And so she bore the visits of her beaux with what patience she could. Fortunately Lady Constance was always there. Louisa at least had someone to talk to. The exquisite, who appeared to be saving his energy for the vital act of shooting his cuffs, rarely managed more than two or three words consecutively. And the pomposity, once engaged in his inevitable monologue, was relatively impervious to anything else.
Fortunately, too, Aunt Julia was often at home during these times and seemed to forget her suspicion of things male in her eagerness to discuss things phrenological. Lady callers also occasionally stayed longer than five minutes and so unwittingly helped Louisa to bear the company of her admirers.
Lady Sefton, to Lady Constance’s infinite satisfaction, called during this week and spent a pleasant half hour with Louisa. And other ladies followed.
All in all, thought Louisa as she rose early on the morning of the planned excursion, she was managing this new life fairly well. She was conscious of a feeling of great happiness as she settled at the writing desk and she did not try to deny that it was due to the pleasing prospect of an evening spent in the company of a certain tall dark lord.
With a slight smile she picked up a fresh pen and turned to Percival and Corinne.
The cold wet rain pelted the lovers as they raced for Percival’s charger. Hurriedly he lifted Corrine and swung into the saddle behind her. “We must hurry, my love,” he cried. “The Count Ombre is not far behind us.”
The sky was dark and gloomy, the moon almost completely hidden by the dark ominous clouds that gathered like malignant vultures to gloat over their travail. A loud crash of thunder made Corrine stifle a scream. And then the strong arm of Percival was wrapped firmly around her waist and she felt the comforting warmth of his body against her back. Her terror at the raging of the malevolent elements, her fear of the diabolical Count Ombre, her anxiety for the future - all were momentarily forgotten within the secure circle of that warm and comforting arm.
Louisa swallowed over the lump in her throat. What would it be like, her traitorous heart asked, to be warm and secure in the circle of Atherton’s arms?
Louisa sighed heavily. She must stop this ridiculous and childish behavior. Perhaps heroes did exist. Perhaps. But that didn’t mean that Louisa would ever belong to one, would ever be a heroine.
Then she realized with a start that she had been in Atherton’s arms when they had waltzed at Almack’s. She closed her eyes in an effort to remember as clearly as possible each precious moment. She had been warm, surely, when Atherton’s arm had encircled her. But security had not been among the conflicting emotions that had raged within her breast. She had felt first excitement at his nearness, terror at the presence of so many onlookers, then a kind of sweet surrender of her will and a joyous explosion of happiness in the rhythm of the music.
Louisa sighed again and opened her eyes. Undoubtedly she would return to Almack’s, but it was certainly unwise to expect that his lordship would wish to waltz with her again. He was, after all, one of the most eligible of the ton, a man about town, a fashionable Corinthian.
Louisa had not been so blind, that night at Almack’s, as not to see the surreptitious glances of speculation which were often sent the Viscount’s way by designing dowager mamas and slyly hopeful young ladies. Atherton was a prime catch and sooner or later he would succumb to the charms of some dazzling social butterfly.
She must, Louisa told herself with firm determination, she absolutely must reconcile herself to this fact. Atherton’s present fancy for the company of the children, and so herself, was the product - as he himself was the first to admit - of his ennui. Surely sooner or later he would also tire of them. This was sane, sensible fact, Louisa told herself, but her heart did not listen. It seemed to be singing a song of its own - a sweet song of happiness. She would leave the future to its own devices and concentrate on the present, she told herself with only slight misgivings.
What was that line she had stumbled upon the other day in the bookseller’s? Something by some engraver named Blake: “Kiss the joy as it flies.” That was how it went. Yes, said Louisa to herself. She would kiss the joy as it flew, enjoy Atherton’s company while she could, and later ... Later, she told herself with a shake of the head that any mother would have instantly labeled obstinate - later she would deal with when it arrived.
It was in this frame of mind that she greeted Atherton at the door that evening. Betsy and Harry, dressed in their best, could barely be kept from jumping up and down in their joy. Louisa, however she might manage to keep herself from similar expressions of excitement, could not hide the sparkle in her eyes nor the flush on her cheeks.
Atherton’s dark eyes gleamed. “I see that everyone is ready.”
“Yes, oh yes,” chorused the children.
His lordship took the shawl from Louisa’s suddenly numb fingers and put it carefully around her shoulders. He took a step backward and eyed the new straw bonnet with green silk ribbon and bows that had been one of her latest purchases. Then he smiled. “The bonnet becomes you,” he said. “You have excellent taste.”
“Thank you,” Louisa flushed. “I must not take credit for its purchase, however. It is Lady Palmerton’s bumps of color and form which are prodigious. Not mine.”
Atherton chuckled as he handed her into the carriage and settled beside her. “Poor Louisa. I sincerely hope that Con-stance is not wearing you completely down. She is a dear soul, but she can be trying.”
“Your sister has been most kind,” Louisa hastened to say. “I have perhaps given her a difficult time in the matter of shopping for new clothes and returning calls. I like to make my own gowns, you see.”
The Viscount touched her hand briefly. “We have discussed the finances before and I will not venture to offer you assistance again at this time. I do not want to spoil our outing. Stick to your guns in the matter of shopping - as I’m sure you can with a bump of stubbornness like yours - and Constance will finally back down. But why do you give her trouble over the matter of returning calls?”
“It takes so much time,” complained Louisa. “And it seems to me ridiculous. I am to ride around in your sister’s carriage, leaving my cards at the homes of ladies who are riding around in their carriages leaving cards at my home. In a whole afternoon of so-called visiting I may well see no one but Lady Palmerton. And the two of us could visit much more comfortably in my drawing room than jouncing about in the dust and heat of the street.”
Atherton laughed at this complaint. “It is obvious you are new to the ton. What should the ladies do if they did not spend their afternoons scurrying around dropping visiting cards like leaves from an autumn oak?”
“They might attend to their households. Why, one lady who was here the other day, suddenly recalled that she had left no instructions for dinner with her cook. ‘Cook will not fix anything until I speak to her,’ laughed the lady. ‘I fear it will be a cold dinner tonight.’“
Atherton smiled. “That sounds like the haphazard ways of several ladies of my acquaintance. But you must not be too hard on them. Ladies, too, are subject to attacks of ennui. Some visit and gossip, and some intrigue, and some are gossiped about. Such is the nature of society.”
Louisa shrugged. “I do not see why people make such an effort to be accepted by the ton. As far as I can tell, most fashionables are dreadfully dull.”
“Precisely so,” said his lordship. “But what would you have us do? Ennui is a contagious disease. And we have all seen so much of each other, of our vices and foibles, that we are desperate for new stimuli. It is for this reason that we pay so much attention to those attempting to enter our ranks. In supporting or condemning them we are given something to do. For the moment at least, our lives take on some meaning.”
Louisa shuddered. “You make your life sound terrible,” said she. “You have everything. Why isn’t that sufficient?”
“No man has everything,” said Atherton with that strange look in his eyes. “A lord may want a woman
- some cannot be gotten by any means, fair or foul. A lord may want a bigger estate or another - and even his means may be insufficient. A lord may want the excitement, the joy of achieving something he has worked hard for. By the very nature of his position he is kept from this enjoyment.”
Louisa sighed. “I am sorry for people whose lives are that empty and meaning-less. Not for anything in this world would I be willing to lead such a life.”
The Viscount surveyed her narrowly. “Women often marry for security.”
“Not this one,” said Louisa hastily. “And I will thank you not to spoil this outing by referring to my matrimonial prospects.”
Atherton nodded. “The exquisite and the pomposity will be left in peace. My word on it.” His hand closed again over hers and lingered there, causing a strange sensation in the vicinity of her heart.
Up on the box by the driver, Harry and Betsy could be heard happily chatting with that worthy and admiring his great coat with its many flaps and pockets. “You have made life much pleasanter for the children,” said Louisa. “It is difficult to know how to thank you.”
“I have done nothing in order to be thanked,” said Atherton.
“I know that,” replied Louisa. “But I still feel compelled to thank you. And I see no way in which I can repay you for such great consideration.”
“There is a way,” replied the Viscount, his dark eyes sparkling in a manner that caused considerable turmoil in Louisa’s heart. “You can discover Lady Incognita’s identity for me.”
For long moments Louisa sat numb. She could hear the words echoing and re-echoing but she could not seem to think at all.
“Do not look so pale,” said Atherton. “One would suppose I had asked you to commit a murder.”
“I ... I am sorry. Really I am. It is just that you took me by surprise. How do you expect me to discover this secret for you?”
“In your visits, at Almack’s, shopping -you will meet many ladies. Perhaps you will discover something suspicious, something that could lead to Lady Incognita.”
Louisa shook her head. “I do not think that is very likely. Why should Lady Incognita reveal to me what she has been hiding from everyone else?”
“You have sharp eyes,” said his lord-ship. “I will put my blunt on you.”
“Please,” begged Louisa. “Make no wagers on me. You will lose.”
Atherton smiled but just as he seemed about to make some comment the children could be heard shouting, “We’re here, Louisa, we’re here!”
With a smile, Atherton descended and helped her from the coach. The May evening was delightfully balmy and Louisa felt again that great rush of happiness. There was no need, she told herself, to worry over the Viscount discovering Lady Incognita. If he suspected her, he would hardly have asked for her help.
As soon as Louisa’s feet touched the ground, Betsy and Harry were there, exclaiming over the beauty of the gardens. “Hush,” said Louisa with a mischievous smile that included the Viscount. “His lordship will think we have never seen anything of the world.”
Harry, on whom this bit of whimsy was lost, answered in bewilderment, “But, Louisa, we haven’t.”
Atherton’s response was a deep chuckle. “Do not worry, boy. We are speedily going to remedy that. You may count on it.”
Louisa, conscious of the erratic beating of her heart, was aware that she had taken this statement as an indication that his lordship had not yet tired of them. Then Atherton was tucking her arm through his and escorting her into the gardens.
“Oh!” squealed Betsy, quite forgetting all of Winky’s lessons in the proper deportment of a lady in public. “Look at the lovely, lovely lanterns!”
Looking, Louisa could only agree. Hundreds of Chinese lanterns lined the paths; orange, yellow, red, green, blue - they cast a soft romantic glow over everything.
The beautiful weather, the lovely sight before her, and the pressure of Atherton’s arm against hers, all combined to give her such a feeling of happiness that she thought she might float right away - like the giant balloon that had escaped its mooring just the other day. But, Louisa thought to herself with a smile, she did not wish to escape her mooring, not when it was the arm of the dark handsome Viscount.
“Where would you like to go first?” asked Atherton.
“I want to see the fireworks,” volunteered Harry happily. “And the cascades.”
“Winky said,” reported Betsy in a tone somewhat less than enthusiastic, “that for our cultural good we simply must see the statue of the great master Handel, the one done by Roubiliac. But I should like most ...” she cast a swift look at Louisa, “to see the Dark Walks.”
Louisa stiffened but Atherton’s free hand patted her arm reassuringly. “We will see what we can manage,” said he. “But I must advise you that the Dark Walks are generally not frequented by ladies of culture.”
“Oh, I know that,” said Betsy, with more confidence now that Louisa had not spoken. “Winky told me specifically that they were a very bad place for young ladies.”
Louisa could be silent no longer. “Then why do you wish to see them?”
“Because Winky said I shouldn’t,” re-plied Betsy with the obvious logic of the adolescent. “She wouldn’t tell me what goes on there. And I am curious. Besides, if they are a dangerous place for young ladies, I might be rescued by a hero.”
“Betsy!” The pressure on Louisa’s arm increased and she managed to put her tongue between her teeth.
“That is a perfectly natural human response,” said his lordship gravely. “I collect that your bump of curiosity is quite large. Nevertheless, I believe we can gratify it.
“Certain young ladies of rather questionable character often disappear into the Dark Walks. Their hope, I presume, is to find a hero, but much more often I am sorry to say they are apt to stumble upon a villain. Heroes, you see, do not often waste their time rescuing young ladies who have knowingly courted disaster. A hero would not expect to find a lady of good character in such a questionable place.”
In the light of the Chinese lanterns, Louisa could see Betsy thoughtfully considering this information. Then she gave the Viscount a big smile. “Thank you, sir. I see that you are right. Finding a hero is perhaps a little more difficult than I had believed.”
Atherton smiled too. “As you once observed, one does not find a hero. He simply happens.”
“That’s right!” cried Betsy. “Just like that day at the ...” She stopped again and Louisa found that she could breathe again. “Nevertheless,” said Betsy with a gamine smile at both of them, “I should like to see the walks, if it is not too dangerous.”
Atherton chuckled. “I believe I can handle any villains that may be lurking in the vicinity.”
“Capital.” cried Betsy. “You know, sir, you really are a trump!”
The Viscount raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I hope I have not lost my status as hero,” said he, giving Louisa a lazy grin.
“Oh no, milord,” replied Betsy. “You will always be a hero to me.”
“Where are the cascades?” asked Harry, obviously bored by all this hero talk. “I want to see the moving figures.”
“Patience, my boy,” counseled the Vis-count, giving Harry a friendly clap on the shoulder. “A gentleman attends first to the ladies’ wants. But do not fear, we won’t miss the cascades.”
Harry, who had looked about to renounce gentlemanly status in favor of fun, took heart at the latter part of this statement. “All right, sir.”
“And what is your preference?” Atherton asked Louisa.
Louisa, finding all eyes on her, could only smile. “I am quite content to be guided by your lordship’s superior knowledge. In this particular matter,” she hastened to add, seeing the dangerous glimmer in Atherton’s eye.
“Then,” said his lordship, “let us go to the orchestra and hear the first act of the grand concert.”
Harry did not appear excessively pleased at this, but at a look from Louisa he followed qu
ietly along. The music, which Louisa found quite lovely, did not appeal to the children, but the building in which the orchestra was housed elicited their breathless admiration.
“Oh, Louisa, it is all golden,” breathed Betsy at her first glimpse.
“It looks like a great big seashell,” said Harry. “All painted over with gilt.”
“And the lamps. Louisa, look at the lamps!”
Louisa looked. “Yes, Betsy. There are certainly a great many.”
“Yes,” said Atherton with a smile. “Four thousand on this particular building.”
“Four thousand!” said Harry.
“So I have read. It is said that there are thirty-seven thousand lamps of various colors illuminating the gardens.”
Harry could not reply to this at all; such numbers obviously staggered his imagination.
Betsy, her eyes glowing, squeezed Louisa’s arm. “It’s like something out of a story, Louisa. A fairy castle or some-thing.”
Louisa nodded. “Yes, Betsy. It is quite beautiful.”
No time now, said Louisa to herself, for reminders about reality. Let Betsy enjoy her dreams while she could. And who was to say? Perhaps, someday Betsy’s hero would arrive, resplendent in all his glory, to claim her love. Louisa sincerely hoped that it would be so.
“This building was built and designed by an ordinary mechanic, a common carpenter who worked in the gardens,” said his lordship. “His name was Maid-man. He also designed and built the rotunda. It is a magnificent building - as you will see later, some seventy feet in diameter, built like a great pavilion. In poor weather the music is performed there.”
The children and Louisa nodded, impressed with his lordship’s store of information.
“Where is the saloon with the pictures of battles?” asked Harry suddenly. “Winky said that should be educational.”
“You just do not want to hear the con-cert,” scoffed Betsy. “You’re not fooling me.”
“Winky did say that,” Harry bristled up at his sister’s accusation. “You can ask her, Louisa.”
“I do not believe that will be necessary,” said Atherton firmly. “Come. If you want to see the pictures by Hayman we will go to the pavilion.”
Lady Incognita Page 14
