by Lara Temple
This was not the first time she had been attracted to a man, after all. Why, she had spent three whole months thoroughly enthralled with the squire’s middle son John when he had come down from Cambridge before realising he was a pompous, oily snake, hardly any better than Cousin Arthur. Her fascination with him had then sputtered and faded pretty quickly which had been very lucky since he had actually considered offering for her until he, too, had come to accept his parents’ viewpoint that she was completely unsuitable. No doubt this silly attraction would fare just the same as soon as she found out a little more about this strange man.
It was just that he was so very handsome. And then there was that contrast between the cold mask and his sudden, almost intimate smile. No doubt it had done very well for him with dozens of gullible women. Well, she might not know London rules, but she was not gullible and she knew when a man was very used to commanding attention and getting what he wanted from women. In fact, now that she thought about it, she could hardly believe she had actually asked if she could sketch him. What must he think of her? His abrupt withdrawal made it quite clear what he thought of her offer. She should remember she was not back at home with people who had already come to terms, of sorts, with her strange ways. She would never find her way in this town if she did not learn to mind her tongue. Not that there was any chance of finding her way here in any event. In a matter of days she, too, would be sent packing back to Devon and all this would seem nothing more than a passing dream. She should do her best to just enjoy the remaining days of blessed solitude. It would be over all too soon.
* * *
Max walked into the drawing room where Hetty was seated at the escritoire, writing a letter.
‘Here, this is for you.’ He handed her the sketch and watched her face light up in delight as she scanned the simple, evocative drawing.
‘Max! What on earth? Where did you get this? Oh, I look quite lovely!’
‘Lady Huntley’s madcap niece drew it. I came across her sketching that pug in the park and she made me...or rather you, a gift of this, in recognition of the collar and leash we sent. It is good, isn’t it?’
‘It’s marvellous, though I suppose I shouldn’t say so since it is almost a compliment to myself. It is certainly more like me than that stiff portrait Mama commissioned before Ned and I married. Now I certainly must go and storm the mausoleum and thank her. How sweet of her!’
Max sat down, his eyes on the drawing. The absurdity of the whole encounter was still raw and he had no idea whether to be annoyed or amused by the girl. It had been many years since anyone had managed to disconcert him. Her voice and even her proper but outmoded dresses might mark her as another of the multitude of well-born young women who invaded London from the country, but the resemblance stopped there. Women of her birth and age usually knew how to conduct themselves with proper modesty and certainly did not engage strange men in conversations that were not only peculiar, but bordered on an unspoken intimacy, as if she knew and trusted him. It was absurd that for a brief moment he had taken her at face value and had been imprudent enough to even sit down beside her in the first place. He couldn’t imagine doing that with someone like Lady Penny without having been properly introduced. And Lady Penny would not be wandering alone in the gardens in the first place with no better chaperon than that pug. Or asking if she could draw a man’s face, even had she been introduced to him with all formality. It was little wonder he had been so disconcerted.
‘She asked to sketch me. She said I have a “sketchable” face.’
Hetty’s giggle caught on a little hiccup as she tried to rein it in.
‘My goodness, she is an original, isn’t she? Did you agree?’
He frowned.
‘Of course not!’
‘Oh, why not? You could send it to Mama; you know she has always wanted you to sit for a portrait. And by the looks of it she would do a very creditable job.’
For a moment Max contemplated the possibility. It was true their mother had begged him repeatedly to sit at least for a watercolour she could hang in her drawing room in the Dower House alongside the portraits she had commissioned of his five sisters. A quick sketch would be much less painful. Or should be. But the thought of sitting while the girl’s expressive blue eyes surveyed and catalogued him wasn’t something he was comfortable with. There was something too...intimate in it. If he had to be painted by someone, he preferred it to be someone who knew how to respect boundaries.
There had been no reason to even stop to speak with her and he still didn’t understand why he had. He certainly hadn’t intended to when he had seen her while crossing the gardens, but her total concentration on her sketch had made him curious. And once he stopped behind her it had been hard to move, as if doing so would disturb some unfamiliar wild animal he had come across in the parks on the Harcourt estates. Or one of the wood sprites his sisters had insisted appeared at dusk in the deepest reaches of the woods. He had watched her hand moving lightly but firmly over the page, her head slightly canted, the sun casting a warm line down the side of her neck and along a strand of light brown hair that had escaped her bonnet and curved round her neck and downwards. It was only when she had spoken to that dog of hers that he had shifted back into reality. But not enough to continue on his way.
It was his own foolishness that he had spoken with her, but it had been just curiosity. At least until he had touched her hand. It was ridiculous that such an accidental and inconsequential contact had sparked the same kind of sensation like those galvanic contraptions he had seen at the Royal Academy. He was too old and experienced for such a raw physical reaction. It was probably the surprise and that peculiar sensation of having a place as familiar to him as the gardens transformed into something where he was the interloper and not she. Yes. That must be it.
‘Are you coming to the Carmichael soirée tonight?’ Hetty asked as the silence stretched.
Max knew what she was asking and sighed.
‘I can’t do it, Hetty. Lady Penny is everything you said she would be, but she is just too...compliant. I would wish her at the devil before the ceremony was over. Who’s next on the list? There has to be someone who can have a conversation without deferring to everything I say.’
Hetty sighed as well.
‘You are probably right. Lady Penny’s first impression is unfortunately her best. Perhaps Clara Bannerman, she is very sweet and...’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Her laugh.’
‘Oh, dear. You’re right, that would be hard to bear day in and day out. Then what of Lady Melissa Arkwright?’
Max considered Lady Melissa, his gaze straying to the sketch Hetty held in her lap. She might do. She was certainly beautiful and poised and already showed signs of becoming a very skilful hostess. She could preside quite easily over his properties. It was worth examining.
‘She is suitable on the face of it. Why didn’t you suggest her before Lady Penny? She seems more the part.’
‘I know, but Penny is...nicer. I thought she might be a better mother. I don’t know. It’s not easy choosing a sister-in-law for my only and very dear brother, you know!’ she said severely and Max laughed, relaxing.
‘And I appreciate your help very much, Hetty. I know it’s not easy taking time from your family because I have been putting off dealing with my promise to Father all these years. There always seemed to be plenty of time to get round to it. I should have done something about it sooner.’
‘Nonsense, I’m having a grand time. This is my first time on my own in six years. Ned and the children will eventually benefit from a much refreshed wife and mother. Which gives me an idea—I shall have this framed and send it to Ned to keep him company until my role here is played out. It really makes me look lovelier than I am, doesn’t it? I wonder if she paints...’
Max shrugged. He
had had enough of the eccentric blue-eyed sprite for one day.
‘I have no idea. Will Lady Melissa be at the soirée tonight as well? Perhaps we should go after all.’
Chapter Four
Max strode down the stairs where his groom was holding the reins of his grey stallion. He had slept poorly after the soirée last night and he needed to ride off some of the tension he was accumulating in this unpleasant but necessary process. He had known there would be conjecture once he started showing up with his sister at social events attended by debutantes and their mamas. It was bad enough that he had to attend these events in the first place; much worse was becoming the object of wagers, even in his own club and among his own acquaintances. The sooner he made up his mind and got it over with the better. At least Lady Melissa had proven to fit his criteria very well. More than her beauty he appreciated her inherent reserve—it was clear she wouldn’t turn out to be like Serena, a beautiful but fatally flawed vessel, just waiting for the right amount of pressure to crack it. And he certainly wouldn’t have to worry whether his children were really his. Lady Melissa was as cool and controlled as Serena had been fiery and volatile. He would let it sit a day or to and then take the plunge. There was no point in prolonging the agony.
He had just taken the reins and dismissed his groom when he saw the Huntley girl walking her ungainly pug. He hesitated, wishing he had held off for a couple minutes so he could have avoided her. Still, there was nothing for it but to be civil. He held his stallion easily as it fretted at the inaction and nodded to her.
‘Good morning. I see he has come to accept his fate with equanimity.’
She stopped, smiling up at him, but perhaps she sensed his diffidence because her smile lacked the openness of yesterday and her voice was a shade more like a society miss.
‘Good morning. He actually walked down the stairs himself after his morning visit with Aunt Minnie. He is becoming quite alert, aren’t you, Marmaduke?’
Max eyed the near-dormant pug dubiously. Alert was not an adjective that sprang to mind.
‘Impressive. What did Lady Huntley have to say about the introduction of a dreaded leash into her home?’
‘I hadn’t meant to tell her, but the doctor tattled on me and it has had a most alarming effect on her.’
‘Is she angry?’
She laughed and he had to actively resist the urge to smile in reflexive response.
‘Not at all. After the doctor gave such a glowing report of Marmaduke’s performance, and I gave her Marmaduke’s sketch, she actually pinched my cheek. And apparently her spies among the servants told her the leash had been delivered anonymously and she demanded to know where it had come from, but I said I don’t know you and your sister’s name, merely that you probably lived near here and she said I was being very sly and good for me. That is by far the longest conversation I have had with her thus far.’
Max gave in and laughed. This strange girl seemed to see the positive or at least the amusing in everything. It really wasn’t quite proper or wise to be talking to her like this in the middle of the street, but as Hetty had pointed out someone as lively as she must be terribly bored with only Minerva and the pugs for company. A few moments of conversation would make no difference.
‘For how long are you captive in the Huntley hold?’
‘That is wholly up to Aunt Minnie. My other siblings lasted between a two days at the shortest to six days at the longest. That was Augusta, but she said Aunt Minnie almost never spoke to her, it was just that she liked the way she played the pianoforte. Then there was Cousin Arthur—he held on for a whole two weeks and was completely hateful and unctuous about it and I would dearly love to break his record.
‘I see. And what skill does the length of your servitude depend on aside from reforming her pugs?’
She twinkled up at him.
‘I am not quite certain. She has me read to her a great deal, the most amusing books and certainly nothing we are allowed at home. And now that she has discovered I am a fair artist she has decided she wants me to paint a full portrait...’ her voice wavered slightly ‘...of Marmaduke.’
‘Good God.’ Max glanced down at the object of the conversation and Marmaduke scratched himself absently. ‘In a heroic pose?’
Her laugh was joyful and infectious, but it caught on the end, as if she was used to reining it in.
‘Exactly. On a pedestal, with a landscape behind, or perhaps a castle. And both the Huntley and Trevelyan family arms. I told her I would be happy to, just so I can get her to buy me the painting supplies. I am to go to Reeves in Cheapside and buy what I need, which shall be very exciting, and also to the Royal Academy so I can get some ideas for the proper composition of a portrait. My dear Marmaduke is proving very useful, aren’t you, love?’
Marmaduke’s curly pink tongue lolled out and he directed her a look which was surprisingly adoring. Max smiled at the absurdity of it all—of the girl, the dog, the conversation and especially of his part in it.
‘So it looks like it is going to be a protracted stay. Have you ever been to the Royal Academy before?’
‘No, I have been pining to go see the Summer Exhibition, but one of the conditions of our stay has been that we not enjoy ourselves or at least not stray from Grosvenor Square. But now that I have a legitimate excuse to roam, I intend to take full advantage of it. The Royal Academy is this way, isn’t it?’
‘It is, but...do you intend to walk there? With the dog?’
‘Is it too far?’ she asked, concerned.
‘It is. He would expire before you made it halfway. And besides, you can’t take a pug into Somerset House!’ he said sternly. ‘And you also can’t go there on your own. You should at least take a maid with you.’
‘Aunt Minnie would never allow me to commandeer her maid and I can’t very well have James the footman trailing me around an art exhibition. I refuse to let this opportunity slip by simply because I don’t have a chaperon. I would never forgive myself. Besides, what on earth could happen to me there?’
‘That is not the point. Young women...well-born young women...do not wander around town unaccompanied.’
‘Oh, please don’t make me feel any guiltier than I already do. It is not as if I am known in London, so there is no reason anyone would ever know or even notice me. I simply can’t not go.’
Max told himself to take a firm step back. This was none of his business. And she had a point—no one knew her in London. But the thought of her wandering alone and unprotected through an unfamiliar city...
‘Take that misbegotten canine for his walk and then meet me in the garden in an hour. I will take you there,’ he said abruptly.
Her eyes widened in surprise, subjecting him to the full pressure of her sea-blue gaze. She was almost too expressive. He could see surprise and wariness and wistfulness in their multi-hued depths and he hoped no one would find out he was actually choosing to play chaperon for this peculiar girl.
‘That is kind of you, but it is really not necessary for you to put yourself out on my account,’ she said properly and some of his tension faded, giving way to amusement at what was clearly an uncharacteristic show of propriety on her part.
‘You sound like you are impersonating someone,’ he replied and her warm tumbling laugh, like the sound of water in a brook, evoked the same surge of proprietary heat as when he had accidentally touched her hand the previous day in the garden. It was short but sharp, unmistakable. Not that there was anything particular about her that merited this unwanted tug of desire. She was mildly pretty but unexceptional aside from her eyes which reminded him of the colours of the sea at summer off the coast near Harcourt. It was something that went beyond her looks, a vividness that was magnetic—an unconscious invitation to enjoy life.
‘Oh, dear, I was. My Aunt Seraphina, Arthur’s mother. She’s dreadful. I w
asn’t at all believable, was I? But I do mean you needn’t go with me. I shall be perfectly fine on my own, really.’
‘Probably. We shall compromise then. I shall just make sure you get in safely and then leave you to explore while I continue on to the City. I have a meeting there later. And then you can take a hackney directly back home afterwards.’
He swung on to his horse before she could argue.
‘I will see you in an hour,’ he repeated and rode off, wondering if she would be there or whether even she would back down before such unconventional behaviour.
* * *
Somehow, when he entered the garden an hour later he was not very surprised to see her standing just inside the gates. For once she was not wearing a simple countrified white-muslin dress and spencer, but a walking dress of a pale smoky blue under a darker blue pelisse. And though the style was perhaps a few years out of fashion, it was well tailored and for the first time he could see she had a very appealing and well-proportioned figure. She also looked more her age and dignified, but contrarily that just made it clearer he should not be doing this, no matter how chivalrous his motives. Then he met her eyes which were sparkling with suppressed excitement and he relented. It was such an inconsequential thing for him and such a great deal for her, there surely was nothing very wrong in merely seeing her safely into the Academy.
