An Innocent Proposal

by Helen Dickson

  “Am I early or late, Lord Dunstan?” Louisa asked, finding the house strangely quiet after the laughter and frivolity of her previous visit. She tried not to let apprehension mark her features, with those disturbing eyes of his levelled on hers—eyes that were difficult to meet, their expression unforgettable. “I was not certain what time I should come.”

  “As long as you are here the time hardly matters,” he said, his voice deep, the warm, intimate look in his eyes vibrant and alarmingly alive.

  “Did you think I might not?” she asked innocently, the full import of the risk she was taking by coming here making her quake inside, thinking that he was looking at her in a way that was already much too personal, too possessive.

  “Oh, I knew you would,” he replied assuredly as he put his hands on her shoulders and, lowering his head, kissed her mouth, his lips soft against hers.

  The kiss was so unexpected that it took Louisa completely unawares and all she could do was catch her breath quickly and stare at him. He stepped back, watching her with a kind of lazy amusement.

  “How lovely you look,” he commented, his eyes travelling over her in open admiration. “And where is Mr Fraser? I hope he is not likely to come hammering on my door to drag you away.”

  “No—he won’t do that. He—he is away—staying at Mr Hacket’s home in Oxfordshire for the weekend.”

  “I see. How very convenient. Would you care for some refreshment—some wine, perhaps?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her inside a small drawing room just off the hall.

  For a moment, as their fingers touched, Louisa felt as if the warm grasp of his hand reassured and strengthened her, but what she had not expected was the sudden leap of her heart or the upsurge of eagerness that brought a sparkle to her eyes which had been absent before. She glanced up at him and saw that he was smiling at her, reading her thoughts.

  “I’m not hungry—and, no, I would not like a glass of wine. Though some tea would be welcome,” she said, neither hungry nor thirsty, but thinking it would help pass the time.

  “Of course. Tea it is. And please try to relax. You really have nothing to worry about.”

  Louisa insisted on pouring the tea herself, finding that keeping her hands busy helped cover her confusion beneath his disquieting gaze. She handed him a cup ceremoniously and they sat quietly together while they sipped their tea, until the brightness of the late afternoon outside drew them onto the terrace, where they sat looking out over the beautiful walled garden, the everyday sounds of London only just heard from beyond.

  Louisa glanced towards Alistair and saw him sitting perfectly still, watching her intently, and she felt as if in some extraordinary way time stood still. Something in his expression held her attention and she experienced a strange feeling in her innermost self that something was happening which was almost beyond her control. It was urgent and primitive, and in that moment she found it impossible to be afraid of him or even to fear what he might do. It seemed to her that in the confines of the beautiful garden, where the sun was sinking in a crimson blaze in a sky the colour of indigo, they were alone in a world that had no substance or reality.

  “Have you known Mr Fraser long?” Alistair asked at length, his voice pulling Louisa from the strange spell that had seemed to enclose them.

  “Some considerable time,” she replied softly. “And you?”

  “I confess we are not well acquainted. In fact I know very little about his background. He is from Surrey, I believe, with a modest estate.”

  “That is correct. His parents’ death several years ago left him impoverished, and the only way poor James could raise some money was to resort to gaming—which, as you well know,” she said truthfully, with a reluctant smile flickering round the corners of her mouth, trying to sound light-hearted while her heart ached for her brother, “he does not do at all well. Unfortunately it has become a compulsion. Not all who gamble are blessed with your genius, Lord Dunstan.”

  “I am not invincible. I don’t always win.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you do. But then, you can afford to lose, whereas four thousand guineas is astronomical to James.”

  “Then all the more important that it is returned to him. But there are other kinds of gambling,” he said quietly.

  “Oh? Such as?”

  “Right now I am gambling on you. Are you worth four thousand guineas for one night of love?”

  Louisa met his gaze. “I’m afraid that is something I cannot answer, Lord Dunstan. Only you can decide that.”

  “Then I shall let you know tomorrow,” Alistair said, rising. Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet. “Come, let me show you the garden before the light fades. And my name is Alistair. If we are to spend the night together I find it absurd that I have to go on calling you Miss Divine. I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you? Your name is Louisa, is that not so?”

  There was a caressing note in his voice and Louisa’s face scorched crimson at his reference to the night to come, realising that not for one moment would he allow her to lose sight of what would come later—what he expected of her. “Yes,” she replied, glad of the opportunity to change the subject. She didn’t want to talk about James.

  Walking beside Alistair, Louisa was becoming increasingly aware of him. There was a slow, sensuous laziness to his movements that was contradicted by the dangerously hard lines of his handsome face and the flashing blueness of his eyes, which, no matter how covertly she looked at him, seemed always to be studying her. He was like a beautiful large cat, poised and ready to pounce. She was rapt by his sheer animal magnetism. It made her feel uneasy, yet strangely excited and vulnerable.

  “You spend some considerable time at Westminster, I believe?” said Louisa.

  “Yes—more than usual with the war against France dominating every debate. It is the main reason why I keep this house on. I would much rather spend my time at Huntswood—my home in Sussex—but it is important that I take my seat in the Lords, especially at this time.”

  “Tell me about Lady Bricknell?” Louisa asked. “I have never met anyone quite like her.”

  “And you are not likely to again. She is a remarkable woman. Despite her appearance and the fact that she is indubitably a hedonist, being a lover of pleasure in all its aspects and dimensions, she will not enjoy them if there is not some spark of intelligence or spirit to intrigue her—which is why writers such as Johnson and Garrick and painters like Gainsborough and Reynolds are numbered among her wide circle of friends.”

  “And in that are you two of a kind?”

  Alistair smiled, his blue eyes alight with irony. “I suppose you could say that.”

  “And have you been acquainted long?”

  “Yes. There is a camaraderie between us that springs from long acquaintance. We first became acquainted through her late husband, who was a very close friend of mine, and more so when I was at a time in my life when I needed a friend,” he said softly, a distant look entering his eyes as his memory took him back to a time Louisa knew nothing about. “She is always fun to be with,” he went on quickly, “pleasure-loving, confident, spirited—and with a tolerance for understanding and compassion when dealing with others.”

  “She certainly seems to be a popular figure,” Louisa remarked.

  “She is indeed. I think you will find that the reason people love her is because she’s so irreverent and brutally honest.”

  “And, I shouldn’t wonder, because she throws the most exotic parties.” Louisa smiled impishly.

  “That, too,” Alistair grinned.

  The ease with which Alistair talked, and his manner, relieved Louisa from restraint and she began to relax, her nervousness and apprehension forgotten as they strolled along the paths. A short while in his company was already beginning to have an effect on her, making her feel that they had known each other a long time. He had a subtle way of drawing her out of herself, encouraging her to talk, and as the evening progressed and unfolded they became ex
cited by each other’s company, by their experience of coming together.

  They discussed topics of interest to them both—politics, art, books and their creators—which Louisa soon realised were a major force in his life. He was the most open-minded man she had ever met, making her see books and paintings she thought she knew in a completely different light.

  “You are extremely knowledgeable on these matters,” Louisa commented when they were seated opposite each other at a table impeccably set for two in the dining room, the atmosphere warm and intimate.

  Alistair smiled as the servant set the delicious food before them, before discreetly leaving them alone.

  “Initiated by the Grand Tour of Europe my father insisted I experience when I was a young man,” he explained. “He considered it an important, if not an essential part of my education when I left Oxford, lecturing me at length before I left about how I had to spend my time mastering foreign languages and gaining knowledge in the customs and cultures of our continental neighbours, rather than enjoying myself in idleness, as so often happens.” He smiled. “For myself, I would much rather have remained at home in Sussex learning how to run the estate.”

  “But your travels around Europe must have broadened your mind and developed and influenced your taste for foreign culture?”

  “Yes, they did, but as it turned out my father died when I was in Germany, and I had to return home early and get on with the everyday running of the house and the estate. Having the farming and forestry to see to, and other ancillary work, as well as three villages to oversee, proved to be a colossal task.”

  “And yet you still manage to spend a considerable amount of your time in London, otherwise—as you say—you would not have need of this very fine house,” Louisa commented.

  “Westminster does take up a considerable amount of my time—and I do have several other business commitments that cannot be attended to in Sussex. However, I do have two extremely capable bailiffs and agents to take care of the estate when I’m absent.”

  The meal went quickly as Louisa asked him about the countries he had visited, fascinated by the ease of their conversation and the strangeness of having it. He talked with relish and held her rapt with sparkling tales of his travels so that she could almost smell the scented breezes of the Mediterranean. She listened in fascination to stories of his adventures and experiences in France and the states of Italy, marvelling when he told her of the splendour and treasures of Florence and Rome, and trying to imagine the beauty of the Swiss mountains and German states, of the individuality of the many people he had met. She drank in his words, glowing with wonder and a little light-headed from the few sips of unaccustomed wine she allowed herself to drink.

  His tastes were many and varied and he was extremely knowledgeable about most things, answering her questions and listening to her comments with interest, speaking to her as an equal and enjoying the debate when her opinion differed from his own, laughing when the discussion was in danger of becoming heated.

  “I am truly amazed at the people you know,” Louisa sighed enviously, “from peers of the realm to poets, artists and writers, members of an avant-garde, people who explore the territory I find so interesting. I am beginning to see them and their society in a new way that distinguishes what they do from my own endeavours. You live an interesting life, Alistair.”

  “I try my best,” he murmured, a smile moving across his lean features. “You must feel free to borrow as many books as you like from my library. I have a considerable range for you to choose from—although it is not as extensive as the library at Huntswood. But I am sure there will be something to suit your taste.”

  “Thank you. You are very kind. But I must decline your generous offer.”

  “Might I ask why?” His eyes were gently enquiring.

  “Because after tomorrow we shall never see each other again.”

  “And you are sure of that, are you?”

  “Yes. Quite sure.”

  Alistair’s face became set in lines which were quite unreadable, but his blue eyes danced as much as to say he didn’t believe her for one moment. However, he did not pursue the subject.

  After the meal they drifted back into the drawing room, sitting across from each other on either side of the fireplace. A fire glowed in the hearth, the evening having turned cool, and the soft glow of candlelight cast a little pool of intimacy around them.

  “You are fortunate in being born male,” said Louisa, continuing the conversation, putting his offer to borrow books from his library and her blunt refusal from her mind. “With no questions asked you are able to travel, to meet people of different races—generally to do as you please. It seems monstrously unfair to me that the same privileges cannot be accorded to both sexes.”

  “I have to agree, that does appear to be the way of things—and, as you say, it is grossly unfair. And what is your definition of a woman’s role in life, Louisa?” Alistair asked with a lazy smile.

  “Oh, to marry and have children,” she said in a matter-of-fact way. “To take care of the home and live her life in unwholesome, repressed domesticity—and to be a modest, silent, obedient helpmate to her husband.”

  Alistair threw back his head and laughed aloud, and Louisa realised that when he did that he seemed much younger than when his face was in repose.

  “Modest, silent, obedient helpmate,” he repeated with considerable amusement. “Somehow I feel you are ill suited to the part. You may look fragile and weak—yet, if the truth be told, I believe you are as strong and determined as the most obstinate mule.”

  “Now you are teasing me.” Louisa reprimanded him gently, finding herself quite intrigued by this confounding man as her mouth trembled into a smile to match his own, and she realised how her antipathy towards him seemed to have melted away in the most curious way. Listening to him, enjoying his company, she had come completely under his spell, hopelessly vulnerable to him. “But I do think that marriage should be a partnership, where all things are shared equally between husband and wife.”

  The amusement vanished from Alistair’s eyes and they became serious, probing and questioning. “And what is your lot in life, Louisa?” he asked quietly.

  A look of regret entered her eyes. “Oh, I would have it better,” she murmured softly, with more feeling put into those few words than she realised and which Alistair detected, making him curious as to her background, realising that he still knew nothing about her whatsoever.

  “But what better guardian of that abode than a gentle woman who is in love with her husband?” he said softly.

  Louisa’s expression became wistful. “I have never been in love.”

  “Not even with Mr Fraser?”

  “No—at least—not in the sense you mean. But you have,” she dared to say with frank curiosity, smiling—the kind of smile that warmed and lit up her lovely eyes, the kind of smile that elicited confidence and drew a response.

  Instead of closing up, of guarding his privacy, as Louisa had expected on recalling her conversation with Lady Bricknell, when she had told her how hurt he had been by his wife’s desertion and how he never spoke of her, Alistair settled his steady gaze on her thoughtfully, feeling gregarious and communicative in a way he had not felt in a long time. If he was surprised by her comment he did not show it.

  “Oh? Who told you?”

  “Lady Bricknell. You were married. You must have been in love with your wife.”

  His expression became grim and pain passed across his features. From his expression Louisa sensed that it had been a turbulent relationship, but the pain she’d seen vanished and his features were already perfectly composed when he looked at her.

  “I was in love, I admit it.” He hesitated, and for a moment Louisa thought he wasn’t going to say any more. When he did, his voice was quiet, hesitant, almost as if he was testing his ability to talk about it, making her already regret having mentioned his wife. “But love makes fools of us all. It blinds one to someone’s shortcomin
gs and warps one’s judgement. I was young and naive, taken in by the first beautiful face I saw. I was twenty-one at the time we met—Marianne, my wife, a little older. Unfortunately things did not turn out as I hoped. I admit I saw the warning lights before we married.”

  “Then why did you not heed them?”

  He looked across at her. “I never could resist a challenge—especially when the gauntlet has been thrown down by a woman as beautiful as Marianne.”

  “Even though you might get burnt? As you evidently were.”

  “And why do you say that, pray?”

  “Lady Bricknell told me how much your wife hurt you and that since that time you have regarded every woman with contempt—considering them both dispensable and replaceable.”

  “Good Lord! You make it sound as though I am motivated by desire and nothing else. You must have had quite a conversation with Lady Bricknell,” Alistair remarked with considerable amusement.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “At least one good thing came out of my marriage to Marianne.”

  “And do you mind if I ask what that was?”

  “My son.”

  Chapter Six

  Louisa stared at Alistair in astonishment, remembering the little boy she had seen him with in St James’s Park.

  “Your son! Was that the little boy who was with you in St James’s Park?”

  “Yes. His name is Mark. The young lady was my sister, Sophie, and, as you know, the other lady was my older sister, Julia. She is married to Sir Joshua Gresham and lives at Richmond. Mark is staying with them at this time and I had just taken him to see the parade at Horse Guards.”

  “I see. But, if we can return to Marianne, just because one woman did you wrong there is no need to punish the rest.”

  “I don’t.”

  “That’s not the way I see it.”

  “Oh! And how do you see it, may I ask?”

  “That perhaps your retreat from marriage—from happiness—is your defence against reality.”

  “And how can you assume that happiness automatically comes with marriage?”