The Chaperon's Seduction

by Sarah Mallory

  How he must have despised her for her awkwardness, even though he had laughed and made light of it when she had moved the wrong way in the dance and collided with him. He had responded to her mistake by giving her his whole attention, smiling at her, putting her at her ease. He had looked at her, really looked, as if she was the only lady in the room. As if she mattered. At that point she had lost her heart completely. In her foolishness she had dreamed of him making her an offer, going down on one knee and declaring that he was reformed, for her sake.

  All nonsense, of course. A handsome gentleman like Richard Arrandale would never be interested in a gauche schoolroom miss with mousy hair and nondescript grey-green eyes. As her newly married sister had said, when Phyllida had returned starry-eyed from Almack’s that night; ‘Men like Arrandale can turn on the charm whenever they wish. He will not even remember you tomorrow.’

  And Olivia had been right. The next time Phyllida had seen Richard Arrandale in Bond Street he had not even noticed her. It had been a salutary lesson and when, a few days later Papa had told her she was to wed Sir Evelyn Tatham, she had buried her girlish dreams for ever.

  Phyllida knew she had been right to do so. While she had concentrated on being a good wife to Sir Evelyn, Richard Arrandale had blazed a trail through London society like a shooting star, his outrageous behaviour discussed, condemned and dissected in the society pages of the newspapers. His name was linked with all the most dashing matrons, he attended the most riotous house parties and was thought to have lost more than one fortune at the gaming tables.

  Everyone said it was only to be expected, for it was well known that his older brother had killed his wife and run away with the family jewels. Nothing had been proven, the matter had been hushed up as was the way with rich, powerful families, but everyone knew it all the same. Bad blood, they said, and Phyllida knew she should be grateful not to have attracted the notice of such a notorious rake as Richard Arrandale. But sometimes as she lay in her bed with her kind, worthy husband snoring beside her, Richard’s image would return and she could not help sighing for what might have been.

  * * *

  Too late had Phyllida recognised the tall figure standing beside Lady Hune in the Pump Room and recalled that the dowager marchioness was an Arrandale by birth. She was already committed to approaching, but when Richard had taken her hand and kissed it the years had fallen away and she was once again the awkward girl in her first Season, being saluted by a man who was the embodiment of her dreams.

  Only, Richard Arrandale was not the heroic figure of her girlhood fantasies. She knew that only too well and looking up into his face she had seen the faint lines of dissipation about his mouth and eyes. There hung about him a world-weariness that made him seem older than his years, for he could not possibly be more than five-or six-and-twenty. Richard Arrandale was a rake and it was only his connection with Sophia, Dowager Marchioness of Hune, that made her acknowledge him and introduce him to her stepdaughter.

  Phyllida took Ellen on a full circuit of the room but afterwards she could never recall just whom they had met, nor what was said. All she could remember was Richard Arrandale’s laughing eyes and the touch of his lips against her gloved hand. As she and Ellen left the Pump Room arm in arm she risked a last look back. He was still watching them, or, more correctly, he was watching Ellen.

  ‘What is wrong, Philly?’ Ellen stopped in the doorway and turned an anxious gaze upon her. ‘You are shivering, but it is not at all cold. Are you unwell?’

  ‘What? Oh, no, my love, no, not at all.’ She shook off her uneasy thoughts and summoned up a smile. ‘We elderly ladies are prone to sudden chills, you know.’

  Ellen gave a little trill of laughter.

  ‘Very well, my aged Stepmama! I shall take you home, tuck you up in a shawl and feed you gruel.’

  ‘That will certainly do the trick.’

  ‘I hope so, because you promised we could go shopping today.’

  ‘Very well, let us do so immediately. It will be infinitely preferable to eating gruel,’ said Phyllida, laughing.

  The sun came out at the moment and her spirits lifted. She was foolish to allow an old memory to make her so fanciful. She squeezed Ellen’s arm, quickened her step and set off for Milsom Street to indulge in a few hours of frivolous expenditure.

  Chapter Three

  Having decided to pursue the heiress, Richard lost no time in making his plans. The Bath season did not start until October, but he was determined not to wait until then to advance his acquaintance with Miss Ellen Tatham. At breakfast the following morning he made his first move.

  ‘Do you wish me to come to the Pump Room with you again today, Sophia?’

  ‘Thank you, no. Duffy had the offending tooth removed yesterday and is quite recovered now. You must have more entertaining things to do than attend an old lady.’

  ‘It is always a pleasure to escort you, ma’am. And I was heartened to find that not all those attending the Pump Room are valetudinarians. Lady Phyllida, for example.’

  ‘Yes. She’s a quiet gel, but very sensible, and makes a good partner at whist. I have always liked her.’

  This was very encouraging. He said, ‘You knew her before she came to Bath?’

  ‘We have mutual acquaintances in Derbyshire, near Tatham Park. I met her there often when Sir Evelyn was alive. Glad to see she is out of mourning now and back in the world where she belongs.’

  ‘What’s her background?’ Lady Hune shot him a swift, suspicious glance and he added quickly, ‘Lady Phyllida looks familiar, and I would judge her age to be similar to my own. I thought perhaps I might know her.’

  ‘She is possibly twelve months your junior. One of the Earl of Swanleigh’s two girls. The elder married Lord Hapton and Swanleigh wanted a similar success for Phyllida. She was presented in...let me see...’ninety-six and caught the eye of Sir Evelyn, who was then a widower and looking for a new wife to give him an heir. They were married within the year. Of course there was a lot of talk, but those who prophesied disaster were only half right. The hoped-for heir never materialised but the marriage seemed happy enough. When Tatham died last year it was assumed Lady Phyllida would go to live with her sister or with Tatham’s brother and dwindle into mediocrity as some sort of live-in companion, little more than a glorified servant. But give the girl her due, she refused to relinquish her independence. She retired to her house in Derbyshire for her period of mourning.’

  ‘And now she is in Bath.’

  ‘Yes. She has taken a house in Charles Street for herself and her stepdaughter.’ Sophia shook her head, adding darkly, ‘How that will work out I don’t know.’

  ‘Ninety-six.’ Richard’s brow creased in thought. ‘Hmm, seven years ago. I had left Oxford and was in town then.’

  ‘Aye, you were, and already kicking up a dust!’

  ‘I must have danced with her. Trouble is, ma’am, I danced with a deuced lot of young ladies in those days.’

  ‘It’s no wonder if you don’t remember her. Her looks were never out of the ordinary, nothing to attract you. Tatham, however, was desperate for an heir. I think he would have taken anyone.’ She looked up, saying sternly, ‘She is a fine young woman, Richard, and I count her a friend. I would not have you doing anything to upset her.’

  He looked pained.

  ‘I promise you I have no intention of upsetting her.’

  * * *

  No, he had no intention of upsetting anyone, he thought, as he presented himself at the freshly painted front door in Charles Street later that day. He was shown into the drawing room, where Lady Phyllida received him with cool politeness.

  He bowed. ‘I was pleased, yesterday, to renew my acquaintance with you, my lady.’ Her brows went up and he continued smoothly, ‘We met in town did we not, at your come-out. We danced together at Almack’s.’
<
br />   This was a chance shot but he thought it had hit its mark. An added flush of colour painted her cheeks, but she spread her hands and gave him an apologetic smile.

  ‘I vow I cannot recall. I know my mother bullied every gentleman present to stand up with me, however reluctantly.’

  ‘There was no reluctance upon my part, ma’am, I assure you.’

  ‘But after, what is it...five years, six?...I am flattered that you should remember.’

  She doesn’t believe me.

  Richard kept his smile in place as he met her gaze. He had thought yesterday her eyes were grey but he saw now that they were flecked with green and her look was surprisingly direct. He had a sudden urge to tell the truth and confess that he didn’t remember her at all. Impossible, of course. He must hold his nerve.

  She invited him to sit down.

  ‘How are you enjoying Bath?’ he asked her as he lowered himself into a chair opposite her own.

  ‘Very much. After the isolation of Tatham Park, Bath seems very busy.’

  ‘And will you put your name down in the book when the subscription opens later this month? That is necessary, I believe, if you wish to attend balls in the Upper Rooms?’

  ‘I shall indeed.’

  ‘But there is still dancing to be had, even now,’ he persisted. ‘There is a ridotto on Monday night, did you know of it?’

  ‘Yes, I am taking Ellen.’

  ‘Then we will be able to dance together again.’

  The tell-tale rosiness deepened on her cheek.

  ‘I am going as Ellen’s chaperon, Mr Arrandale. I shall not dance.’

  There was a wistful note in her voice. Faint, but he detected it.

  ‘Is it in the rules that widows are prohibited from dancing? I have never heard of it.’

  Now why the devil had he said that? It was not the widow he wanted to dance with.

  * * *

  Phyllida’s nerves fluttered. Had she been mistaken? Had he really remembered standing up with her at Almack’s? She stole another look at him. He was being perfectly charming. Perhaps the lines that creased his lean cheeks might be caused by laughter rather than dissipation and wild living, despite the gossip. She did not think they detracted from his charm, either. If anything she thought him more attractive than ever, especially when he smiled at one in just that way...

  She started guiltily when the door opened and Ellen came in, chattering even as she untied the ribbons of her bonnet.

  ‘There you are, Philly! Such fun we have had, I wish you had been there to share—oh, I beg your pardon. Hirst did not tell me you had company, but then, I did not give him time!’ She came forward, greeting their guest with her sunny smile and no hint of shyness. ‘Mr Arrandale, good day to you.’

  He had jumped up when Ellen appeared and Phyllida watched him greet her, his charming smile and nicely judged bow perfectly civil. Too perfect, she thought, her earlier suspicions rising again.

  ‘How do you do, Miss Tatham. Have you been shopping, perhaps?’

  ‘No, sir, I have been to Sydney Gardens with Miss Desborough and her mama. Do you know the Desboroughs, Mr Arrandale?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, I have not been in Bath that long myself.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, we were introduced yesterday and Penelope and I found ourselves in such accord that Mrs Desborough invited me to join them in a walk to Sydney Gardens today. Oh, I wish you had come with us, Philly, it was quite delightful. The Ride that runs around the perimeter of the gardens is very well laid, so one can keep one’s shoes and feet dry even if the weather has been very inclement. And there is a labyrinth, too, but there was no time to go in and Mrs Desborough says we should buy a plan before we attempt it.’

  ‘Then we shall do so, when we visit.’ Phyllida smiled.

  ‘Perhaps I might escort you.’

  Phyllida acknowledged Richard’s offer with a slight inclination of her head but she did not encourage him. Unperturbed he returned his attention to Ellen.

  ‘I understand you are attending the ridotto on Monday, Miss Tatham. I hope you will stand up with me. If your stepmama allows it, of course.’

  ‘I should be delighted, sir—and you will consent, will you not, Philly?’

  Phyllida was tempted to refuse, but Ellen would be sure to demand the reason and she was not at all sure of the answer.

  ‘Of course,’ she said at last. ‘There can be no harm in you dancing with a gentleman.’ Would he notice the slight stress she put on the last word? ‘After all, the reason for bringing you to Bath was to accustom you to a larger society.’

  ‘And I have any number of acquaintances in Bath now,’ declared Ellen happily. ‘Not just Penelope Desborough and Julia Wakefield, who are my especial friends. Mrs Desborough was good enough to present several gentlemen to me today when we were in the gardens.’

  ‘Did she?’ murmured Phyllida, slightly startled by this revelation.

  Ellen threw her a mischievous glance. ‘I have no doubt some of them will be seeking you out soon, Philly, for they, too, mentioned the ridotto. However I made it very clear I could not dance with any of them unless they had your approval.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  ‘And you will approve them, will you not, dearest Stepmama?’

  For once Phyllida did not feel any inclination to laugh at Ellen’s sauciness. She was aware of Richard watching her and, disconcerted, she responded rather more tartly that she had intended.

  ‘Since I have approved Mr Arrandale, I doubt I will have any choice with the rest!’

  ‘But they are all very respectable, Philly, or Mrs Desborough would not have introduced them to me.’

  Ellen was gazing at her, puzzled, and Phyllida pulled herself together.

  ‘No, of course she would not. I am sure they are all pillars of Bath society.’

  A scratching at the door diverted her attention and she looked up as Matlock entered the room.

  ‘Signor Piangi has arrived, my lady. I have put him in the morning room.’

  ‘Oh, is it time for my Italian lesson already?’ cried Ellen. ‘I will come with you directly, Matty. If you will excuse me, Mr Arrandale.’

  He bowed.

  ‘Until Monday, Miss Tatham.’

  Phyllida watched Ellen skip out of the room. Matlock hovered by the door, as if unwilling to leave them alone, but Phyllida waved her away.

  ‘Go with her, Matty. You will remain in the morning room until the signor leaves.’ Richard was watching her and she added, as the door closed upon them, ‘It is important to me that no hint of impropriety should touch my stepdaughter while she is in Bath.’

  He inclined his head. She thought for a moment he would resume his seat but instead he picked up his hat and gloves from the table.

  ‘I have an appointment I must keep.’ He hesitated. ‘If you and Miss Tatham would like to visit Sydney Gardens on Sunday, I should be very happy to escort you there.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but, no. We are, um, otherwise engaged.’

  It was not true, and she prayed he would not ask what that engagement might be.

  ‘Of course. Until Monday, then.’

  He bowed and was gone.

  Phyllida sank back into her chair, her spirits strangely depressed. She would like to believe that Richard Arrandale had merely come to pay his respects to her, that he had truly remembered dancing with her all those years ago, but she doubted it. After all, she had never been rich enough or pretty enough to attract much attention in her one and only Season. Who wanted a soft well-modulated voice when they could enjoy Miss Anston’s trilling laugh, or Miss Rollinson’s lively tones? The more direct of the mothers with daughters to wed had called her thin and unattractive.

  Phyllida gave herself a little shake. That was all in th
e past. She had lost her girlish ranginess, her glass told her that her willowy form and firm, full breasts showed to advantage in the high-waisted, low-cut gowns that were so fashionable. Yet, for all that, she paled to insignificance when compared to her lovely stepdaughter and she would be a fool to think otherwise.

  Richard Arrandale had clearly set his sights upon Ellen. She remembered how he had been watching her in the Pump Room. She might ask Lady Hune to warn him off, but although she was very fond of the indomitable marchioness she could not imagine that Sophia would have much influence over her rakish great-nephew.

  No. Phyllida knew it would be up to her to keep Ellen safe.

  * * *

  Richard strode away down Charles Street, well pleased with his first day’s work. The widow was cautious, which was as it should be, but Ellen was friendly enough. Very young, of course, but a taking little thing. He frowned when he recalled how she had spoken of the fellows in Sydney Gardens clamouring for an introduction. He had no doubt that some—if not all—of them were involved in the wager, but he had the advantage and he intended that it should stay that way. However, he knew better than to rush his fences. He would dance with the chit on Monday night. None of the others were likely to steal her heart before then.

  * * *

  By the time Phyllida went to bed that night she had made a decision. Jane was waiting to braid her hair and help her to undress, but as soon as she had donned her nightgown Phyllida threw on her silk wrap and went to Ellen’s room.

  ‘May I come in?’

  She peeped around the door. Ellen was already in her bed, propped up against a billowing mass of pillows, reading by the light of a branched candlestick that was burning perilously close to the bed-hangings. As the door opened she jumped and attempted to hide the book under the bedcovers, but when she saw it was Phyllida she heaved a sigh of relief.

  ‘Oh, it is you. I thought it was Matty.’

  ‘What are you reading? Is it so very bad?’