by Mary Nichols
James cursed himself for not watching his tongue; now she was taking a perverse delight in being extra-agreeable to Wincote and that young man was lapping up all the attention. He stood and watched them for a few moments. Wincote was handsome and well dressed, as Lavinia had pointed out to him, and his manners were exquisite. If he had been paying his addresses to Constance Graham or any of the other young ladies, he would have said good luck to him. But Lavinia—no. And was that fair? Lavinia’s happiness was all that should matter.
James did not like where his thoughts were taking him and, pushing them from his mind, walked over to talk to his stepmother. ‘They make a handsome couple, do they not?’ he said, endeavouring to keep his voice neutral.
‘Yes, but I am a little uneasy. What do you know of him, James?’
‘Nothing at all. After his brother, Henry, introduced us at college, I never saw him again until yesterday. I really cannot vouch for him.’
‘Could he be a fortune-hunter? The Duke is so busy nowadays, I do not like to worry him, but it means I must be extra-vigilant on his behalf…’
‘Would you like me to make some enquiries?’
‘Could you? He has asked to take her riding tomorrow and I could not withhold my consent for no reason, could I?’
‘No, but I assume she will be chaperoned. And the town is so packed with people they will be in someone’s view the whole time. Besides, if he is looking to the main chance, he will not do anything to compromise that, will he?’
‘No, you are right, but all the same, I would be happier if you were to accompany them.’
‘Me? You mean me to play the chaperon, Mama?’
‘Please.’
‘Lavinia will not like it.’
‘I am sorry for that, but I will have her protected from her own folly.’
‘Very well,’ he agreed, but he was not happy about it.
At a quarter past ten the following morning, Lavinia, dressed in a lightweight blue riding habit, nipped into her tiny waist and frogged with silver braid, tripped lightly down the stairs. She sent a servant to the mews to ask Tom Bagshott, one of the grooms, to bring her mare, Misty, to the front of the house.
Riding out with a young man escorted by Tom was nothing unusual; over the last three years there had been many young men of the ton anxious to be seen with her and it amused her to set one against the other with a little flirtatious teasing, but today was different. Today there was a sense of anticipation which made her a little breathless, heightened the colour in her cheeks and caused her eyes to sparkle. She was aware of it and yet she did not want to admit that it was because Edmund Wincote had asked her to ride with him.
After all, she told herself, what was he but another young man, one of many trying their luck with the Duke of Loscoe’s daughter? Not for the first time, she longed to be a simple country girl, someone who did not have to think about dowries and marriage settlements and fortune-hunters. She wished she could be sure that any young man paying court to her did it out of love.
But if the young man in question was himself rich enough for such things not to count with him, then did it mean she could accept his assurances and allow herself to fall in love? But that was silly, one did not allow oneself to fall in love, it just happened, didn’t it? You could not control it. And wasn’t she rushing ahead too fast? She had only met Lord Wincote three days before and not by the wildest leap of imagination could she say she knew him.
She had no idea of his likes and dislikes over food, art and literature, whether he was kind or unkind, passionate or dispassionate. But those dark mesmeric eyes were deep enough to hide great passions, she was sure of it, and mysterious enough to hold her in thrall. But how did he truly feel about her in his heart? Standing before a long mirror in the hall, she smiled at herself as she set a plumed riding hat on her chestnut mane; time would tell and, in the meantime, she would enjoy herself.
She heard a knock at the door reverberating through the hall, and only just managed not to run and open it herself. Instead, she turned and went into the drawing room to wait as calmly as she could for Lord Wincote to be announced.
However, it was not Lord Wincote but the Earl of Corringham who entered the room, doffed his tall hat and swept her a bow. ‘My lady, your servant.’
She laughed. ‘Why the formality, Corringham?’
‘It seemed the thing to do, seeing I am here as a formality…’
‘Formality?’
‘Yes, the Duchess has asked me to be your chaperon this morning.’
‘She never has! You are making it up.’
‘I am not making it up and, believe me, it was not an errand I sought or wanted, but she asked me and I could not say no, could I?’ He had managed to find nothing against Wincote and ought not to judge him on instinct alone; his instinct could very well be at fault. On the other hand, the Duchess’s rarely was.
‘But why? Tom Bagshott always accompanies me when I ride out. Mama has always been happy about that before.’
‘I believe the Duke had an errand for Tom this morning.’
‘But why you? There are other servants.’
‘My lady, you have cut me to the quick. Am I such a monster that you do not want to be seen out with me? You were ready enough when you wanted to drive my phaeton.’
She leaned back and surveyed him from head to toe. He was dressed in a riding coat of Bath cloth and breeches in the softest tan buckskin tucked into his riding boots. His neckcloth was purest white and tied in a mathematical knot which filled the space between the top of his yellow waistcoat and his smooth, firm chin.
Any young lady would be proud to be seen with him and she was no exception. If it had been anyone but Lord Wincote she was going riding with she would have welcomed him; she might even have invited him to accompany her. But she sensed he and Lord Wincote did not like each other though, as far as she could tell, there was no cause for it. Instead of having a pleasant ride with amusing conversation, they would be trying to score points off one another and she would be pig in the middle.
‘I am sorry, James, I love to ride with you and you know it, but I cannot help thinking there is something smoky going on.’
‘Not from me there is not. Nor Mama. If you have a bad conscience—’
‘I certainly do not!’ They both heard the door knocker at that moment, though neither moved. ‘I am going out riding with Lord Wincote. You may come if you please, I cannot stop you, but should you say one word to spoil it, I shall never forgive you.’
‘I will remain as silent as the grave.’
‘And that will not do either. You will have Lord Wincote think you are sulking. Try to behave naturally.’
He executed an exaggerated leg, denoting his acquiescence without actually saying anything, just as the butler opened the door and announced Lord Wincote.
He strode in, smiling unctuously, and bowed. ‘Lady Lavinia.’
‘You are punctual, my lord.’ She held out her hand which he took.
‘No doubt that is down to impatience to be in your company again, my lady.’ He glanced round, noticing James for the first time, and his expression darkened momentarily. ‘Corringham, good morning.’
James inclined his head. ‘Wincote.’
Lavinia looked from one to the other and her heart sank. If this coldness was what she had to put up with for the next couple of hours, it was going to be hard work instead of fun. ‘Mama has asked James to accompany us,’ she told Edmund, deciding to make the best of it. ‘I shall be the envy of the ton, having two such agreeable escorts.’
James smiled at her. It was a friendly smile, which told her he approved of the way she was handling it and would not let her down. At least, that is what he meant to convey. As long as Wincote acted in a gentlemanly fashion and Lavinia behaved with decorum, he would remain in the background, difficult as it would be. At least he would be able to observe Lord Wincote’s behaviour.
‘Come along, then, let us be off,’ he said, leading the
way to the front of the house where he had left his horse and Lavinia’s mare in the care of a groom. Lord Wincote’s own mount stood close by. Watched by a fuming Lord Wincote, James cupped hands for Lavinia to mount, which she did, settling herself in the saddle with consummate ease. The two men mounted and, riding one each side of her, they set off for Hyde Park.
The crowds were so thick they found it difficult to do make their way at all; the Ride, when they turned into it, was no better. It was thronged with riders, from men on spirited thoroughbreds, and ladies dressed in the latest frogged habits and plumed hats, right down to toddlers on tiny ponies. They certainly could not trot or canter, which is what Lavinia wanted to do. And the carriage way was even more packed with vehicles of every description: lumbering old-fashioned coaches, barouches, landaus, tilburys, phaetons and curricles. It seemed everyone in town was determined to see and be seen.
‘Where have they all come from?’ Lavinia asked. ‘I never saw so many people out and about.’
‘Oh, I expect it is the presence of the Queen in town,’ James said, forgetting his intention to remain in the background.
‘Well, whatever it is, it has quite spoiled my ride,’ Lavinia said. ‘Do you think it will be like this all summer long?’
‘Undoubtedly it will, at least until after the coronation,’ Edmund put in. ‘Perhaps we should arrange a day in the country to get away from it all.’
‘What a splendid idea! I shall put it to Stepmama as soon as we return.’
‘In the meantime, do you think Green Park will be less crowded?’
‘Let’s go and see,’ she said, turning her horse towards the nearest exit which happened to be Hyde Park Gate. It took no time at all to cross the road and enter Green Park which was, as Edmund had predicted, far less crowded. The park was more informal than Hyde Park, with areas of grass on which cows grazed, little copses of trees and winding paths.
‘Oh, this is better,’ Lavinia said, throwing back her head so that the plume on her hat tickled her cheek. She lifted a gloved hand to brush it away. ‘But I really think if one wants to ride properly, it will have to be very early in the morning. To have a good gallop one needs space, do you not agree, Lord Wincote?’
‘Now, Vinny,’ James murmured. He did not want Wincote reminded that he had met Lavinia out with him at what polite society would consider an unholy hour. As far as he was aware nothing had been noised abroad and he supposed Wincote had decided it would not do to sully the reputation of the young lady on whom he had fixed his attention. But he did not want Wincote to conclude that Lavinia was ready to meet anyone who took her fancy at that early hour.
Although she had had three years’ schooling in the ways of the haut monde, she was not always aware of the consequences of flouting convention. For James, it was part of her charm and he loved to indulge her, but that did not mean he would sit back and allow her to meet Wincote, or any other young buck, before breakfast.
‘Indeed, yes, my lady,’ Lord Wincote said. ‘But in London, space is at a premium, especially this summer. Now, up in Cumberland, on our estate near Windermere, it is mostly heathland—’
‘I thought it was for the most part water,’ James put in, mischievously. ‘I do not know about you, but I for one cannot ride on water.’
‘James, do not tease,’ Lavinia said, then, turning to Lord Wincote, ‘Take no note of him, my lord, he is in a very strange mood. Tell me about your estate. What is it called? How many acres does it cover?’
‘The house is called Ridgemere, but I am not at all sure of the exact acreage. It used to cover several miles in all directions, but my grandfather reduced the holding before he died. I think there might still be five hundred acres.’
‘Heathland?’ James queried.
‘Three-quarters of it is. It supports a prodigious number of sheep. And below ground there are mines.’
‘You own the mining rights?’ James queried.
‘Yes.’ Forestalling more questions, he turned from James to Lavinia. ‘One may gallop for miles and hardly meet a soul. I should like you to see it.’
‘Perhaps one day I shall,’ she said. ‘But until then, I must make what I can of the space available.’ And with that she dug her spur into Misty’s flank and galloped off across the grass. ‘Race you to that group of trees,’ she shouted behind her and then crouched over her mount and concentrated on riding.
It was a moment or two before the men gathered themselves to follow her and it was James, more used to her ways, who was first off the mark. She could hear the hooves of his stallion behind her and laughed at the sheer exhilaration of it. Not that she could win, she knew she could not. James had the swifter horse and she was handicapped by having to ride side saddle. He overtook her easily and Edmund was drawing abreast as they reached the trees and pulled up.
‘You would not have done that if we had been at Risley,’ she said, dismounting to rest her horse. ‘I would have been riding astride and given you a run for your money.’
‘Hoyden!’ James laughed as he slid from his horse, followed by Edmund. ‘I will put that to the test next time we are there.’
‘Done!’
‘I am sure I could not take advantage of a lady by beating her,’ Edmund said pompously.
‘Fustian!’ she said.
‘Tell you what, Wincote,’ James put in. ‘If you are so averse to riding against a lady, why not pit yourself against your own sex? Join us on Hampstead Heath in a fortnight’s time for some racing. Nothing formal, just a few friends competing against each other for ha’pennies.’
‘Very well. I shall be honoured.’
‘Oh, good,’ Lavinia said. ‘We shall organise that day in the country we talked of. The ladies can come and watch. Or,’ she added with a chuckle, ‘we could hold our own events.’
James sighed. It was just like Lavinia to take what was to have been a purely masculine occasion and turn it into a big event, but she was in such a good humour, her apparent annoyance over his presence dispelled, that he could not remonstrate with her. Lavinia at her sunniest was irresistible.
Chapter Three
“‘I do entreat your grace to pardon me,’” murmured Lavinia to herself, consulting the text in the small book she carried. “‘I know not by what power I am made bold—’” She stopped suddenly, jostled by a passer-by, who did not stay to apologise.
‘My lady,’ Daisy entreated her fearfully, ‘I do think you should put that book away and hurry home. I have never seen such crowds.’
Lavinia had been so absorbed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, one of several copies she had just bought at a shop in Oxford Street, she had not noticed the press of people in the street, all coming towards them. They were shouting, ‘Hurrah! God bless the Queen!’, running alongside an open landau, filling the road and the pavement.
Lavinia stopped to stare, knowing she was looking at the Queen and experiencing at first hand the adulation in which she appeared to be held. Her Majesty was stockily built and dressed in mourning for the late king, who had been her uncle as well as her father-in-law, but what surprised Lavinia more than anything was the huge black wig whose long curls hung each side of her rouged cheeks and the thickly painted black eyebrows which made her large head look even bigger. She was accompanied by the Lord Mayor, Alderman Wood, and Lady Anne Hamilton, her lady-in-waiting.
The carriage was going at little more than walking pace, but its chief occupant was revelling in the adoration, smiling and bowing first to one side and then the other, while from the houses and shops of Oxford Street more and more people emerged to add to the crowds, many of whom waved white ribbons or wore white cockades and shouted, ‘The Queen! The Queen! Long live the Queen!’
Lavinia and her maid, with Tom Bagshott walking a few paces behind them carrying the other books, were intent on going in the opposite direction, but it was impossible to force a way through the throng and they found themselves being pushed willy-nilly along with everyone else. It was like a great tidal wave,
carrying all before it. Lavinia heard Daisy cry out behind her but she could not see the little maid, nor the tall figure of the groom, because she could not go back or even turn round.
She dropped her book, her hat came off and then a shoe and, as she hobbled along, pressed in on all sides, she began to wonder how much further she could go without falling down. And that she must not do, for it would mean being trampled to death. The whole procession had reached the corner of Portman Street and she was limping badly when she was suddenly grabbed from behind and held in two powerful arms.
‘Let me go!’ she shouted, wriggling to try to free herself. Her hair escaped its pins and cascaded round her shoulders and over her eyes, so that she could not see properly. ‘Let go of me at once!’
‘I fear, my lady, that if I do you will be knocked down and be trampled on,’ said a quiet voice which she instantly recognised as that of Lord Wincote.
Still held in his arms, she squirmed round to face him, while the multitude followed the carriage into Portman Street, which relieved the press of bodies about her, though he did not release her. ‘My lord!’
He lifted a hand from around her waist to brush her hair out of her eyes. She gazed up at him, so overwhelmed with relief that she did not notice that his fingers still stroked her temple and that his other hand was still firmly around her waist. His dark eyes were searching hers, making her feel weaker than ever. If he released her, she felt sure her legs would not support her and she would crumple to the ground. ‘My lady, are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, now that you are here,’ she said, pulling away from him at last and endeavouring to push her hair behind her ears and replace a few of the pins. ‘I thank you for your timely intervention.’
