“Horticulture… I had not considered. Perhaps another time, if the mood takes me. And fashion? You disappoint me, Lady Hyacinth – I had not expected so mundane a suggestion.”
Hyacinth regarded him sidelong, her lips curving into a wry little smile. She would test him, test his resolve, test his ability to continue to enjoy her conversation. For part of her still struggled to believe that he actually wished to talk to her.
“Ah, but fashion can be discussed in multiple ways, Lord Kevin. There is the way that you were obviously thinking of, in which the latest new styles are discussed, and usually praised, with regard to those in the room who look their best on the evening of the conversation. That usually devolves into a conversation of mutual flattery and untruths between a group of ladies, all of whom are too scared to tell the others what they really think of their attire. And then there is the way that I find I prefer – a discussion which looks, unfalteringly, at the achievements in execrable taste which are on view in the room. For surely, some ladies must have put enormous effort into constructing an appearance which is so utterly unpleasant to view, and unflattering to their persons.”
That warm laughter came again. Good, she had surprised him.
“Oh? Well, I must say, the latter does seem to provide far greater scope for amusing converse than the former. Do enlighten me – for I fear that, in general, I have ignored fashion – my own attire is usually on the plain side, and my sisters have excellent taste – but beyond that, I have never considered the detail – I either find something appealing, or I do not – and I admit that I often don’t really notice much of it.”
“How typical of a gentleman – of one who is not a fop, of course.”
She looked around the room, choosing a suitable example.
He lifted his hand to his heart, making an affectation of being wounded by her words.
“Lady Hyacinth, are you implying that I am a… typical… gentleman? How lowering! And I had thought myself at least a little out of the ordinary – even if only in that I am most definitely not a fop!”
Hyacinth found herself laughing.
“I will, perhaps, grant that you are somewhat out of the ordinary, Lord Kevin. But there, I see an excellent example of the type of fashion worthy of note.”
She indicated the far side of the room, where a cluster of older ladies stood in a corner, and watched Lord Kevin’s face as he gazed in that direction. He made the oddest little sound, which she was almost certain was stifled laughter. She ignored it.
“I believe that I see the ladies you mean – but… which one, or ones, have received this accolade of ‘worthy of discussion’?”
“Well, many of them would qualify, but I was noting one in particular. Lady Dunwiddy. She almost never disappoints – her attire is always chosen with what I can only describe as inspired skill – for how else could one make every single outfit that one chooses so utterly… painful… to the eye?”
It was definitely stifled laughter.
“Inspired skill? I see what you mean, I think – do you suggest that, with the scope of wardrobe that she undoubtedly owns, she is still completely incapable of putting together something pleasant and soothing to the eye?”
“Exactly. This evening’s masterpiece is an excellent example. The orange with lime green lace is even more eye-catchingly inelegant than the puce which she wore to the last Ball. And the headdress… at least three peacocks must have been plucked of their entire tails to construct that! The pale blue net overlay on the skirt, with the badly beaded impressions of peacock feathers, is surely the crowning glory of this demonstration of sartorial bad taste. Every time I think that she cannot possibly outdo her previous performances, she does.”
The laughter was no longer completely stifled. His eyes sparkled with amusement, far greater than she had seen before.
“Lady Hyacinth, you are truly a delight. But who do you normally converse with, on this topic of fashion in which I have discovered new interest?”
A shiver ran through her – what had she done? For she had just put into words things which should never be spoken, things which belonged only within the pages of her journal. If anyone of significance in society had overheard… but they had not, and Lord Kevin seemed not one whit displeased by what she had said. But she would need to be very careful when near him, in future – something about him made her forget herself.
“Why Lord Kevin, normally, I am my own listener, only, on such subjects. I discovered, a long time ago, that most of the ton do not share my… appreciation… for commentary on the finer proponents of… outrageous… fashion. I find them strangely unappreciative of a true assessment.”
“Indeed, I can imagine that most ladies would not… cope… very well, with such crisp and unsparing review of their friends’ fashion choices.”
Hyacinth felt as if the world had gone mad. She could not, possibly, be having this conversation, with a man, at a Ball. She must be dreaming. Yet there he stood beside her, regarding her with warm laughing eyes, completely unconcerned with the sharpness of her words or her views on the world. The fact that he had not frowned, criticised, or simply abandoned her was rather intoxicating.
The orchestra struck up for the first set, and she felt a wash of relief. This conversation on fashion had gone quite far enough.
“I do believe that this is our dance, Lord Kevin.”
He offered his arm.
“Then let us dance, by all means.”
The dance passed in a blur, where they spoke less than before, each seeming a little caught up in their thoughts. It was a dance with very little time where the partners where in close contact, so conversation was more difficult. Yet Hyacinth was acutely aware of Lord Kevin, of every touch of his hand, and of his eyes following her, even when they did not speak. Once the music ended, and he escorted her back to her family, she found herself wishing for a way to keep him with her, longer.
But, as was polite and expected, he did not remain with her, but moved off into the room to speak to others he knew, after promising to see her again, and soon. The rest of the evening seemed dull after that, for everyone else that she spoke to was bland by comparison, and Hyacinth retreated into the habit of careful politeness. However, just when she thought that she might get through the evening without needing to dance with anyone else, she was jarred out of her reverie.
A gentleman who she had seen before, but never been introduced to, had approached her father. She had thought nothing of it – her father knew many gentlemen – until her father turned to her, and her sisters.
“Daughters, may I make known to you Abner Milne, Marquess of Puglinton. Puglinton, these are my daughters – Lady Lily, Lady Hyacinth, Lady Rose, Lady Camellia, Lady Primrose, Lady Violet and Lady Iris.”
Lord Puglinton was an older man, a widower, if Hyacinth remembered correctly, and had not aged especially well. She suspected that he was not far past forty, yet he looked much older, with thinning hair and an expanding waistline which made his clothes seem ill-fitting. He looked at her, and her sisters, in a way that made her skin crawl. But he bowed politely to them all, and made some innocuous comment.
Hyacinth hoped that would be the last of it, but just as she expected him to turn away, politeness served, he stepped towards her, an almost predatory smile on his face.
“Lady Hyacinth, would you do me the honour of granting me a dance?”
There was only one dance remaining for the evening. She could not, in all politeness, refuse him. She was shocked – had he not heard of her reputation? Or had her dancing with Lord Kevin led Lord Puglinton to assume that perhaps that reputation was overstated? She swallowed, and nodded.
“Certainly, my Lord.”
They were the very last words that she wanted to speak, but there was no choice, without making a scene.
She allowed him to lead her to the floor, her heart sinking as he did.
<<<< O >>>>
Kevin had found the rest of the evening, after that remarka
ble conversation with Lady Hyacinth, to be worthy of the ennui that he had pretended so often before. He wanted to go back to her, to talk to her more, to dance with her again - but he could not – not with the eyes of society upon them – that would be as good as a statement of intent. Which was a statement he did not wish to make. He did not know her well enough, yet, to consider such a thing.
But every conversation he had after hers was so bland as to induce sleep, and he found himself leaning against the wall, tucked away behind some potted palms, and simply watching her. He could not help himself – his eyes returned to her, no matter how often he made himself look away. The evening was drawing to a close, and he had not seen her dance with anyone else – were all of the men so blind as to not be able to see how intriguing she was? It seemed so. Perhaps he should simply leave, before the end of the evening.
As he went to move, a man approached her family. Kevin stopped again, watching. Puglinton, if he remembered the name aright. A widower rumoured to be looking for another wife. He watched the Duke perform introductions, and found his fists clenched when Puglinton took Lady Hyacinth’s hand and bowed over it. Surely the man would move away, now that introductions were done. But he did not – instead, moments later, he led Lady Hyacinth to the floor, as the music began for the final dance of the evening.
Kevin forced himself to lean back against the wall, to adopt that so practiced pose of ennui, and watched. The man moved too close to Lady Hyacinth at every chance he got, and to Kevin it seemed that his hand held onto hers for a little longer than the dance required, every time they touched. He wanted to rush over there, and to shove Puglinton aside, to protect her from that overly familiar touch.
He forced himself to remain still. Of all women, Lady Hyacinth was well equipped to defend herself from unwanted attention - usually simply with very effective words. Yet his impulse to protect her was overwhelming. When the dance finally ended, and she had been returned to her family, he allowed himself to move. But he only departed once he had seen her family leave ahead of him.
Tomorrow, he would go to Chester Park – but the thought that Puglinton might dance with her again, whilst he was gone, was a nagging worry in his soul.
Chapter Four
“Wasn’t Lord Puglinton simply disgusting?”
Primrose shuddered to emphasise her words. Hyacinth considered what to say – her other sisters were all watching her, waiting to see what she thought – all except Lily, who had not yet come down for the morning. In the end, she settled on the simplest answer.
“Yes, quite.”
“Then why on earth did you dance with him, Hyacinth?”
Hyacinth sighed.
“Because, Primrose, I had no conceivable excuse not to – if I had refused him, it would have created a scene. And society already expects me to say outrageous things and create scenes. I do not need more of that – and neither do any of you. But yes, I found him rather repulsive. I wonder why Father introduced us? Lord Puglinton is not the usual sort of man to be an associate of our father.”
“I introduced him for exactly the same reason that you danced with him – to avoid creating a socially unacceptable scene. The man had come to speak to me, and you were all right there – it would have been most unusual if I had not introduced you.”
The girls spun to face their father, who had obviously overheard their conversation as he entered the parlour.
“Why do you think that he wanted to meet us?”
“Rumour suggests that he is looking for a wife. He is a widower – and you have dowries that might make any man look at you hopefully.”
Hyacinth shuddered.
“You wouldn’t even consider the idea – would you, Papa?”
The Duke sighed.
“No, I would not. I could see your reaction. You know that, no matter how much I hope for all of you to marry, I want you to be happy – I will never force a match upon you. But please, do try to find a man that you want to marry!”
At his words, Hyacinth found the image of Lord Kevin’s face in her mind. It startled her – a man who she would want to marry? She pushed the idea away. She would marry one day, she was determined of it. But not yet.
“Thank you, Papa.”
“Now, putting discussion of men that you do, and do not, like aside, I came to remind you that this evening is Lord Winstonholm’s Ball, and ask you to be ready, early. Your mother is all of a dither about it.”
“Of course. I am sure that we can manage that.”
They spoke a little longer about the social events of the next few days, then the Duke left them to their conversation.
<<<< O >>>>
By late afternoon, the carriage was passing through peaceful countryside, where flowers abounded in the fields, and the warmth of spring had brought fresh growth everywhere. Kevin leant back against the squab of the carriage seat, idly watching the view. The opposite seat was piled with bundles, and small trunks – books for Maria, books for his father, and some small bolts of exquisite fabrics for his mother to have made up into whatever fashionable garment took her fancy.
He had told the coachman to take his time – they would overnight at a small Inn along the way, and reach Chester Park in the morning, all the better for not having rushed. Truth to tell, Kevin was a little unsure of his feelings – he wanted to see his family, but the worry about his father made him hesitant – almost as if, until he saw the evidence of whatever was wrong, he could pretend that no problem existed.
That was a fool’s thinking, he knew, but nonetheless, his mind was turning that way. Part of him desperately wished to be back in London, rather than travelling steadily away from it. He had promised Lady Hyacinth that he would see her again, soon, and he intended to do so – but soon would not be before at least a week had elapsed. And that seemed, as the carriage took him further from her, as if it was a very long time indeed.
He laughed at his own thoughts, glad that no one shared his carriage to see it. When had he become so obsessed with the woman?
He did not know – but she excited him, captivated him, in a way that no other woman ever had. What might she think of his family? Or they of her? That thought popped into his mind, and he stopped, no longer noticing the world outside at all, as he considered it. Why would it matter what she thought? Yet it did. Disconcerted, he turned his mind away from it, leaving the idea for later consideration.
He leaned back again, and turned his eyes to the passing countryside, allowing the steady movement of the carriage to lull him towards sleep. When it came, it came with dreams - of soft caramel hair and intense blue eyes.
<<<< O >>>>
The Winstonholm Ball was crowded, and Hyacinth was swept along with her sisters, into the tangle of people they knew. As usual, the attention of gentlemen was all for the other girls, not Hyacinth. Hopefully, Hyacinth’s eyes roamed the room, but did not find the one man they sought. Lord Kevin was not present.
She chided herself for a fool, so deep was her disappointment – but she kept looking. He had promised to see her again, soon, after all. As her sisters were swept away to dance, and she faced another evening of being avoided by those who feared the dragon, she carefully assumed her ‘social mask’, and settled to observing the attendees, allowing that part of her mind which would document it all later, in her journal, to gather the information it needed.
Amongst the younger women, the evening’s gowns seemed to indicate a new trend, of overdone flounces around the bodice, decorated with small tangles of ribbon.
It was not flattering, on the vast majority of the girls who wore it. As Hyacinth watched them, fascinated as always by the fact that someone had convinced them to wear such things, when they were manifestly not suited to the wearer, a clearing of the throat disturbed her concentration. She turned, annoyed.
Lord Puglinton stood before her, smiling a rather false looking smile. Her skin crawled as his eyes traversed her body, then returned to meet her gaze.
“Lady Hyacinth
– you seem distracted – did you not hear me speak?”
“No, my Lord, I fear that I was woolgathering. There are so many exemplars of the latest fashions at an event like this, it is very easy to become distracted.”
It was an answer which she had used before, when asked what on earth she was looking at / thinking about. The words were all that was expected of a lady, if one interpreted them as most men did. But they were also true – it was just that Hyacinth’s perspective on them was quite the opposite of what others expected it to be. Lord Puglinton made the usual assumptions.
“Women seem to think of nothing else but fashion. Still, if that amuses you…”
“It does, my Lord, far more than you might think.”
“Good, good. Now, Lady Hyacinth, will you grant me the next dance?”
Hyacinth stilled for a moment. She could not escape it. It was blatantly obvious that she was not ill, or incapacitated in any way, and there were no other gentlemen waiting.
She inclined her head, and placed her hand on his proffered arm. He led her to the floor, and she forced herself to ignore the whispers around her. The same people who spoke of her shrewishness were now waiting to see what would happen – would Lord Puglinton be delivered a set down from her sharp tongue, enough to make him abandon her? She suspected that they all hoped for such a thing, for a moment of delicious scandal to brighten their evening.
She would give them no such thing. She might apply the sharpness of her tongue, but she would not, for her sisters’ sake, allow it to create scandal.
The dance, this time, left them face to face for much of it. Lord Puglinton chose to converse.
“Lady Hyacinth, if I may say so, I am somewhat startled by the fact that you were not surrounded by gentleman admirers, when I approached you this evening. Can it be that something dissuades them?”
Hyacinth clenched her teeth for a moment. The man was beyond impolite!
“Why my Lord, I believe that you have the right of it. For it has come to my attention that I am rumoured to be rather a shrew. Surely you have heard these rumours? I cannot imagine that a man as well connected as you seem to be would be uninformed on such matters.”
A Vixen for a Viscount: Book 2: Hyacinth - Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 3
