‘And who might you be, my good Sir?’
‘My card, Sir,’ bowed the Reverend.
‘Ah, I see I was correct, you are a—good—sir.’ He shrugged. ‘What a bore! Are you coming along with us, Parry?’
‘Where you goin’?’
‘As we discussed, to my lodgings. You had challenged me to a game of Hazard. Don’t you remember?’
‘I did? Well, a fellow can’t draw back from a challenge, can he?’ He flourished his hand and giggled. ‘Lead on.’
The little party on the doorstep watched him lurch down the street at his friend’s heels.
Zanthe clasped her palms to her hot cheeks. ‘Oh, I have never been so mortified. Dear Miss Cholmondeley, Mr Cholmondeley, I would not have subjected you to such a scene for the world! But, pray, do not judge Parry too harshly. He is spoiled and very stupid but, truly, he has a good heart.’
The Reverend took her hand comfortingly. ‘No need to tell me that, Lady Brookenby. I have known many such who turned out well in the end. But I strongly advise you to do all you can to wean him from his friendship with that man. I know a little of him by reputation. That is Sir Marmaduke Carlyle and he is a very dangerous influence on the young men of fortune who look up to him.’
She sighed. ‘I will try, but he does not mind me as he used to. But there is one comfort at least—Parry has no fortune at all.’
Mr Cholmondeley looked thoughtful. ‘Is that the case? Then I wonder what Carlyle wants with him? It does not make sense, and I very much mistrust what does not make sense.’
Seven
The following morning, Zanthe, anxious to cleanse the miseries of Avon Street from her recollection, had her pretty mare saddled and, properly escorted by her groom, trotted across Pulteney Bridge, through Sydney Place, and was soon riding along a neat and charming country lane. Before long, the sound of pounding hooves behind informed her that she was not to continue long alone. As she had received a note that morning from the Signora informing her that the Viscount would be riding, as was his habit, along that very lane, she was not entirely surprised. How lucky that she had chosen to wear her new habit of midnight-blue merino trimmed and frogged with silver braid and a dashing plumed hat á la Hussar. A slight smile curved her lips, but she did not turn her head until he had come up beside her. She wished him a polite, ‘Good Morning.’
Lord Launceston wasted no time upon civility. ‘What the devil is this I’m hearing about you?’
She raised her eyebrows delicately. ‘I am at a loss to understand you, my Lord.’
‘Don’t play games with me, my girl. Fanny has told me—’
‘Fanny?’
‘Damn it, you didn’t think her name is really Fiammetta, did you?’
‘I had not given the matter any thought.’
‘Never mind that. Is it true that you are going to take charge of Susanna for her?’
‘Yes, I am. Have you any objection?’
‘I have every objection.’
‘But she seems a charming child.’
‘She may be. I know nothing of her. Have not ever seen her. Fanny takes care of that.’
Zanthe smiled. ‘I think she is wise. It would never do if poor little Susanna were to get into bad company.’ Her mare took sudden exception to a flock of low-flying ducks and tossed her head in protest. Zanthe leant forward and patted the animal’s satiny, chestnut neck. ‘I wonder that you are so put out, Jarvis. I had quite thought, since you sent me that note, she had taken you into her confidence.’
He smiled grimly. ‘Fanny is too shrewd to take any man into her confidence. She plays a lone hand.’
‘I fancy she has had to. One cannot help admiring her.’
‘I do.’
Zanthe snorted, a most unladylike noise. ‘I’m sure you do.’
‘Don’t be silly. I mean apart from all that.’ He looked down into her lovely face, half-shaded by her ridiculous hat. ‘I told you there had been women. Lots of ‘em. Fanny’s the best of the lot.’ He laughed rather grimly. ‘I don’t keep her, you know. If anything, she keeps me.’
‘My poor Jarvis,’ she said gently, and meant it.
‘But,’ said the Viscount, sticking to his guns, ‘you cannot take that child under your wing. When it is known who her mother is—’
‘But it will not be known. We have it all worked out. I shall introduce her simply as Lord Fallowfield’s niece. Her Papa died when she was a baby, which is quite true, and her mother, an Italian lady, has consigned her to my care. No one will think it strange at all.’
‘And I suppose Fallowfield will have nothing to say?’
‘Assuredly, he will say nothing. Why should he create a scandal where none exists? He is not, after all, being asked to pay a penny towards her debut, or even to give her his countenance. And he never leaves his estate in Northumberland, so the Signora informs me. We have every hope that she will be married before he is even aware of her existence.’
‘I see. And what of Susanna’s future husband? Will he be introduced to his mama-in-law before the wedding—or after?’
Zanthe looked a little uncomfortable. She was not entirely happy with this part of the scheme herself. ‘Well, if he truly loves her, I don’t suppose he will be put off by—a little thing—like—’
‘Like being fed a parcel of lies told to draw him in and trap him into a marriage?’
‘Oh, stuff! Would you have cared if I had turned out to be the daughter of a—a—?’
‘Great artist? Of course not. Don’t you see? It is not what Fanny is or has done. Indeed, she is far above any man’s censure. But the lies, Zanthe, the trickery! Those are what he will find unforgivable.’
‘Well, we’ll worry about that when he appears upon the scene. At the moment, there isn’t anyone, and I refuse to be concerned with the probable emotions of some imaginary young man.’
‘This is all beside the point! A young female of your birth and in your circumstances cannot be linked with a woman like Fanny!’
Her mouth curved into a smile, and she peeped at him from under the brim of her hat. ‘I do believe you’re worried that she might confide in me—things—about you. Do not concern yourself, my love. There is nothing she could tell me that I don’t know, or guess.’
He flung up a hand and said in a choking voice, ‘Do not call me my love, Zanthe, you know—’
She lowered her eyes to her hands, which had suddenly clenched tight upon the reins. ‘I beg your pardon, it just slipped out.’
‘I thought we were agreed to let the dead past remain dead.’
‘No. You said that we should. I did not agree. Do you know, I am quite tired of being ordered about for my own good? First Papa, then Brookenby, then my odious mother-in-law, and now you! I had thought you would be different.’
He made a sudden movement as though to touch her but then let his hand drop to his side. ‘I’m sorry you think I am ordering you about. I merely want you to be happy and, by keeping us apart, I am doing my best to ensure that you will be.’
‘Well, I want to be happy, too. And I am doing my best to ensure that I will be.’
Ignoring the presence of the groom, Launceston reined in his mount and drew her mare to a halt by the simple expedient of grabbing her bridle. His eyes burned as though he had a fever. He said in a harsh voice, ‘Let it go, Zanthe. Let me go!’
‘You do not love me? Is that it?’
He turned his head to gaze out, unseeing, across the downs. ‘Yes, that’s it. I do not love you.’
She made a little sound, between a laugh and a sob. ‘You used to be a much better liar, Jarvis, dear,’ she said and touched the mare’s flanks with her heels, leaving the Viscount frowning after her.
The following morning, as had been agreed with the Signora, was to be the occasion of Susanna’s first appearance in the Pump Room. She and Zanthe were to go alone, as Margery had refused to accompany them, partly because she disapproved of the whole scheme and partly because she was so transparent
ly truthful she would be bound to betray them.
‘I do not know why you agreed to sponsor the child, Zanthe but, since you have done so, I’m sure I hope you succeed in getting her established. I should probably let the cat out of the bag if I were to go with you.’
‘Dear Margery, I am not going to tell any lies you know. Susanna is exactly who I say she is, after all.’
‘There is such a thing as lying by omission, my dear.’
‘I do not see that I shall be doing so at all. When I introduce you to someone, I don’t tell them who your mother is, do I?’
‘Zanthe! How can you look me in the face and say such—’ she broke off as Parry sauntered into the breakfast parlour.
‘Hello, what’s all the row about?’
‘There is no row. Margery does not approve of Susanna, that is all.’
‘That is not fair. I think Susanna a very sweet little thing. All I am saying is—’
‘Yes, I know; you don’t have to say it again.’ She rose from the table and walked towards the door. She half-turned and said over her shoulder, ‘Do you accompany us this morning, Parry?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Susanna and I are going to the Pump Room, and then we have some shopping to do.’
‘You go on, Zan; perhaps I’ll meet you there, if you can manage without my escort.’
‘I can’t, of course, but we must just do our best.’ She walked out of the room, and the two remaining at the breakfast table heard her send John, the footman, to knock at Miss Fallowfield’s door, as it was time they were leaving.
Margery shook her head as she poured coffee into a large cup for Paris. ‘Do you know what has got into her, Parry? For I do not.’
‘No, but I’ll tell you this: It’s Lombard-street to a china orange that Launceston has something to do with it.’
The continuing good weather made the walk from the Royal Crescent to the Pump Room very agreeable and provided Zanthe and Susanna with a little time to become better acquainted. Zanthe had already attempted, once or twice, to draw the girl out but had been unable to break through the rather daunting reserve that seemed habitual to her.
‘Have you visited the Pump Room before?’ Zanthe asked as they walked down the hill in a fresh wind that made their bonnet strings dance.
‘Yes; we were taken there from school sometimes.’
‘And where was your school situated?’
‘In Queen’s Square, Ma’am.’
‘Not a very great distance, then.’
‘No.’
‘Are we likely to meet any acquaintance of yours among the company?’
‘Oh no. I made only two friends at school. One has married and gone to live in Exeter. The other is in London making her come-out.’
‘You must have been lonely when they went away.’
Susanna shrugged, the first spontaneous gesture Zanthe had seen from her. ‘I am used to it.’
‘You missed your Mama?’
‘No, I did not know her well enough to miss her. I missed my bambinaia, my nurse.’
‘We have something in common then. I, too, have parents who travel a great deal. I was left very much in the charge of my own dear nurse.’
‘Do they sing?’ This seemed to be the only reason a parent might travel in Susanna’s estimation.
Zanthe laughed. ‘Very badly. No, they are interested in antiquities. My Papa writes books, which my Mama illustrates. She draws and paints beautifully.’
‘Where do they travel to?’
‘Greece mostly, and Turkey. That is why Parry and I have such ridiculous names of course.’
‘I don’t think Zanthe is ridiculous. It sounds like music.’
‘What a lovely thing to say!’
‘Is it? I just say what I think.’
Zanthe reflected that this was true. They had not been acquainted for very long, but she had yet to hear Susanna make any remark that was not very much to the point. She did not gossip; she made no attempt to be amusing or to flatter. She simply was. It really made her a very restful companion.
Eight
They soon arrived at the Pump Room, where the fashionable throng was gratified by the agreeable vision of young Lady Brookenby, charming in lavender taffeta, accompanied by a very pretty and unknown damsel of about eighteen years, fresh as the morning in white muslin and a leaf-green, velvet spencer. Zanthe made the rounds, pausing to introduce Susanna to a number of notorious rumormongers, who might reasonably be expected to spread the word about the new arrival with embellishments. She contrived, subtly and without the least vulgarity, to convey the information that Miss Fallowfield was the niece of Lord Fallowfield, the heiress to a considerable fortune, and had been entrusted to Zanthe’s care by relatives anxious to see her respectably established.
‘A very pretty-behaved child,’ was Mrs Weatherspoon’s verdict, endorsed by several mothers of impecunious young gentlemen.
Presently, Zanthe perceived her brother standing by the door in conversation with a lady and gentleman. She frowned, for Mrs Carter was not an acquaintance to win the approval of a careful sister, while Sir Marmaduke Carlyle had not impressed her favourably; and his reputation, she had subsequently discovered, was very unsavoury indeed. She caught Parry’s eye and beckoned him to join them. He bowed to the lady, shook hands with Sir Marmaduke, and sauntered over to join Zanthe and Susanna, looking rather bored. ‘There you are, Sis. Ready to go yet?’
‘Not yet.’ There was a slight stir at the doorway, a few persons loitering at the entrance moved back, and the Signora appeared upon Launceston’s arm, dressed in the height of Parisian fashion and talking volubly to him in rapid Italian. A hush fell upon the crowd, followed by a swell of excited chatter. The crowd surged forward to gather around the prima donna, eager to exchange a word with the celebrity. As she absorbed the incense of crowd worship, she glanced just once towards Zanthe and smiled a little ruefully. There was a tiny shrug of the expressive shoulders, and then she turned back to her admirers.
‘I wonder why she came,’ Zanthe murmured.
‘She could not bear the suspense, I suppose.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think she was afraid I should do something to spoil my chances.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Talk Italian, sing—’ For the first time in their acquaintance, a mischievous dimple appeared. ‘I might do it yet.’
‘Now why should you do that?’ Zanthe’s eyes narrowed, and she answered her own question. ‘You do not want this at all, do you?’
‘No.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want to sing.’
‘I see. Can you—sing, I mean?’
‘Yes, better than she.’
Zanthe was startled. ‘You are very sure of yourself.’
Susanna shook her head. ‘You mean I am conceited? No, I am not; but one must be realistic about one’s talent, you know.’
‘Does your m—’ Zanthe lowered her voice a tone—‘does she know this?’
There was a sigh and the suspicion of a pout. ‘Oh yes, but she thinks I am too young to comprehend the life I should lead. The endless travelling, the impropriety, the protectors—well she is wrong. I do understand, and I should enjoy it excessively.’
‘My dear Susanna!’
‘Well but, Ma’am, she wants me to be respectably married and to live quietly in some gloomy mansion in the country when I might be fêted in Naples or Paris. I should be bored to death.’
‘Not if you loved your husband, my dear.’ She saw a slightly conscious look in Susanna’s dark eyes, ‘Oh, Parry has been talking, I suppose.’
‘A little. I should not have mentioned it if you had not. But you do understand, don’t you?’
‘The cases are different. I married to oblige my family, it is true, but that was because I thought that the gentleman I cared for had—had—abandoned me. It was false, but I did not know it then. I can imagine nothing more won
derful than to live in that way with a gentleman one truly loved.’
‘Then I expect you will, some day. One can always get what one wants in the end.’
Zanthe laughed. ‘I suspect we are both destined to get what we want. But in the meantime, we will be very respectable, very decorous, and not embarrass our families.’
‘Oh yes, I shall be good. Do not be afraid I shall make you uncomfortable, dear Lady Brookenby.’
‘Oh pray, call me Zanthe.’
Susanna flushed with pleasure. ‘Thank you; I should like that—Zanthe.’
Parry, who had been watching the crowd around the Signora, turned back to them, saying, with disgust, ‘Pack of toadies. Shall we go?’
Zanthe raised her delicate brows. ‘Is there somewhere you have to be, brother dear?’
He coloured a little and said airily, ‘Just a little jollification with some very good fellows, Zan. You don’t know ‘em.’
Zanthe took his arm and pulled him a little apart from the crowd. ‘Are they the same jolly good fellows that bring you home every night in that revolting state?’
‘Not every night,’ he protested feebly.
‘Yes, every night! And I know very well where these jollifications take place. You are going into those squalid rookeries around Avon Street and that horrid inn. Mr Cholmondeley has told me of the dangers to be encountered there.’
‘Oh gammon! What does he know about it?’
‘A great deal. He and his sister are there almost every day. Parry, please listen to me. You do not look well, you know. Not at all your usual handsome self.’ She smiled and lifted a hand to touch his cheek. ‘Could you not, to please me, spend the evening with us at the Upper Rooms?’
His face softened, but he answered, ‘Not tonight. But I promise I’ll go to the next ball with you. Will that do?’
She sighed. ‘I suppose it will have to.’ She reflected that Paris’ reluctance to accompany them to the ball at least did away with the fear that he might dangle after Susanna. He seemed quite as uninterested in her as she was in him.
A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance Page 5
