the quizzing glass. She had blushed, and turned away to talk to her companions, but he had been able to observe her for some time, refreshing his memory from what he had been able to see in the Park. She was unremarkable in looks, he decided. Her hair was an undistinguished brown, drawn back in two wings either side of her face. Perhaps, with a different style, it might frame her face more attractively. That face was heart-shaped, with a tip-tilted nose and a small, pointed chin which, he was amused to note, had been lifted challengingly when she discovered he was watching her. Her eyes, as Frank had noted, were perhaps her best feature, widely spaced and large, with dark eyelashes framing them. He wished he could determine the colour, but she was too far away, and during their earlier confrontation he had been too preoccupied to note such details.
She was clutching a shawl closely about her, and he could not see her figure. From his brief glimpse of her earlier he thought she was slender, too thin for his liking. He preferred women who would be cozy armfuls. Then he shook his head. He might be going to marry her, but that was nothing to do with the sort of women he enjoyed making love to, like Catherine. Theirs would be a business arrangement, and as soon as she had provided him with an heir he would not need to bed her again. Maybe two heirs, for safety, he amended his thoughts. Children sometimes had a precarious hold on life. And of course, she might produce girls. It could take years before he could abandon her. However, she would not object to him having other interests in between giving him the necessary heirs. Of course he would be discreet, and not embarrass her. And afterwards, if she were so inclined, he would look the other way while she amused herself.
He fingered the mark on his cheek. It was still red, but fortunately had not broken the skin. His explanation about a cat had been accepted by his valet, though Barbara had given him a puzzled look, and told him a cat would have clawed at him in a different way. When he shrugged and smiled at her she had flounced out of the room, remarking that if he wished to keep silly secrets then she had no wish to pry. He had no intention of telling his sister the truth. Barbara had too many friends and was incapable of keeping secrets.
Should he go round to their box in the interval? Did she know yet who he was? He had still not decided when the curtain rose, and in the first interval he was kept in his own box by friends who came to talk to his sister and Alex, her husband, who had returned that day from a duty visit to an elderly cousin.
By the second interval he had decided not to visit her box, but he excused himself and departed from the theatre. That would keep Miss Damaris Hallem wondering about his intentions. She would almost certainly know who he was by now, but not know what he meant to do, whether he would retaliate for the blow, or attempt to ruin her reputation by spreading the story around the town. He could do that, he was well aware, but not to his intended bride. However, she did not know that was to be her fate.
He would call on Lady Gordon tomorrow, and see the lady, without referring to their previous meeting. That would further confuse her.
*
When Damaris looked across at his box and saw he was not there she began to shiver. Was he on his way to see her, perhaps to upbraid her for her assault on him? Mary and Sir Thomas would soon know how she had behaved, and be disgusted with her. Then she sat up straight and squared her shoulders. It had been just as much his fault as hers. He should have seen she was in control of Bonny, just allowing her to run away from what frightened her. He could have caused a bad accident. However confused her thoughts, she was sure she did not wish to meet him.
'Who – who is that, the lady in the pale green dress in the box opposite?' she asked Mary in a low voice.
'Why, have you met her?'
Damaris cursed inwardly. She ought not to have spoken. Now Mary would ask questions. She couldn't think of any response, and blurted out the truth.
'No, no, but there was a man in her box, he kept looking across here.'
'You sly thing, you have an admirer already!'
'Nothing of the sort, but I thought I saw her at – at the modiste's,' Damaris lied. She would try to keep her secret for as long as possible, but she was afraid the man would appear before she had some information about him. Then he could put her to shame, but if she knew who he was, she thought she could face him with greater equanimity. 'Who is she?'
'It's Lady Cobham. And the man with her is her husband, Sir Alex. It wasn't he looking at you, was it?'
'No, someone else, who's left now.'
'I didn't see, I'm afraid. But I'll be seeing Barbara soon, I'll ask her who he was.'
'Oh, it doesn't matter,' Damaris said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Surely, she was thinking, if the wretched man meant to come to the box he should be here by now?
The next act started and she breathed a sigh of relief. He must have left the theatre, for he did not return to his box. Perhaps he had no more wish to speak to her than she had to him. After all, he must hold her in disgust. And if her reputation was ruined, she thought suddenly, for the first time seeing some shred of hope to set against her disgust with herself, she could return to Yorkshire, and need never set foot in London again.
*
Mary received several callers the following day. The sprigged muslin Damaris had ordered had been delivered that morning. As the material was already patterned, Madame had written in a note which accompanied it, it needed no further decoration. Damaris put it on and agreed with Netta that it made her look eighteen instead of sixteen. As it was still cold she wrapped a green and white Paisley patterned shawl about her shoulders before she went down to the drawing room, where Mary was awaiting her morning callers.
There were several of these, mostly Mary's friends, and even two clergymen and their wives. Mary's father had been Rector at Frayne, before becoming a bishop, and these two belonged to his Cathedral but were in London on business.
'We promised to come and see how you and the darling little children were,' one of the wives said. 'May we see them, so that we can tell your dear papa how they have grown?'
'We are going to stay with him in July. Damaris, will you take Mrs Cowper to the nursery?' Mary asked.
Damaris did so, and waited while Mrs Cowper petted the children, insisting on holding Tommy on her lap despite his wriggles. Only when he began to bawl in frustration did she release him. She cast a disapproving glance at Nurse Barton, and before they were out of the room remarked that she hoped the child would have been taught some manners by the time he went to stay at the dear Bishop's Palace.
'There are not many children in the Cathedral Close,' she said as they went back down to the drawing room. 'Those of our Chapter who are married and have children are older, their children are all out in the world.'
'It's perhaps as well,' Damaris replied, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry. 'It would not do to have young children running about the Close, disturbing everyone's devotions.'
'Indeed not, my dear.'
'Suffer little children,' Damaris said under her breath.
'What was that, dear? You must speak up, you know, or people will think you are not properly trained for mixing in Society.'
'Like a dog who misbehaves on the carpet?' Damaris asked. 'I said we should perhaps muffle the children. When they go to stay with the Bishop.'
Mrs Cowper looked at her and frowned.
'What a peculiar thing to say, child.'
'I often say peculiar things. It comes from living in Yorkshire, which is very backward, you know. Here we are, back in the drawing room. May I get you a cup of tea?'
'No. No, thank you. I think we must be going. I will just say my farewells to dear Mary. Such a saint, she is.'
'To put up with me, you mean,' Damaris said softly, remaining just inside the doorway. 'Will you canonise her?'
'I don't think the lady has that power,' a voice behind her said quietly.
Damaris swung round, startled.
'I didn't know anyone was – '
For a moment she wondered whether she was about to swoon for the first time in her life.
'It's you!'
'It is indeed. Greetings, Miss Hallem. Are you still having arguments with innocent people?'
***
Chapter 3
Damaris took a deep breath, and found she could not take her gaze from the mark on his cheek. Somewhere her brain registered how exceedingly handsome he was, his dark hair, not exactly curly, but with a gentle wave. His eyes, deep set, were so dark as to be almost black, and his lips, smiling at her mockingly, sent a shiver through her entire body.
'Sir, I – I must apologize for – for my behaviour, the other morning. I hope I didn't hurt you too much. It looks painful.'
'Let us do this in private,' he murmured, taking her hand and pulling her out onto the landing.
She went, trying not to let her agitation show, unable to stop, though she knew she was trembling. From the shock of seeing him, she told herself, while staring at his classical profile.
He drew her towards the back of the landing, beneath the curve of the stairs to the next floor, where a tall window looked over the gardens. A sopha was beneath it, and he pushed her to sit down, and sat beside her, turned sideways to look at her. He still held her hand, but she was too preoccupied to notice.
'I – was angry, and afraid you could have startled Bonny even more,' she managed, feeling the need to explain. 'I had her under control, but she is terrified of dogs, and needed to run away. I feared you might cause an accident. I am so sorry. I should not have abused you so.'
'I was too afraid you might be injured, all I could think of was to stop the mare. I must apologize also.'
He was stroking the mark on his cheek, and Damaris felt another flood of shame as she recalled the blow she had given him.
'Does it hurt?' she asked, and without thought reached out her free hand towards his cheek.
He promptly took it in his own and laid her palm against the red mark.
'It improves daily. I shall not be hideously scarred, to frighten away shy damsels.'
Damaris suddenly realized he was holding both her hands, and one of them was resting against his cheek. Anyone who came up the stairs or out of the drawing room would see them and draw totally erroneous conclusions. Mrs Cowper had not yet departed, but was on the verge of doing so. She tugged her hands free.
'Sir! I – thank you for understanding.'
'I understand, and now we have made our mutual apologies, will you tell me how you come to know those words you used? They are not in the vocabulary of most debutantes, I think.'
Damaris felt her cheeks grow warm. He was laughing at her, and all she could think about was his white, even teeth and smooth, full lips.
'I – I'm sorry,' she said again. 'I heard my grandfather's grooms use them, and in the stress of the moment they were all I could think of. I – I feel so ashamed.'
'Then I trust you will not feel stressed when in genteel company.'
In one way it was a relief that he was not angry, but at the same time she was growing furious at his mockery, able to see his handsome looks for what they were, a mere accident of birth, which no doubt he used shamelessly to beguile innocent females. She promised herself she would not become one of his victims.
'I do not use such words in genteel, or even polite company!'
'Then I must convince you I am such, since you appear to disagree. To prove your good intentions, I will take you driving tomorrow. I will call for you at four. Goodbye.'
He was gone before she could respond. He was tall and slim, she noted, but strong and athletic as he ran down the stairs two at a time. She shook herself angrily. A man's physical endowments, and accomplished address, ought not to influence foolish girls into believing he was in all other ways admirable. The manner in which he had taken her hands, without her leave, and commanded, not requested her to drive with him, ought to have made her disgusted with him, but someh
ow had not. Was it solely because of the shame she felt about her words and actions in the Park?
She thought she could hear him whistling, but then her attention was taken by Mrs Cowper and her friends emerging from the drawing room. How fortunate they had not been a minute earlier.
'My dear, are you feeling ill?' Mrs Cowper asked, coming towards her. 'I'll call Mary.'
Damaris forced herself to rise to her feet, knowing her cheeks were red with embarrassment.
'No, Ma'am, please don't disturb her. I was feeling just a trifle hot. I am better now,' she added, fanning herself, and hoping her legs would support her as she moved towards the drawing room.
Mrs Cowper looked doubtful, but her husband reminded her rather testily that they had another appointment, and Damaris thankfully watched them leave. Then, picking up her skirts, she ran up to her bedroom. She had too many things to think about to be able to make sensible conversation to Mary's callers.
*
After a restless night Damaris considered being elsewhere when the man – she did not even know who he was – came to fetch her that afternoon. Then she decided she was being foolish. They had both apologized, and he seemed to bear no malice. He was incredibly handsome, and had an excellent figure. She could not stop thinking about him, remembering all the details. The way he had sat on the sopha had given her an enviable view of his muscular thighs and shapely calves. His hands had been firm and warm, but not soft like those of that Fanshaw boy. He was tall, and his shoulders were broad. His eyes, so dark, had fascinating laughter lines at the corners. His hair was dark too, with a slight wave, and one lock had fallen over his brow. She had only restrained herself from pushing it back because he held both of her hands in his. His nose looked as though at one time it had been broken, but that, she thought dreamily, did not at all detract from the otherwise perfect features. His chin had a slight cleft, but was firm, and his lips were full and his teeth white and straight.
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