Lord Shrewsbury’s face became devoid of expression—a stoic mask. “I hope you will have an enjoyable evening. But do not stray from your party. There are ruffians about who prey on women.”
“Oh, fustian!” she said. “You are just trying to ruin the evening for me. Why are you so disagreeable?”
Before he could answer, the duchess whisked her out the door. “For a prim schoolmistress, you are becoming quite a socialite,” she said. “I do not think Lord Shrewsbury likes it one bit. You are proving to be quite an enigma to the good baron.”
“Why is that?”
“He keeps trying to pigeonhole you, but you do not fit anywhere he puts you.”
“He pigeonholes people? What a rigid personality he must have!”
“Says the young woman who pigeonholes the entire male sex as ignorant and oppressive!”
Hélène considered this. “That is not very well-done of me. The duke certainly does not fit that description. But such men as the duke are rare, you must admit.”
“I freely admit it. He is a very enlightened gentleman.” The duchess smiled broadly. “And Lord Shrewsbury is very rigid, but I would not call him an ignorant man.”
They were near to Lady Clarice’s home now. Hélène said, “No, he is really quite well informed on a number of subjects. More so than most gentlemen of the ton, I fancy. And he is very generous and kind. We are simply a bad combination. I always push him to the edge of his temper. Sometimes, intentionally.”
“I am aware of that. Why is that, I wonder?”
She thought, but could not think of an answer. “I really do not know.”
*~*~*
Hélène took very great care with her appearance that evening. She wore a black evening gown with a square neck and short, puffed sleeves, trimmed in quantities of black sequins and shiny jet beads. It was made for dancing with its full skirt and suggestion of a train. Lady Clarice loaned her a hooded black velvet cloak to go over it. Looking at herself in the mirror she felt like a princess in a fairy tale. What a far cry from the schoolmistress she really was. This time next week, she would be wiping noses, teaching letters, and supervising bed times.
But tonight would be a night out of time. Like Cinderella’s. Without the glass slipper.
When the party arrived to whisk her away in the coach, she briefly wondered if they were going to a masquerade. Baron Delacroix seemed to be a parody of himself—dressed entirely in black, including his shirt and cravat.
He looks like the devil himself!
Once they were in the coach, Ginny chattered away like a magpie. “Oh, I am so excited! I have wanted to go to Vauxhall since I was a girl. Thank you so much, William, for taking us!”
Her mother, looking insignificant in an out-of-date purple frock, was scarcely less excited. “And thank you, dear, for including me! What you young things should want with an old woman is beyond me.”
“You are to lend us countenance, Mama,” her son said.
Hélène did think it kind that her children had included their mother in the outing, and could not help but wonder at it. Perhaps once there, the baron would wander off and leave Ginny and her to the baroness’s chaperonage.
The point came in their journey where they boarded a small boat and were rowed to the site of the gardens. As they came closer, Hélène saw the Chinese lanterns lighting the area, showing dense shrubbery and trees. They disembarked behind another party that appeared to be the worse for drink, laughing and staggering out of the boat, nearly landing themselves in the Thames.
Lord Delacroix leapt nimbly from the boat and reached for her gloved hand, which he held in a firm grip as she negotiated her way onto the shore. After assisting his mother and sister to alight, Delacroix then threaded her hand through the crook of his arm and rested it on his sleeve.
“This is the way,” he said, following the lanterns. Hélène heard distant strains of music.
Soon they came upon a huge gathering in an area cordoned off into boxes filled with elegantly clad party-goers. An orchestra was playing a waltz while dozens twirled about on a wooden dance floor.
Never having even been to a ball, Hélène was unexpectedly enchanted. Lord Delacroix looked down into her face with a half-smile and one elegantly raised eyebrow.
“What fun!” she said. Her earnest life at the orphanage seemed another life.
“Oh, William, you must give me a dance,” said Ginny. “I have dreamed of dancing at Vauxhall for years.”
“You shall have your dance, Ginny. Never fear.”
The baron led them to their box, and once they were seated he ordered champagne. Another first for Hélène. She had never tasted champagne.
Looking around her at the women in their silks and satins being courted assiduously by so many handsomely tailored men, Hélène thought that if she were in their shoes for more than this one night, it was very likely she would not spare a thought for the plight of the poor or the rights of women. What unusual men Lord Shrewsbury and the Duke of Ruisdell were to care for the causes they did!
Her attention was claimed by her present escort. “The suppers here are light. Vauxhall is particularly known for its finely shaved ham. Shall I order you some, with a bit of fruit and some pastries?”
“That sounds perfect,” she said.
After they ate the picnic-like meal, Lord Delacroix said, “Now, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge, would you do me the great honor of waltzing with me?”
“I will try,” she said, smiling. “But I must warn you, I have never danced in public before.”
“It is time you did, then.” His gaze upon her was speculative. What is he wondering about?
Soon it did not matter, for she was lost in the exquisite pleasure of twirling about the dance floor. It was enchanting. Part way through the dance, her partner pulled her closer to him and said, “You are lightness itself, my dear. Made for the waltz. I cannot picture you in a dreary orphanage.”
Hélène was not comfortable being held so closely in the arms of someone she scarcely knew, and his words brought her back to reality.
“The orphanage is my real life, not this,” she said. “It is not dreary at all.”
“I was merely alluding to the fact that you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman.”
His eyes were intense with some emotion she could not read and with which she was not sure she was comfortable. She did not know what to reply. Her pleasure in the waltz was spoiled.
Seeming to sense this, he said, “That was a compliment.”
“Yes. Thank you. But do not try to flirt with me, please. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“I was not flirting. I was being absolutely truthful. You must know you are beautiful.”
To that, she could not find a reply, and only wished the dance would end. When at last it did, he led her back to their enclosure and requested the company of his mother for the minuet that was forming.
“You look vexed,” Ginny said. “Is anything amiss?”
She smiled at her friend. “Only that I am not used to compliments. Your brother’s were fulsome in the extreme.”
“Why? What did he say?” Ginny leaned forward, eyes large with curiosity.
Hélène batted her hand as though shooing away a gnat. “It is not worth repeating. I was just a bit overwhelmed. This is not really my world, you know.” Looking around at the groups of party-goers, many of them drunken, the place did not seem quite as magical as before.
“It could be,” her friend said.
“Ginny, I have not a sou to my name, and no relatives to give me succor or countenance. This week in London is likely to be my first and last.”
“But, Hélène, you are such a lovely, talented woman. You are certain to be married!”
Hélène held her tongue for once. She did not want to begin a debate on a women’s rights and her opposition to marriage as a way to give a woman an identity while they were in the present frivolous setting. Or so she told herself.
After Ginny had had
her dance with her brother, she suggested that they stroll through the lanes where there were reputedly statuary and small temple-like structures that were said to be worth seeing. She immediately took her mother’s arm as they began their walk, leaving Hélène with Lord Delacroix. He linked her arm through his once more.
They followed a well-lit path, encountering other strollers. The baron asked her to tell him about the orphanage. Relief coursed through her. This was a subject she was comfortable discussing. As she spoke, her natural exuberance came to the fore.
“You are a very enthusiastic teacher. I imagine you are a good one. Your own children will be fortunate.”
Still carried away by her enthusiasm, she said, “The girls at the orphanage are the only children I am likely to have. They are enough.”
“You do not believe you will marry?”
“It is not likely. I am poor as the proverbial church mouse, the daughter of an unknown vicar, and living in Chipping Norton, I do not really have any opportunity to meet men of a like mind.”
“Have you thought of extending your stay in London? I should very much like to deepen our acquaintance.” He paused, and she let the astonishment she felt sink in. “Since your week is half-spent, I have no time to be subtle. You have captivated me.”
Hélène could not help but feel that his words had sounded curiously devoid of sentiment. Then she realized they had somehow lost sight of Ginny and her mother and had wandered down a path that was not as well-lit as the others. In fact, it was quite dark.
Her companion stopped and faced her, his hands on her shoulders. She could not even make out the expression on his face. Bringing his hand under her chin and tilting it upwards, he seemed to study her face. How could he even see it?
“I cannot help myself, I am afraid. Ever since I first saw you this morning, I have been able to think of nothing else but kissing you.” Before she could offer consent or objection, his lips were on hers, and his arms were enfolding her until he held her against his muscular body while he plundered her mouth.
Hélène regarded the situation objectively. She had never been kissed before, but she had always imagined that it would involve powerful emotions and attraction. She felt nothing except a bit of claustrophobia at being so powerless and so dominated by a large male.
He drew away. “You did not enjoy that?” Though she still could not see him clearly, his voice told her he was annoyed.
“I am very inexperienced,” she said. “I have never been kissed before. I would have preferred it if you would have asked my permission.”
“Would you have granted it?”
“I do not know,” she said. “Perhaps if I were better acquainted with you, it would make a difference. But I scarcely know you at all.”
He resumed their walk. “What would you like to know? I am an open book.”
“Am I right in supposing you to be a Tory?”
He laughed. “What do my politics have to do with kissing you?”
“Politics are very important to me. I am a passionate Whig.”
Again, he laughed. “But women do not have the vote!”
She thought of Samuel. How different these two men were! And yet, if she had her choice, she would choose the slight, plain Samuel. “Nevertheless, I have influence. And if I marry a member of Parliament, I will have a great deal of influence, indeed.”
“I have a seat in the Lords. If you were to marry me, what kind of pressure would you bring to bear on me? Would you barter your favors for my vote on key issues?”
Her face heated, but she continued in earnest. “I would educate you on the issues before Parliament. I would help you draft your speeches. I would research facts.”
“Insupportable! What man would stand for that?”
“There is such a one, believe it or not.”
“So you are affianced already?”
“As good as,” she said, feeling sure Samuel intended to marry her.
“I do not believe it,” the baron said, amusement tingeing his voice.
“It is true!”
“What kind of man could possibly be courting you without kissing you? You’re irresistible.”
“A very honorable one. Now, I suggest we get back. Ginny must be wondering where we’ve disappeared to.”
“If you would wait a moment, I have something to say.”
Impatient to be back in company, she said, “Can you not speak while we walk?”
“Not this.” He held her shoulders again. “Suppose I wish you to educate me in your interests?”
“There is not sufficient time. I leave in three days.”
“Your interests must be extensive, indeed.”
“I cannot spend every minute of the day with you, even if I wanted to.”
“I find I am quite bored with London already. Where is this orphanage of yours?”
“Chipping Norton.”
“And where the deuce is that?”
“About a day’s ride northwest of Oxford.”
“Does it possess an inn?”
“Yes.” He was proposing to follow her? Why could she feel nothing for this man? Surely this was devotion, indeed!
He brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. “I vow I will go to this place at the ends of the earth and be educated by you.”
“If it were not night, I would vow you have had a touch of the sun.”
“Believe me, moonlight is far more intoxicating.”
Speechless, she allowed him to put his arm about her shoulders and lead her back to the others.
{ 11 }
CHRISTIAN COULD NOT SETTLE TO ANYTHING. The fact is, I’m deuced worried.
He could not stop thinking about Hélène, as he was beginning to call her in his head, and how Delacroix might have behaved toward her at Vauxhall. His opinion of the man had veered back to his initial assessment that he was untrustworthy.
Surely he could make a call on Lady Clarice this morning. Confound it! He would call on Hélène herself. Enough of his shilly-shallying.
When he arrived, Hélène was still sitting at breakfast, according to Bates, Lady Clarice’s butler. He was left waiting for her in the navy blue, nautically-themed parlor for gentlemen callers. Lady Clarice was well-known for her fondness for interior decorating, and he tried to amuse himself by studying a new collection of seascapes she had mounted above the sofa.
When Hélène arrived at last, she seemed almost relieved to see him, rushing into the room with both hands outstretched in welcome. He took her hands and squeezed each one.
“You have forgiven me for my cursed officiousness?” he asked.
“I had forgotten it completely. But now that you have reminded me of it, may I please have my hands back?”
He released her. She sat in an armchair. “I suppose you have called to reassure yourself that I was not attacked by ruffians after my supposedly ill-advised junket to Vauxhall last evening?”
“As a matter of fact, that is just it. I can see you are unharmed. Did you have an enjoyable evening?”
“I did, my lord. It was the first time I had danced outside of the vicarage.”
He remembered that she had said she had learned to dance in the vicarage, but he found he could not imagine such a thing.
“My mother was always a little bit too optimistic about our futures. She was certain a miracle would occur, money would fall from the sky, and all of her daughters would have a Season.”
“But you enjoy dancing? I would not have thought it.”
“Because I am so politically earnest? Perhaps I have a more complex character than you imagined.”
The next words were out before he could stop them. “There is a ball tonight at the Weatheringtons. I have an invitation. Perhaps you would care to accompany me?”
She sat quite still as though his invitation had shocked her. “But . . . what of Ginny . . . uh, Lady Virginia?”
He began to pace the room. “Lady Virginia has no exclusive claim on my affections. We
are friends, that is all.”
“I fear Lady Virginia is not of that opinion, my lord. She believes you to be courting her.”
“I have never given her the least reason to believe that,” he said, irritated.
“Do you really want to take me dancing?”
“Yes. I do.” And he did. Very much. Too much, in all likelihood. Christian had really not thought it through. What was he doing?
“Very well, my lord.” She gave him a prim smile. “As you wish.”
“You need not simper. It does not become you.”
“You are always telling me what does not become me. I find it vastly irritating.”
He ignored this complaint. “We will need a chaperone.”
Hélène rang the bell. When Bates appeared, she asked him if he might ascertain the availability of his mistress to chaperone that evening.
While they waited for him to return, Hélène asked, “Do you know Baron Delacroix at all well?”
Irritation mixed with dread instantly seized him. “I lunched with him yesterday. Why?”
“I find him a great puzzle.” Her face echoed the sentiment with its scrunched brow.
“What puzzles you about him?”
“He seems given to extravagant gestures, or perhaps I should say schemes.”
His dread deepened. “I would not have thought him that type of man at all. I would have said he never did anything unless it was of benefit to Lord Delacroix first and foremost.”
“You know he is a Tory?”
Ah, this was better. They were talking politics. “Men of his stamp usually are.”
“But he says he is willing to change his position. He has asked me to educate him.”
Christian did not like this at all. He began pacing again. “He is very shrewd, as I suspected.”
“You do not think he is sincere?” A note of annoyance had crept into her voice.
Bates reentered the room. “Her ladyship will be available this evening, Miss Whitcombe.”
“Excellent!” said Christian. “I will call for you at nine o’clock, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge, and will leave now before we can argue.”
The Baron and the Bluestocking Page 9
