An Improper Suitor

by Monica Fairview

  Well, there were other fish to fry. The surge of lust he had experienced as he danced with her was simply the result of being without a woman for several days. He would remedy that as quickly as possible.

  Still making meaningless conversation, he searched round the room for someone to amuse himself with. He noticed in passing the Neville girl, who also had a handful of admirers, and to all appearances she flirted quite comfortably.

  A familiar throaty laugh reached his ears and he turned around languidly, a half-formed smile on his lips. By God, his luck was finally turning. Mrs Catherine Radlow was here, the Golden Widow. It was certainly a stroke of good fortune. He had not seen her since that night they had spent together and he had every intention of renewing their acquaintance.

  He disentangled himself from the twittering girls with a polite apology and strode towards her.

  Catherine was speaking to Captain Abbot, a man Lionel knew from his army days. Perhaps she had set up with him, after his own absence from the scene. But, as he approached, he noticed her quick sideways glance at him, the way her hand moved to her throat. He was in his element here. He was a good enough judge of women to know that she was fully aware of his approach, and that Captain Abbott did not really signify.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Radlow.’ he said, smiling lazily and drawing her gloved hand into his. ‘You’ve brought sunshine into this very dim occasion, thank heavens.’

  He bowed to Captain Abbott. The latter gave him a quick grin, exchanged a few remarks with him about mutual acquaintances, and excused himself.

  ‘I haven’t frightened him off, have I?’ asked Lionel. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, seeking information on her mood, looking for an implicit invitation.

  She shook her head and lowered her eyes briefly, but did not laugh. She was not going to make it easy for him.

  She was piqued at him for neglecting her. Damned unfair, when she had made no attempt to get in touch with him either.

  His eyes went to Julia. A scrawny young man with substantial shoulder padding was leading her to the dance floor. She probably did not know about the padding. She did not have any brothers, so she probably did not know that men resorted to such things.

  He turned his attention to Catherine Radlow. Why did women like to complicate things? He could lay a wager that he would be in her bed later tonight, but she was going to make him work for it. He was not even sure he wanted to work for it. She was a tigress in bed, and he had enjoyed every moment of their one wild frolic. But he was tired of catering to women’s sullen fits.

  Across the room, Julia laughed at something her partner said. What had that puppy said that was so funny? He tried to think of the times he had made her laugh. Had she ever truly laughed when she was with him? All the more reason to find out what that stunted weakling was saying to make her laugh.

  ‘Would you like to dance, Mrs Radlow?’

  She looked a bit surprised.

  ‘The dance is almost finished. Did you mean this dance, or the next?’

  Next dance Miss Swifton would not be laughing at this man’s jokes, and he would not be able to overhear what she thought was funny. ‘This dance. I find the tune very agreeable, don’t you?’

  She gave him a quizzical look and took his offered arm. ‘The music is agreeable,’ she acknowledged. ‘I can’t say I took particular notice of it.’

  The dance floor was crowded, and the dancing wavered as several couples were forced to adjust to their entry. More than one person glared at them, and Lionel thought he saw a tiny frown cross Julia’s face from the corner of his eye as they squeezed in next to her. Apart from a quick nod in her direction, however, he did not acknowledge her presence.

  Instead, he focused his efforts on coaxing Mrs Radlow into a better humour, and into his bed.

  Meanwhile, his ears strained to overhear Julia’s conversation with her partner.

  The music stopped.

  He had to restrain himself from throwing hostile glances at Julia’s lanky partner. He concentrated fully on smiling at Catherine. He bowed to her with exquisite graciousness. He put out his hand, took hers, and tucked it under his elbow with an exaggerated flourish and moved off the dance floor.

  With Catherine as his partner, Lionel lost at a game of whist. She laughed it off, though she had held her end up. Benny, who was teamed with a charming widow named Laura Elware, called him a milksop.

  ‘If you can’t play any better,’ he said, ‘don’t insult me by playing another game.’

  Lionel tossed down his cards. ‘I know when I’m not wanted,’ he remarked, giving Lady Elware a broad smile. ‘Come, Mrs Radlow. Let’s withdraw to the ballroom.’

  The moment they reached the ballroom, his eyes sought out Julia. He found her quickly. She stood alone. It was coming close to suppertime, and if he sat next to her at supper, that would give him an opportunity to converse with her. He excused himself from Catherine under the pretence of going to fetch something to drink, and approached Julia.

  ‘Are you engaged for the supper dance?’ he asked, at his most appealing.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lord Thorwynn,’ she said, with a sugary smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m already promised to Lord Talbrook.’

  Lord Talbrook chose that moment to reappear, carrying two glasses of wine. ‘I’d like you to meet my cousin, Nicholas Flint, Lord Talbrook,’ said Julia. ‘He’s recently returned from a long trip to the Continent, and has been amusing me with tales about his travels.’

  Lionel bowed and greeted him civilly, examining him from under his lids. Merry blue eyes, light brown hair with just a hint of curl, a wide, honest face. He exuded an era of fitness and health which Lionel found particularly irritating. He noted with satisfaction that though handsome, Lord Talbrook was much shorter than him.

  ‘Perhaps we can compare notes,’ said Lionel. ‘I’ve spent time on the Continent, although much of it involved fighting against Napoleon. It would be pleasant to talk about some of the places I’ve been.’

  Talbrook bowed, smiling amiably enough. Miss Swifton shuffled her feet, perhaps feeling excluded from the conversation. Good.

  ‘Here’s my card,’ said Thorwynn. ‘Send me a note if you wish to have a drink tomorrow. Are you a member of Brooks’s?’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ replied Talbrook. ‘I have not been to Brooks’s since my return, but I’d be delighted to join you there.’

  Any hope that he might be too negligible to be a member disappeared.

  Lionel bowed and moved away, making sure Julia saw him joining Mrs Radlow.

  Her eyes followed him as he strode away. He was not behaving so much like a bear as like a bull. She had read about bullfights in Spain, and seen a picture of a bull ready to charge. For some reason it reminded her of Lionel as he had borne down upon her to invite her to supper.

  She turned to Nicholas, taking the glass of wine from him. She sipped it slowly.

  ‘I know it’s rude of me, when you have so many other things to tell me, and I do want to hear them all, but you mentioned seeing my father.’

  She realized she was clasping her glass so hard it might break. She willed her fingers to loosen, and tried to control the clenching in the pit of her stomach. Some part of her had thought her father dead – had hoped, in many ways, that that was the case, especially since he had never responded to any attempt on her part to contact him. She had accidentally found his address one day in her ladyship’s desk, when she was about nine. With the help of Aunt Viola, Nicholas’s mother, she had sent him a string of letters telling him about her. After more than a year of receiving no reply, she had convinced herself her father was no longer alive.

  But now Nicholas had seen him and the time for make-believe was over.

  ‘Let’s find a quiet corner to converse,’ said her cousin.

  They moved to an area that was partially concealed by a row of blossoming orange trees in large Wedgwood pots. Several benches were set up there to create the illusion of a park setting. The fragrance of t
he blossoms filled the air. Julia sat down on an empty bench, and for a moment simply drank in the delicate fragrance. Then she turned to her cousin expectantly.

  Nicholas was ill at ease. ‘I saw your father in Vienna. In fact, I made a particular attempt to enquire after him, once the reports reached me that he was there. He owns a very successful gambling establishment frequented by people of fashion. I sought him out, and explained who I was.’ He hesitated.

  She knew he wanted to spare her, but she needed to lay to rest this particular ghost. ‘You must tell me the truth, Cousin,’ she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

  ‘He’s married,’ said Nicholas, ‘to a very rich widow. An opera singer whose husband died and left her a fortune. She helped him start up the gambling house. I believe he has several children with her.’ He frowned, as if remembering something unpleasant.

  ‘Go on, Cousin.’

  ‘There is nothing more,’ he said.

  ‘You have not told me how he reacted to your introduction of yourself.’ She knew she was pushing, but she wanted to know the whole story.

  ‘This is hardly the place to be talking about such a serious matter,’ said her cousin, surveying the crowds around them. ‘I’ll call on you tomorrow, and we will speak more privately.’

  ‘By all means call on me tomorrow. But you will condemn me to a sleepless night imagining all the terrible things my father said, when perhaps it was not that bad after all?’

  He gave her a pale smile. ‘You’ve always been stubborn, Cousin, which is a good quality at times. But sometimes you tread in murky waters.’

  She refused to be distracted. ‘Tell me what he said.’

  Her cousin sighed. ‘He told me his marriage to your mother had been nothing but youthful folly, and that it was so far in the past he could scarcely remember her.’

  She could see from the way he chose his words carefully that he was not telling her everything that her father had said. She imagined her father had expressed himself far less politely.

  ‘He said he knew your grandmother took good care of you, that she would make sure you had everything you need. You are well provided for, both with the money you inherited from your mother, and your grandmother’s wealth. That is all he needed to know about you. He did not understand why I wanted to dredge up the past. England is nothing but a distant nightmare to him, and he wants nothing to do with it.’

  Or with her. The words were unspoken, but they hung in the air between them.

  Bitterness and sorrow rose up to form a large, sharp-edged pebble in her throat. It threatened to choke her. She did not see how she could join the others for supper. She did not even know how she would get to the front entrance of the house from where she was.

  ‘I was afraid of this,’ said her cousin, peering at her closely. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I took you home.’

  On the verge of accepting his offer, she caught sight of Lionel with the blonde-haired lady on his arm. Julia had recognized her immediately as the turbaned lady at the theatre. They talked in the way of intimates, heads together and bodies close, though not so close as to be improper. The sight stung Julia, sending her thoughts in a completely different direction.

  She would not simply disappear. She had told Lionel she was going in with her cousin, and did not want to appear a liar by not even going in to supper.

  She pulled herself together. She had heard the truth about her father, and the truth hurt. But it was nothing new, after all. She had never actually known him, had no recollection of ever meeting him, so she could not really mourn his loss. She swallowed down the pebble. It settled in her stomach, hard and heavy.

  She turned to her companion. ‘Shall we?’ she asked, chin up and back like a stake. She rested her hand on his elbow. His solid familiarity reassured her, and some of her sorrow slid away.

  She would think about Nicholas’s news later.

  In the darkness of the carriage, Catherine leaned against him. He inhaled her seductive perfume, heavy and promising, and passed his lips along her hair. She turned and raised her head. Her hands moved up to his face. She caressed his cheek, gently, then, licking her lips, she passed her thumb across his lower lip.

  He pulled her towards him, too impatient to wait. He wanted to take her, here and now. His lips closed down on hers.

  She pushed him away, laughing.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ she said. ‘We’ve got all night.’

  Again she outlined his face with the tips of her fingers. He took her hand gently in his, and held it. She peered at him through the dim light shining through the windows.

  He examined her beautiful face, ghostly and shadowed in the darkness. Her lips were perfect, curved and sensuous. Her large blue eyes brimmed with life. Her delicate nose curved just slightly at the tip, the nose of a fairy tale princess.

  He thought of the time they had spent the night together. It brought a smile to his lips.

  He kissed her again, lightly this time, and then let her go.

  The carriage stopped in front of her house. She started to rise.

  He did not stir.

  ‘So, are you joining me later?’ she asked, laughter in her eyes.

  He opened his mouth to say, yes, of course. Instead, he said, ‘I don’t think so.’

  She sat back down on the carriage seat and regarded him intently.

  ‘When did this change of mind happen?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. I’m sorry.’ He had not expected this at all. In fact, he had prepared himself for a long night of enjoyment.

  ‘It’s that brown-haired girl, isn’t it?’ asked Catherine, with a touch of sadness.

  ‘What brown-haired girl?’

  ‘The one you kept watching all through supper.’

  He wanted to deny it. He wanted to tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about. He examined her face. There was no malice there, no anger, only ruefulness.

  He ran his fingers through his unruly locks, stared out of the window. Anything rather than look at her.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’

  She smiled, putting her hand to his cheek. ‘You don’t have to spare my feelings, Lionel. They are not engaged. I simply enjoy your company.’

  He appreciated her warmth and her generosity. He put his arms out and drew her into them, a tight embrace full of affection.

  ‘You’re a fine lady, Catherine,’ said Lionel. ‘I hope you will find someone worthy of you some day.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, echoing his words. But she sounded uncertain.

  He watched her descend from the carriage and walk slowly to the townhouse, watched the footman open the door. It was not until the door had closed completely behind her that he signalled the coachman to move.

  CHAPTER 16

  The carriage creaked, a thin, high-pitched whine that strained her nerves to screaming point. The horses’ feet struck the pavement, clip clopping in her ears. Even with all the padding and velvet, the seat was hard, so every time the carriage jolted, it rattled her to her very teeth. And Granmother was entirely uninterested.

  ‘You heard what I told you,’ she said. ‘Nicholas saw my father.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘And he isn’t in the least interested in me.’ Her voice came out as a petulant bleat. She did not like petulant bleating. She despised it, in fact.

  ‘Yes.’

  Julia turned on her. ‘Don’t you have anything else to say?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Lady Bullfinch, unperturbed.

  Julia threw her head back against the seat in disgust. She would have thought Grannie would understand what she was going through. Instead, she just sat there like – like a fish, staring, with big round eyes and no expression. Fish didn’t care for anything except opening their mouths and swallowing food.

  She had never cared about her father. Had never tried to help her find him.

  A particularly deep rut in the road caused the carriage to lurch u
npleasantly. She rubbed a bruised elbow. Why couldn’t anyone have invented something more comfortable for people to ride in?

  She wanted nothing more than to fling open the door and jump out. She needed to walk, to clear her thoughts. But it was three o’clock in the morning.

  She would have to wait until she could go riding, later.

  As if to convince her, a handful of raindrops flung themselves against the window, followed by another. Within moments, long teardrops raced down the window.

  A childhood dream, destroyed. Her father had found another wife, another set of children to care for. She had followed a pipe dream, nothing more, and she had only herself to blame.

  Grandmother had always told her to forget about her father. Yet she had persisted in wanting something from him that he could never give.

  ‘Did he ever hold me?’ she said, abruptly, into the darkness.

  Her ladyship did not pretend not to know whom she meant. ‘I believe he did. He remained with your mother until you were about one and a half, after all, even though he dallied with other women.’

  ‘How could he just forget about me, in that case?’

  Grandmother regarded her evenly. ‘Some people are simply selfish. Men or women. They aren’t capable of true love. They’re too taken up with their own needs to care for those of others.’ She sighed into the darkness. ‘Don’t try to puzzle them out, child, because you can’t.’

  Julia remembered her little girl self, the nine year old who thought she would remind her father of her existence by writing a few letters.

  Her cheeks burned for that little girl.

  Her eyes fell on the old lady. Huddled in the corner of the carriage, she appeared frail and tired. Julia’s heart went out to her.

  Much as the information Nicholas had revealed had upset her, he had told her nothing new: nothing had changed. She had Grannie. Grannie who had cared for her every step of the road.