“There is some very wild beauty in the North, I have heard,” Lady Virginia commented.
Shrewsbury shrugged. “My estate is very windy and cold. The Yorkshire Dales. I do not think my property very ideal for a sketch artist.” He decided to change the subject. “How did you learn?”
“I have a friend who had an excellent tutor. He was very fond of the views from our estate, Moorings. I used to follow him about. He taught me.” She gave her parasol another twirl, smiling at him.
“Shall we stroll?” he asked. She consented and he helped her to her feet.
“Moorings,” he repeated. “Are your views very wonderful then?”
“Yes. It is on the Dorset coast. My great-grandfather was a sea captain. The king bestowed the barony on him and he established our estate with his prize money.”
“I am guessing the house has a nautical flavor.”
“Of course. It is paneled in teak wood and even has a figurehead on a bow that extends over the back garden. He was terribly disappointed that none of his sons went to sea.”
They walked for a few moments in silence while he cast about in his mind for another subject.
“I already know you like opera. Do you sing or play an instrument?”
“My goodness, are you interviewing me for a position, my lord? What a quiz!”
They had come upon the rose arbor, which was surprisingly unoccupied, and seated themselves under the climbing pink roses.
“Forgive me. I am merely trying to know you better.”
“A person’s character is more important than her talents, however.”
“And how shall I go about learning your character?”
She gave him a sweet smile. “Observation. For instance, I am starting to read your character, my lord.”
Oh, I think not, my little pigeon. I think not.
“What is it you think you see?”
“For one thing, you do not like opera, but you pretend that you do, because it is expected of gentlemen in our class.”
He chuckled. “I am afraid that you are wrong there. I like opera very much. However, I do not like soprano-only arias. They strike me as shrill. I prefer male voices or duets.”
“Oh. Why did you come to my concert, then?” A spent rose petal drifted into her lap. Picking it up, she stroked it between her fingers. They were quite ordinary fingers with ruthlessly cut fingernails.
“Because you expected me to. I did not wish to be rude.”
“That falls into my next category. You have a very strict conscience.”
He pondered on that for a moment. “Because I am a Whig? Is that what you are basing your assessment on?”
“Not really. I was thinking more about your orphanage project.”
“That is not to salve my conscience. That is rather to do some good in the world. Those girls were being horribly mistreated. I did not conceive of the orphanage because I felt guilty. I did it because any human being with an ounce of sensitivity seeing the circumstances of those girls would be moved to help them if he had the means.”
“You are wrong. Most human beings are selfish and take care not to notice. Or if they do, they would say it was God’s will that they exist in such a state.”
“And you? What do you think?” For once, he was genuinely interested in her answer.
“The poor are always with us. I think they will be, no matter how many programs or charities we set up. For instance, there are masses more orphan girls in the East End.”
He frowned. “So one should do nothing rather than too little? Is that what you are saying?”
She looked down and began shredding the rose petal. “The poor are a problem I believe is too massive to undertake with any hope of permanent change. You are an idealist.” She looked up at him and smiled a sweet smile. “But I like you the better for it.”
He furrowed his brow, still not exactly certain where she stood in matters that were of utmost importance to him. “One thing that has made a tremendous difference in the lives of the poor is the Duchess of Ruisdell’s soup kitchen for wounded soldiers in the East End. Have you heard of that?”
“No. But I am only recently come to London. It sounds a worthy endeavor, I must say.”
“It has been very successful. A group of men, among them the duchess’s husband, have also been successful in finding jobs for the men.”
She switched her gaze from his face to the laughing couples trying to find their way through a boxwood maze. “You have a funny way of courting me. Women are interested in romance, your lordship, not soup kitchens.”
He laughed at himself. “It is you who were making out my character. You do not think I believe in romance, then?”
“Probably the idea of romance. No doubt you have a safe, unrequited love somewhere.”
Had someone told her about Sophie?
She shifted her eyes back to him, her tiny mouth showing a practiced pout. “If it were dark, and we were the only two people here in the arbor, do you think you might kiss me?”
At the moment, she looked very tempting, indeed, with her rosebud lips and her large hazel eyes focused on his. How would he know if he was attracted to her if he didn’t kiss her?
He hadn’t had to kiss Sophie. But Sophie seemed the exception to every rule in his life.
“I should be sorely tempted. Would you allow it?”
“I think I would.”
As their gazes locked, he wondered if he were allowing himself to be surprised by love. He was certainly trying. But as yet, Lady Virginia had not stirred a heartbeat.
*~*~*
Waking the following morning after a dream where he had listened to Sophie playing a gypsy tune, he threw back his bedclothes in frustration. A round with Gentleman Jackson would put him right.
Arriving at the boxing saloon, he stripped to the waist, donned boxing gloves, and sparred with his instructor a good nine rounds. Winded, but feeling surprisingly alive, he sluiced his head and torso with buckets of water. Ruisdell was preparing to box next.
“I was going to send a note around, Shrewsbury,” the duke said. “I received a communication from Lady Clarice this morning. She has been to visit the orphans and was most impressed with the job Miss Whitcombe is doing. She has brought her to London with her to give a preliminary report to the patrons.”
Christian felt an unwelcome bump as his heart bounded in his chest. “When?”
“It will be tonight. Following dinner. You will be free to go out afterward to attend your evening engagements. Can you be there?”
“Oh, yes. I can manage it. Dinner, you say?”
“Yes, we dine at half eight o’clock.”
Christian went to Brook’s for luncheon, completely forgetting he was promised to his mother and Lady Virginia that day. When he remembered, he wrote her a quick note, begging her forgiveness.
In the afternoon, he played billiards with the Marquis of Somerset when he was meant to have joined Halifax at Tattersall’s to advise him on purchasing a brood mare for his new stud operation. This necessitated another note.
Someone in Brook’s happened to mention Hyde Park, or he would have completely forgotten his engagement to drive Lady Virginia there at the fashionable hour of five o’clock. He was ten minutes late calling for her in his curricle.
“I had decided you had forgotten our engagement, my lord. Especially after you missed our scheduled luncheon today.”
“A problem arose that I had to deal with. Please accept my apologies. I have only just finished with it.”
Is she one of those ladies who delights in pointing out your wrongs? I hope not.
He headed his bays for Hyde Park, which was teeming at this hour. “Is this your first time riding in Hyde Park?” he asked.
“Oh, yes! I understand it is very important to be seen here at this time.”
Today she wore turquoise stripes and carried a matching parasol. Fixing a smile on her face, she nodded graciously as Christian introduced her to the people who st
opped to make conversation.
“Aha!” said Lord Donald Aldridge, whose father, Lord Kent, was one of the patrons of the orphanage. “I see you are accompanied by a vision today!”
“Lord Donald, meet Lady Virginia Mowbray. Lady Virginia, I fear this scamp has been sent down from Oxford again.”
“Right you are. Rusticated.”
“What was it this time?”
“A prank that went wrong. I will be going back up after Christmas. Now where have you sprung from, Lady Virginia? I swear you are new to the ton.”
“From Dorset, my lord. I have been in mourning this past year. This is my first time in Town.” She put her head to the side as though assessing the young lord. To Shrewsbury, it appeared as though she were calculating his worth. How did Aldridge weigh up compared next to him?
“And how are you finding it? Do you like it so far?” Lord Donald asked.
“Lady Shrewsbury has taken me under her wing and been exceedingly kind to me. She lends me her son from time to time.”
“Going to hear the report on the orphanage tonight?” he asked.
Eyebrows raised in question, she looked at Christian. “What is this?”
“A young woman who teaches at the orphanage is going to be addressing the patrons tonight with a report.”
“Oh! Your pet project. Is there any chance that I could hear what she has to say? I should like it above all things!”
“Er, well, as a matter of fact, there is a dinner party to begin with . . .” Shrewsbury said. Her question had thrown him. He thought she had little interest in such things. And he had compartmentalized his life, seeing the social entertainments as distinct from his more important work. If he were to be quite honest with himself, he did not want her to come.
“Ah!” said young Donald, bringing his horse in closer. He swept off his beaver hat and bowed from the waist. “I have been asked to bring a guest. Perhaps you would accompany me, Lady Virginia. You are certain to find it most fascinating.”
“Lady Virginia is of Tory sympathies, I suspect,” Shrewsbury said.
“Then I shall consider this a missionary opportunity. What say thee, fair lady?”
“I should like very much to come,” Lady Virginia said, turning her face to Lord Shrewsbury, one haughty eyebrow raised.
Had she read his reluctance then? To his surprise, he found he cared very little whether she had or not.
“The horses have stood too long, Aldridge. Finish your business,” Shrewsbury said.
“If you will give me your direction, Lady Virginia, I shall call for you at eight o’clock.”
“Rose House on Half Moon Street. No roses though. At the moment, there are a good many chrysanthemums planted in front.”
“I shall find it. Cheerio then!” Lord Donald rode off.
“Well!” said Christian’s companion. The expletive sounded as though she were very pleased with herself.
“You are going to be frightfully bored,” he said.
“That depends on the company. Who is hosting this dinner?”
He frowned. “The duke and duchess of Ruisdell.”
“A duke? My goodness! I am certain I shall enjoy myself then.”
Shrewsbury made no comment, but turned the horses and headed for Rose House.
*~*~*
As Christian prepared for dinner at the duke’s, he remembered with some amusement Miss Whitcombe-Hodge’s favorable impression of his tailoring. I must make certain not to disappoint her on any count!
His bottle green velvet evening jacket went well with his eyes, and cream linen was preferable to stark white with his golden blond hair. Now, for a waistcoat. He finally selected one of gold silk embroidered in the same color in a fleur de lis pattern. Lathrop ordered his locks in their customary Brutus fashion and added the sole ornamentations of his gold watch and chain, as well as a small gold stickpin embossed with his family crest.
He smiled, thinking he looked suitably dandyish, and went off to confront the termagant goddess. And Lady Virginia, of course.
Shearings had long been one of his favorite townhouses. Its entry had double baroque staircases curving to a mezzanine lined with paintings of the Dukes of Ruisdell. Against this background, the duke and duchess greeted him. It appeared to be a large party, which surprised Shrewsbury. Ruisdell must be hoping to attract more patrons for their project. This could only be a good thing.
In the large midnight blue drawing room—papered to match the duchess’s eyes—he spotted Hélène Whitcombe-Hodge speaking to Lord Donald and Lady Virginia, using greatly exaggerated hand gestures. Approaching the trio, he bade everyone good evening.
Miss Whitcombe-Hodge appraised him openly. “You look very well tonight, Lord Shrewsbury.”
“You still approve of my tailor?”
“He turns you out exceedingly well, I must say.”
“I hoped you would be pleased,” he said, smiling at her. He turned to Lord Donald and Lady Virginia. “I am happy that you have met one of our teachers. Has she been telling you about the school? I must confess I am interested to find how everything progresses.”
“All is going swimmingly, it would seem,” Lady Virginia said.
“Ah, wonderful,” Christian said. “Have you progressed to Voltaire yet, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge?”
“I am reserving that topic for next week,” she said solemnly.
Christian felt uncomfortably stirred by her presence. Dash it! Does she exude some kind of magnetic field?
“Voltaire?” Lord Donald’s brow bunched in confusion.
“A French philosopher of the Enlightenment,” Lady Whitcombe-Hodge said gently. “Lord Shrewsbury is teasing. He knows I am immensely fond of Voltaire.”
Christian noted a frown on Lady Virginia’s face. “You disapprove of Voltaire?” he asked.
“No. No, not at all.” She gave an artificial laugh. “Who could disapprove of Voltaire?”
“Many Frenchmen, apparently,” Lord Shrewsbury said. “He spent an inordinate amount of time in prison.” Turning to the teacher, he said, “The Duke gave me a splendid account of your teaching methods for the letter ‘n.’”
She raised her chin. “He surprised me. It very nearly put me off my game.”
Lady Virginia laughed. “A duke is enough to put anyone off one’s game.”
Suddenly, he wished the pesky woman would go away. He repositioned his shoulder so that he faced the schoolteacher face to face. “I understand your sisters are happily resituated,” he said.
“In great part, I have you to thank for that, my lord,” Miss Whitcombe-Hodge said with a slight bow of her head. “Thank you.”
“It was Blakeley as much as me. I had no idea your situation was so dire. Happily, I now understand your concerns for the independence of women in a way that I did not previously. I am giving it more serious thought.”
She smiled her full, winsome smile, and his heart began knocking against his ribs. “Genteel poverty of females is invisible to most people, my lord. The victims wish it to be. No one of gentle birth wishes to be an object of pity or charity.”
“It produces a great deal of false pride.”
“Were you in reduced circumstances, would you wish all society to know?” she asked.
“Assuredly not. But as you have so skillfully pointed out, as a man, I am more empowered to change my lot.”
Lady Virginia said, “Most likely by marrying money!” She laughed.
“A woman also has that option,” Christian said. “However, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge is far too high-minded to put that choice into play.”
To his surprise, the schoolteacher’s face turned scarlet, and she would not meet his eyes. What was this? Had she changed her mind on that score? Who was she to marry then? Blakeley? He clenched his fists.
Just then, the dinner gong sounded. Christian offered his arm to Miss Whitcombe-Hodge and proceeded into the dining room. The duchess directed his partner to the seat on the Duke’s right hand, as guest of honor. Shrewsbury
was seated at the duchess’s right hand, which pleased him. He was very fond of her. And she was Sophie’s sister.
Over the soup, he said, “I recently received a note from Trowbridge with a post-script from Sophie. I was disappointed to hear they would stay in Italy for the winter.”
“Would you not prefer the Italian climate, if you had the chance to winter there?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
“They are coming home eventually, are they not? Or have they decided that Buck and Fanny have the right idea about living abroad?”
The duchess laughed. Leaning toward him she spoke, sotto voce, “I believe Frank is delaying their homecoming until you are safely married.”
Christian had not blushed since he was a boy, but he felt tell-tale heat moving up into his face. Worse, he could not think of a reply. Giving him a knowing look, the duchess turned to Lord Kent, who was seated on her other side. “How does Melissa down at Oaksey Hall?”
Just how many people knew of his unrequited love for the Lady Trowbridge? Had he been that transparent? A waiter placed a dish of turbot in front of him. Christian stared at it as if it were a live snake.
The chubby Marquis of Somerset sat on his right. “Wool-gathering, Shrewsbury?”
“Uh, yes. Thinking about the school. Do you intend to put up some blunt?”
“Ruisdell has me thinking about it. Looking forward to the gel’s report. Stunner, ain’t she?”
Christian looked down the table at Hélène Whitcombe-Hodge. “Your own wife is far more amenable, I assure you. That lady can have a most abrasive manner.”
“Did I not see her on your arm?”
“She was. But can you imagine a combination of Mary Woolstonecraft and a vicar’s daughter? Hardly my cup of tea. In either incarnation.”
Somerset chuckled. “Ain’t I seen you around with the Mowbray chit?”
“Don’t place any bets yet. It’s early days,” Christian said, wondering how many others were speculating on his future.
{ 8 }
HÉLÈNE COULD NOT HELP but contrast the respectful attentions the duke paid her now with his lordly manner at their last meeting.
The Baron and the Bluestocking Page 6
