Chapter 7
I
Julia liked Isobel from the moment she saw her standing at Lord Chessingham’s side looking a little nervous but determined to put a brave face on it. The close friendship that sprang up between them was aided by Lord Hartforde’s London house being just down the street at number 10 Albemarle Street. There was a strength about Isobel that fascinated Julia. She had always thought Lord Chessingham a hard man, yet he seemed softened by his daughter, and Julia thought anyone who could accomplish such a thing was worth befriending. She had not been disappointed. She was pleased to find she and Isobel thought alike on many subjects and that their tastes in all things were remarkably similar.
The earl encouraged their friendship. He knew very well how important it was for someone with Lady Julia’s connections to be seen with his daughter. He hoped curiosity about Isobel would be brought to a pitch by the time he formally introduced her to society. And, if the truth be known, he hoped Lord Hartforde might, by reason of their being previously introduced, feel he had a better claim to her than anyone else. That Isobel should marry Hartforde was Lord Chessingham’s fondest wish. It was much to the earl’s delight, therefore, that he began receiving numerous inquiries about whether his daughter was “out” or not. Until then, it was not proper for a gentleman to speak with her. Only Hartforde and Burke had that privilege.
Julia expected to be surrounded by men when she and Isobel went abroad, whether it was to a concert, an at-home, riding in Hyde Park, or walking at Kensington Gardens, but Isobel, she knew, was ill at ease. Her friend’s awkwardness, however slight, was a source of great concern to her. She was very anxious for Isobel to make an impression in society. She was beautiful enough and her manner natural enough that her lack of polish could be overlooked, but Julia was determined Isobel should acquire it, for she had decided that Isobel should marry her brother. She knew precisely the kind of woman who might entice him into an offer of marriage, and Isobel possessed all those qualities but one. Julia meant for her brother to fall hard and she devoted herself to seeing that Isobel quickly acquired the sophistication provided only by associating with people of fashion.
Julia’s campaign to make Isobel into a woman of irresistible charm proceeded well. She quickly mastered the art of the noncommittal response, and it was entirely due to her own kindness that she listened to less than scintillating conversationalists with an air of avid interest that early gained her the reputation of being a fascinating young woman. Julia soon decided it was time to make the pilgrimage to Chelsea so Isobel might see, and be seen at, the gardens of Ranelagh.
Lord Burke was easily persuaded to escort them, and, as he plunked down the admission price of half a crown for each of them, he proclaimed it a small price to pay for the privilege of accompanying the two most beautiful women in London. Isobel was quite taken with the gardens, and while they walked along the canal, both Julia and Lord Burke were pleased to hear her praise. The three wandered through one of the pagodas until Julia suggested they have coffee and rest for a few moments. They had arrived early, and while they walked, more and more people began filling the gardens. Couples strolled arm in arm down the paths, groups formed and reformed, and unattached men and women looked out for someone to whom they might become attached, however briefly. Isobel had been rather enjoying herself during the afternoon. It was beginning to dawn on her that she was attractive to men, and the interested looks sent her way as she walked with Lord Burke and Julia did much to increase her confidence. From time to time they were joined by acquaintances of Julia’s or Lord Burke’s. Julia assured her there would be no great harm done if she found herself participating in conversation. Two or three times she even ventured to express an opinion, and once, to defend it heatedly.
The crowd became quite thick as they made their way toward the coffeehouse, and by the time they reached the bridge Isobel was distinctly uncomfortable. A boisterous party of some fifteen or twenty couples was just coming off the bridge, oblivious that they were blocking the way for people headed in any direction but their own. Several of the party were shouting, and the men who weren’t were waving their handkerchiefs as they listened to a handsome blond woman sing the last refrain of a song so off color one wondered at its being sung in public, let alone in mixed company. When the group continued down the path toward them, Lord Burke briefly let go of Isobel’s arm to chastise a fellow who had jostled Julia, and that was enough for Isobel to be separated from them. Though she tried to keep sight of them, after she had shaken off a too familiar hand and disentangled herself from the group, it was some minutes before she had regained the bridge. She could see Lord Burke and Julia nowhere. She walked for a while in the direction where she thought the coffee house might be, but it was soon evident she had not gone the right way. When she realized that she had got completely turned around, she looked about, trying to suppress her growing panic. She had no idea how to get to the coffeehouse, nor even how to get back to the entrance, and she had so hopelessly lost her sense of direction she had no clue as to which way she had first come. She shut her mouth firmly but felt unwanted tears when she briefly closed her eyes.
“Forgive me if I am forward,” someone said, “but might I be of assistance?” Isobel turned to see a handsomely dressed gentleman standing to one side of her. “Mr. Rupert Selwynn, at your service.” He bowed, smiled kindly, and smoothed his moustache.
Mr. Rupert Henry Selwynn was a gentleman of some five and thirty years with reddish-blond hair and a moustache of a slightly darker hue, which he was in the habit of stroking. He was of average height, about five feet and seven or eight inches, and he held himself in a soldierly posture so as to appear taller than he actually was. He kept six horses, had two very fine carriages, and a German valet who barely spoke a syllable of English but who had absolutely mastered the art of arranging his employer’s hair. Mr. Selwynn knew appearances were everything, and, therefore, he adeptly hid a black heart and the soul of a libertine under a veneer of gallantry. He spent six hundred pounds a year on clothing alone. He had a house in the vicinity of Tottenham Court Road, and there was a steady parade of chambermaids through its elegant doors. He was a halfhearted Whig who secretly agreed with the Tories that something ought to be done about the disgraceful increase in the numbers of vagabonds and beggars, chiefly in the shape of more workhouses where they would learn the value of a day’s honest work. He hedged his bets and had memberships in both Whig and Tory clubs. Mr. Selwynn, Sr., was a tobbaconist who, when he died at the age of eighty-five, left his only son a fortune of one hundred ninety-five thousand pounds, 6s, 8d, by which Mr. Selwynn, Jr., was almost able to sever himself completely from the stigma of his connection with trade. Rupert Selwynn had never worked a day in his life. He had three children, none of whom he spent a farthing to support, their mothers being, respectively, a chambermaid, a parson’s daughter who had made an ill-advised trip to London to visit her best friend, and the sister of an impoverished Grub Street hack. He was unmarried and likely to remain that way. He went often to Ranelagh, and when he saw Isobel he was immediately struck by two things: she was devilishly pretty, and she looked as though she was about to burst into tears.
“Oh, please, sir, I am lost!” She knew she ought on no account speak to a stranger, but, when faced with the prospect of staying lost, she decided propriety might this once be disregarded.
“Permit me to escort you from this den of iniquity.” He held out an arm for her to take. “And whom have I the pleasure of rescuing from such a terrible distress?” He stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket.
“Please, sir, I am with a party, and I must rejoin them before they miss me! They were going to have coffee.” She took his arm.
“You are an angel of incomparable beauty, Miss…?” When she did not fill in his pause with her name, he continued in a languishing tone: “I must know who you are, my dear little beauty!” He was certain she was the daughter of some merchant who had brought his child to London in order to f
ind her a husband. That she was so willing to trust him spoke volumes for her innocence. It also suggested she had not been brought up as strictly as she might have been. Indulgent fathers had been the ruin of more than one young lady visiting London for the first time. He covered her hand with his and began strolling in the direction of one of the more remote corners of the gardens.
Isobel did not recognize where they were until they passed the edge of a flowered border she did remember. “At last!” she cried when she recalled that, should they cut through, they would be very near the entrance. “Oh, but that way is to the gates!” She stopped when he continued straight ahead.
“Indeed, it is not, miss.”
“No, sir, you are mistaken,” she insisted when he tried to urge her on. She began to have a sense of how reckless she had been to trust a stranger.
“I assure you, ‘tis you, angel though you are, who are mistaken,” he said smoothly.
He walked on and she had no choice but to walk with him. With every step they took she was more and more certain he was leading her away from the entrance, especially since she did not see any buildings that looked as if they might be the coffeehouse. She pulled to a sudden halt when, to her great relief, she saw Mrs. Vincent walking out of one of the Chinese-style buildings.
“I see my party now!” She jerked her arm free and called out to Mrs. Vincent. She waved frantically when she saw the woman look around.
“Miss St. James, what a pleasure,” she said when Isobel reached her side.
“Is Mr. Swaffing here?” she asked, so relieved to see someone she knew that she failed to note her “rescuer” had followed her and was standing next to her, listening with great interest to every word.
“Miss St. James!”
“Lord Hartforde,” purred Mrs. Vincent, smiling and half turning to look behind her.
“Lord Hartforde!” Isobel jerked her head up as he readied Mrs. Vincent’s side.
“My Lord Hartforde,” said Mr. Selwynn, while he straightened up from a deferential bow, “Miss St. James was lost and she prevailed upon me to escort her to safety.” Isobel was horrified to hear Mr. Selwynn giving him the impression that she had accosted a complete stranger, and she turned to stare at him. “I trust, my lord, I am leaving her in capable hands.” He bowed and would have kissed Isobel’s hand had she not snatched it away. He bowed again and, smoothing his moustache, left Isobel staring after him.
“I presume, Miss St. James, you are no longer lost?” Lord Hartforde queried.
“I was with Lady Julia and Lord Burke and we were separated, and I did not know where I was nor how to reach anywhere I knew! And he addressed me, my lord!”
“And where are my sister and Burke now?” A large diamond flashed on his finger as he brushed a speck of dust from his immaculate cuff.
“We were going to have coffee when we were separated.” Isobel was so close to tears that her voice trembled.
“We were just going that way.” He indicated the group that had exited the building after Mrs. Vincent. Mr. Swaffing was not among them.
“I just want to go home!” She was positively mortified to feel her cheeks burning and tears welling up again.
“Please, Miss St. James, consider my carriage at your disposal.” He made a neat little bow before turning to Mrs. Vincent. “Mrs. Vincent…Angelica,” he murmured. “If you would be so kind as to allow me to escort Miss St. James to my carriage, I shall rejoin our party in a thrice.”
“Of course, my lord,” said Mrs. Vincent, looking at Isobel a little smugly and, evidently, feeling she was in a position to be magnanimous.
Lord Hartforde took Isobel’s arm and, as soon as they were out of earshot, cleared his throat. “Miss St. James,” he said sternly, “I feel it my duty to tell you a young lady never, upon any account whatsoever, approaches a stranger. I understand you are new to England, and no doubt things are done differently in America, but ‘tis little excuse for acting so unwisely.”
“I did no such thing!” She looked away as soon as she met the brilliant green of his eyes, unsettled at the strange sensation it caused in her. She found it helpful to concentrate on his sword, gently hitting the skirt of her gown.
“Then you know Mr. Selwynn?” He glanced down at her.
“Of course not!” she denied hotly, trying not to take offense at what she thought was a patronizing tone.
“Then, forgive me, if you will, Miss St. James, you must have approached a stranger. Q.E.D.”
His voice was so full of condescension that for a moment she entirely forgot to be cowed by him. “Forgive me, Lord Hartforde, but he approached me. I did not approach a stranger. Quod erat demonstrandum.”
“Verbum sat sapienti est, Miss St. James.”
“’Yet do I hold that mortal foolish who strives against the stress of necessity.’” She was angry enough at him for scolding her for something she had considered only in desperation that she forgot how upset she had been at Mr. Selwynn for implying what had not been the case.
“Good heavens! A woman who quotes the classics!” He was laughing, and Isobel frowned at him. “Pray tell, Miss St. James, when had you occasion to read Euripides?”
“When I was eleven,” she said shortly.
There was an incredulous pause. “Indeed?” he said. There was another pause, during which Isobel glared at him, and after which he said, smiling, though his voice was serious, “Should a woman as learned as yourself deign to take my humble advice, you would do well to avoid Mr. Selwynn in the future.”
By then they had reached his carriage and he handed her up when the footman jumped to attention and opened the door. She heard him giving the coachman instructions after the door was shut but didn’t know he stood looking after the carriage long after it was out of sight.
II
Later, Julia was effusively apologetic for Lord Burke’s clumsiness in losing hold of her at Ranelagh and she repeated her brother’s advice to avoid Mr. Selwynn.
The next day, promptly at ten in the morning—the earliest one might call without rudeness—one of the servants brought her a card with the name “Mr. Rupert Henry Selwynn” embossed in ornate letters beneath the silhouette of a carriage and four. “He sends his best regards for your health and begs you to see him, miss,” the servant said when Isobel took the card from the tray.
“Show Mr. Selwynn to the west drawing room,” Isobel said. “And tell him I will join him momentarily.” She finished her coffee, then went to see Mr. Rupert Henry Selwynn.
“Miss St. James! It is indeed a pleasure and an honor to see you.” He took the hand she extended to him and bent over it. As he did so, he thought he had never held a hand so pretty. The sapphires she wore could be worth no less than a thousand pounds.
Isobel took her hand back. “Have you come to apologize, Mr. Selwynn?”
“Miss St. James, I can only think you refer to your misapprehension that I was not leading you to the coffeehouse. “ He looked stricken at the thought. “I assure you, I was not leading you astray! May I be struck down as I speak if I am capable of such a base act!” Fortunately, Mr. Selwynn was not a religious man, or he could not have kept his composure so well.
“Yet, I know you were not taking me to the entrance, Mr. Selwynn. I had at least remembered that much!” She remained standing.
“You are quite mistaken, Miss St. James.” He stroked his upper lip. “I was merely taking you by a route which you, apparently, did not recognize. I would never—never!—do such a thing as you accuse me of.” He went down on one knee before her and grasped her hand. “Miss St. James, I beg of you, I beseech you! I shall throw myself in front of the first carriage to pass your door if you persist in thinking me capable of such a base and dishonorable act!” He stood up when she gently took her hand away.
“Yet, you allowed Lord Hartforde to think I approached you, a stranger.”
“I?” He put a hand to his breast. “I only recall helping to safety a beautiful woman who was in distress. If my
Lord Hartforde received the impression that you approached me, why, ‘tis false!”
“But so he thinks.”
“Then I shall go to him directly I leave here and explain his error!”
“I think you had best do so, Mr. Selwynn.” She rose and rang for a servant to show Mr. Selwynn out.
“I shall go on the instant, Miss St. James.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “Will the lovely Miss St. James have pity on my poor soul and permit me the honor of calling on her again?”
“Perhaps, Mr. Selwynn.” At least Lord Hartforde would no longer think her morals loose. Mr. Selwynn seemed so sincere she did not at all doubt he would keep his promise.
“Then, I am your slave, Miss St. James.” And he followed the servant out of the room.
Rupert Selwynn paused on the steps of number 5 Albemarle, feeling extremely pleased that Miss St. James had so easily forgiven him. She was twice the beauty he had remembered. A few well-placed questions since their first encounter had gleaned him the information that she was the natural daughter of the earl of Chessingham, an intimate friend of the Lady Julia Grey, and in a fair way of becoming an heiress. Here, he told himself, is a woman who could almost make me look fondly upon the tortures of matrimony. The very thought of her expected fortune combined with his was nearly enough to make him consider the deed. When he first saw her at Ranelagh, he did not have the slightest suspicion she was so well connected, or he would never have attempted to make off with her. It had been quite a shock to discover she knew Lord Hartforde. There was a man he chose not to cross again. He smoothed his moustache. Then, pulling on his kid gloves, he softly whistled a tune as he skipped down the steps. He signaled his driver to follow him and walked off in the direction of Charing Cross Road.
Shortly after Mr. Selwynn disappeared around the corner, Lord Burke arrived to beg Isobel’s forgiveness for his stupidity in losing hold of her for even a second, and he looked so abjectly ashamed that she really did forgive him and they parted on the best of terms.
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