She settled onto the bench with a sigh of pleasure, and drew her journal and pencil from the pockets of her simple day dress. The previous evening had been another horrible one – oh, not that anything truly bad had happened, but Lord Kevin had not been there, and Lord Puglinton had – again. The man’s conversation became worse every time that she danced with him, and his insinuations that, should he offer for her, she might be forced to wed him, had become more blatant.
Her writing that morning was therefore rather influenced by the experience, and had become a treatise on the arrogance of gentlemen who thought themselves to be a desirable match, with side comments on the degree to which they usually lacked elegance as well as sense. It was, as always, a relief to write and to allow her thoughts free rein after the effort that it had taken the night before, not to outright insult the man. She still valued her sisters’ reputations, if not her own, and had bitten her tongue, so hard had it been to stay silent, and seem unaware of the insult that he did her with almost every word that he spoke.
Soon, as the process of writing took her, her awareness of other things faded away, and the peace of the location drew the tension out of her. By the time that she was almost ready to stop writing, the sun had risen near to its highest point, and the square was waking up around her. She was vaguely aware of the sound of a carriage nearby, but ignored it, concentrating on the last sentence of the description that she wrote.
“Lady Hyacinth?”
The voice came from very close by, just the other side of the row of thick bushes. She hastily slipped the pencil between the pages of the journal, and shoved it under her skirts, feeling her way to getting it into her pocket. She was just in time – as her hands closed together in her lap, Tomps, one of the footmen from Elbury House, came around the bushes
“Yes Tomps?”
“My Lady, your mother sent me to find you. You have a gentleman caller.”
“A caller? Who is it?”
Her heart beat harder, and her breath, already short from the shock of nearly being discovered writing in her journal, became even more rushed. Tomps held out a card. She rose, and took it, feeling the tug as her journal slipped into her pocket further.
‘Lord Kevin Loughbridge’
The crisp black text on the unadorned card declared his presence. He had come to call on her! Her heart lifted, full of joy, even as she cautioned herself not to be a fool – she had not seen him for more than a week, and she had no idea where he had been – all of her doubts came rushing back. But they did nothing to reduce her eagerness to see him.
As she followed Tomps back to the house, she considered her appearance – which was most certainly not suitable for receiving callers! They stepped into the entryway, and she turned to the footman.
“Please, ensure that Lord Kevin is served tea, and assure him that I will be there very soon – but I simply must change first.”
He nodded, and she almost ran up the stairs, nearly colliding with Sally as she reached her bedroom door.
“Quickly Sally, I must change, into a dress suitable for receiving callers!”
The maid ran into the dressing room, and returned with an appropriate gown, as Hyacinth undid the loose and unfashionable day dress she wore, and let it drop onto her bed. Within minutes, she was buttoned into the other gown, and her hair had been pinned up into an elegant knot.
Sally turned towards the discarded gown.
“Leave it, please, I will deal with it later – I need you to come with me – to sit in the parlour and be chaperone, whilst I talk to Lord Kevin.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey, and followed her out of the room. She went down the stairs as slowly as she could force herself to – it would not do at all to look like an eager child, and run! But she wanted to run, silly fool that she was. When she reached the parlour door, Tomps was waiting. He opened it, and announced her. As she stepped into the room, Lord Kevin rose from the couch and came towards her. The sight of him took her breath away. The sun through the high windows drew strong reddish glints from his dark hair, and the simple elegance of his attire emphasised his lean powerful body. She had missed him badly, she realised, for this week that he had been away.
“Lord Kevin. It is a pleasure to see you, as always.”
She went forward, and he took her hand for a moment, bowing. Even through her gloves, the heat of it rushed through her, leaving her flushed.
“My Lady, thank you for receiving me, when I have so rudely arrived on your doorstep with no prior warning.”
“I assure you, it is of no matter – I am always happy to have the opportunity to converse with you. And I find that surprises are rarely unpleasant. Please, do resume your seat, and let us speak – for I assume that you are here for a reason?”
Sally had slipped in behind her, and gone to sit in the farthest corner of the room, in the window alcove, where the sun was warmest.
Greatly daring, she moved to sit on the empty space on the couch, next to where he had been sitting. He met her eyes, and raised an eyebrow as he dropped back to his seat. He was amused by her – again! Damn him!
“I must admit, Lady Hyacinth, that I am driven here by no great purpose – I have no shocking news to impart or such like. I am here because I felt the impulse to see you, after not having done so for a week. One might say that I am in need of bracing conversation.”
Hyacinth regarded him, unsure, for the moment, of how to respond. Part of her was full of giddy delight, that he had come simply because he wanted to see her – no matter that he expressed it as simply a need for spirited conversation. But part of her was annoyed – was that all he saw in her – conversation to relieve his ennui? Well then, let her ensure that it was as sharp as possible.
“I see. And what topic might you wish to discuss, Lord Kevin? Fashion? The latest scandals? The importance of horticulture? Which ladies wield the most political influence, through their bedrooms?”
His smile widened, and then he laughed – an open joyous sound that vibrated in her very bones. The man confounded her – he was never shocked by anything she said, but he never ignored her words either. Once the laughter subsided, he regarded her with an almost sardonic smile on his full lips – lips which she found herself watching, all too closely. Heat flushed through her again, and she turned her eyes down.
“Delightful, as always. I am quite certain that your opinions on feminine political influence would be accurate, and enlightening.”
Hyacinth blinked, amused in her turn.
“Ah, but did you not hear the important part of my suggestion – that the influence we might discuss is achieved in the bedroom? Or are you being delicately polite, because ‘surely a gently reared young lady did not just say that’?”
“Oh, I heard it, most definitely. And no, I am not being delicately circumspect. I am, rather, widening the scope of the discussion – for, of a certainty, some of those liaisons which result in political influence occur in places far different from bedrooms.”
Hyacinth felt herself blush, for her mind had, as she was quite sure that he had intended, immediately imagined other places in which such liaisons might, and almost certainly did, occur. How did he manage it, so easily? How did he turn her words back on her, as no other man ever had, and disconcert her so? And why did she enjoy it so much, even when it annoyed her?
She forced her thoughts to remembering gossip, rather than imagining the acts involved – she would not let him see how very much he disturbed her.
“Hmmm. I do believe that you are correct. I suspect, from what I have observed, that the studies, libraries, and even linen closets, of many great houses may well have been utilised in such a fashion. Certainly, the timing of the disappearance, and reappearance, of certain people at society Balls would suggest it is so. But you will need to observe it for yourself, and draw your own conclusions, my Lord.”
He smiled that devilish smile, and, as if unaware of his actions, reached out and traced a finger down her arm.
&n
bsp; She shivered in response, every part of her aware of the touch.
“What – surely you do not deny me the information which you so obviously have, on such matters? You titillate with hints, and leave me unsatisfied and guessing? You are, Lady Hyacinth, cruel in the extreme. I shall simply have to continue to ask you these utterly improprietous questions, until you reveal all of the sins of society to me.”
“You will? How charmingly inappropriate of you. I, of course, will continue to behave as a respectable lady should, and deny all knowledge of such shocking matters. Thus, we have a conundrum, which may lead us to forever converse, without either of us actually providing the other with anything of substance. Which might, of course, be quite adequate to enliven our evenings, when in the presence of the ton.”
“And perhaps our days as well, should I call upon you again – if you will permit me to do so, of course?”
Hyacinth felt a shiver of anticipation run through her – he wanted to spend more time with her, to call on her again! She wanted it, but she was not about to admit how very much.
“I might permit you to call – I do find our conversations amusing. There are very few gentlemen who are not disgusted by my forthrightness.”
“Excellent – I shall take that as agreed – for I think that they are all mad, to be disgusted by what is simply a demonstration of intelligence. And the falseness and subterfuge which characterise so many conversations at social occasions I find quite exhausting, and a total waste of time. Bluntness is far more refreshing.”
“I am glad that you find it so.”
He smiled at her again, that smile that somehow left her feeling as if hot liquid slipped through her body, melting her a little, and she returned the smile, unable to help herself. Then he rose, and bowed.
“But I have taken up too much of your time, with this impromptu visit. I will leave you to the rest of your day, but I look forward to seeing you again, soon.”
She rose also, and saw him to the door, her mind spinning. By soon, did he mean the Ball scheduled for that very evening?
She certainly hoped so.
<<<< O >>>>
Not long after Hyacinth had left the park, Abner Milne, Lord Puglinton, entered it through the gate on the other side of the square. He had been observing, since renting the house for the Season, the comings and goings of the other residents of the square. He had been most pleased to discover that the Duke of Elbury and his family resided there – and even more pleased when Lady Hyacinth had shown herself to have a tendency to spend time in the park – often, as far as he could see, shockingly alone.
When he had risen to find the day so warm and pleasant, he had decided to go to the park, in the hope that he might find Lady Hyacinth there. For whilst she might have a sharp tongue, as her reputation had suggested, she also had a very large dowry, and a figure that any man would appreciate. He wanted the money, and the body – and for that, he could ignore her opinions – surely, as a spinster nearing twenty-two years of age, she could not afford to spurn a suitor – no matter what she said.
And he needed an heir. His daughter was a nice enough child, but his first wife had died trying to bring his son into the world – and had failed, for the boy had died too. Lady Hyacinth seemed sturdy, and her breeding was impeccable. She would suit nicely.
He wandered the paths of the park, as casually as possible, intending to seem just a man out for a walk in the warmth of the late spring sun, but all the while checking every nook and cranny of the place, hoping to find her. She was not there. Not even in the most secluded spot in the park – that rather silly looking folly with the bench and the overgrowth of ivy. He paused beside the bench, repressing his annoyance.
As he did, something caught his eye – something out of place. He stepped closer to the bench, and peered at the tangle of ivy behind it. Yes, there was definitely something there – something which was not plant matter. The corner of what seemed a book peeked out from amongst the leaves, its dark red surface in strong contrast to the green around it. He sank to sit on the bench, and reached down to retrieve it. When he lifted it, some small thing fell from it, and clattered on the bench, before rolling away – the stub of a pencil.
He ignored it, and opened the book. It appeared to be a journal of some sort, although no name graced its first few pages anywhere. Instead, the first page showed a blotchy blueish thing – a child’s attempt at watercolours – he had no idea what it was meant to be. If that was all it contained, it was a very dull find indeed. But Lord Puglinton was a curious man, and he had good reason to hope that he held something more interesting than a child’s sketches. All thought of Lady Hyacinth left his mind.
Lord Puglinton had, for the last six months, been the primary owner of a newssheet ostentatiously titled ‘The Society Commentator’. It was well known, and he was focussed on making it more so – and hence more profitable. For its main content was gossip – usually dressed up as serious articles, but always attempting to reveal the scandals of members of the ton, so that others of the ton could read them.
He was succeeding – the readership was growing, and the publication had become colloquially known as ‘The Gossip Gazette’ – a soubriquet which could only lead to even better sales. And if what he had found was a private journal of any kind, then it might be a treasure trove that he held, especially if he could discover who it belonged to. Almost salivating at the possibilities, he turned the pages, and began to read. Moments later, he slammed it shut with a small laugh which seemed on the edge of hysteria, and rose, tucking it into his coat.
Once home, and safely away from prying eyes, he spent hours reading it, from start to finish. He had, indeed, found a treasure – a treasure which would allow him to add a new column to the Commentator, and have material for it for many months to come. For the pages were filled with astute and very sharp-edged commentary on very recognisable figures of society – sometimes even named, to his utter glee – commentary which disparaged their attire, their attitudes and more, in a manner that he knew the aristocracy would find delightfully, scandalously entertaining.
He would begin to publish parts of it immediately – whilst he set about discovering just who had written it.
Chapter Eight
Hyacinth went up to her room after Lord Kevin had left, her mind in a daze. She told Sally to leave her be, that she would deal with the discarded day dress herself, for she wanted to be alone, to think. But, once she had turned the key in the lock, she realised that, so distracted had she been by Lord Kevin’s presence, she had not thought to put her journal away in its place.
She flushed to think that, had she let Sally gather up the discarded dress, Sally might have found, and read, that journal. Really, she would need to be far more careful! She went to the bed, and lifted the dress, slipping her hand through the tangle of the skirts to find the pockets. When she did, she froze, the breath suddenly gone from her lungs – for the pockets were empty.
Fear filled her – where could it be? What if someone found it, and read it? She checked again – the pockets were still empty. Frantic now, she searched the room – had it fallen out onto the bed? Or the floor, when she had hastily discarded the dress?
But the room remained as it always was, and the journal was nowhere to be seen. Mentally, she retraced her steps – could it possibly have fallen out when she had rushed up the stairs to change? Worried, she unlocked the door, and walked carefully down the hallway, and down the steps, looking around her – no journal – everything was as immaculately in order as always, and there was no sign of anything out of place.
Hyacinth paused in the entryway, facing the only, most horrible conclusion – she had to have lost it in the park, or on the way back to the house. For, now that she thought of it, she had, as she’d risen from the bench, felt the tug as it dropped fully into the pocket, hadn’t she? She was sure that she had. There was nothing for it, she had to go back to the park, and check every inch of the way there.
Tomps,
impassive, stood in the entryway, ready to open whatever doors were required. Hyacinth squared her shoulders, and tried to look relaxed.
“I am just going to walk to the park and back – I feel the need of some fresh air.”
Tomps face did not change, but she was certain that he thought her most odd. He opened the door for her, and watched as she walked slowly down the steps, along the footpath, and across the cobbles towards the park. Every step of the way, she studied the ground around her – but there was no sign of the journal, at all.
She went through the park gate, and along the paths towards the bench in the folly. There was no sign of it. Finally, she reached the bench, and stood there, her heart beating hard – what would she do, if she could not find it?
There was nothing on the bench. Hyacinth bent, and looked at the tangle of ivy surrounding it. Nothing.
But then, as she turned away, her foot twisted beneath her – she had stepped on some small thing. Righting herself, she bent to look. It was her pencil. She picked it up, and sank onto the bench, her mind reeling. What if… that tug had been her journal snagging slightly on her skirts as it fell out of her pocket, rather than deeper into it? The fact that the pencil was here gave credence to that idea.
And, if the pencil was here, then… the journal should be too, for the pencil had been tucked between its pages. Frantic, she pulled the ivy aside, scrabbling in the undergrowth all around the bench. Nothing. It wasn’t there. She checked again. Definitely not there. She sat for a moment, barely holding herself calm. If the pencil was here, and the journal was not, then there was only one possibility that she could imagine – someone had found it.
As she walked slowly back to the house, she held one small thing to her as consolation – at least it did not have her name written in it.
<<<< O >>>>
As Hyacinth prepared for the Ball they were to attend that evening, the worry about her journal wore away at her. She felt irritable and frightened – for she had not found it, and the more she thought about it, the more she was sure that someone else had – but who?
A Vixen for a Viscount: Book 2: Hyacinth - Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 6
