Joan Wolf (4 page)

“Frances . . .” he said low. “I love you.”

“No, Ian,” she said, and tried to draw away from him.

“Come here.”

   “No,” she said again, but by now he had an arm around her, pinning her arms down and pressing her head back against his shoulder. She stiffened against him, but he only held her more tightly, forcing her lips up to his. His kiss was hard and demanding. She could feel the strength of his body pressed against hers. Slowly she relaxed against him, surrendering to the wild singing in her own blood. She kissed him back. They were so totally absorbed in each other that neither one of them heard the door open.

“For God’s sake, Ian,” said Douglas. “You could have a thought for Frances’s reputation even if you have none for your own.”

The two of them looked at him as if they didn’t recognize him. Then Frances laughed. “When did you ever know Ian to care about the opinion of others, Douglas?”

  There was a recklessness in her laugh that made Douglas look at her more closely. She was still standing close to Ian, so close, he saw, that her shoulder was touching his arm. Her eyes glowed and there was warm color in her cheeks and lips; she looked utterly beautiful.

Ian grinned, a boy’s grin. “I thought you wanted me to come. You were the one who wrote to tell me what was going on here.”

“I didn’t mean you to arrive in the middle of the season’s biggest crush and drag Frances off the floor into a private room,” Douglas responded crossly. “How did you know this room was here anyway?”

“I asked the major-domo,” Ian replied simply, and Frances laughed again.

“Well, you’re both going back to the ballroom now. Together. It will be worse if it looks as if I had to bring you back. Then, Ian, you will turn Frances over to me. Fortunately it is my dance. Now go. I’ll join you in two minutes.”

   His air of urgency made an impression on the girl and boy. They exchanged a glance and then Ian shrugged. “Oh, all right. Come on, Frances. I’ll come around to see you tomorrow.” They left the anteroom together, and when Douglas reached the ballroom he saw the two of them talking to Robert Sedburgh.

“Oh, there you are, Frances,” said Douglas as he came up to them. “My dance, I believe.” He turned to Ian and held out his hand. “How are you, Ian? It’s just like you to crash a party. When did you get to London and where are you staying?”

Ian’s dark eyes were aflame with laughter. “To answer your questions, Douglas, I am fine, I arrived in London about an hour ago, and I am staying with you.”

“Oh, you are?”

“Yes. Your man told me where I could find you, so I put on my evening gear and came. Who is the Countess of Pemberly anyway?”

“Oh dear,” said Frances, her social conscience finally stung. “You must find her and introduce yourself, Ian. Crashing a party is one thing, but totally ignoring one’s hostess is unforgivable.”

“I’ll introduce him to Lady Pemberly, Miss Stewart,” offered Lord Robert.

Frances smiled at him. “That is very kind of you, my lord.”

Ian’s eyes were on the assembled company.     “Good God,” he said in a startled tone, “who is the old duck in the purple turban?”

Frances giggled and Douglas took her firmly by the elbow and led her onto the floor. “What are you up to?” he asked her severely.

She treated him to a wide, innocent gaze. “Everybody seems to be asking me that question tonight.”

“You look like a cat that swallowed the cream,” he told her. “Did Ian promise you to stay out of the army?”

“No.” A shadow crossed her face and then was gone. “But he will,” she said positively.

Douglas was not so sure.

Chapter Five

0 stay at hame, my noble lord!

0 stay at hame, my marrow!

—
ANONYMOUS

Frances awoke the next morning with a bubble of happiness inside herself’. He came, he came, she hummed over and over beneath her breath. He wants to marry me.

 The problem of Ian’s still-evident desire to join the army she brushed aside. She had felt her power over Robert Sedburgh last night. If he was willing to give up the army for her sake, why should not Ian? She decided to write a letter to her father. Surely he could get Ian into the University of Edinburgh.

At about the same time that Frances was happily laying her plans, Ian was saying to Douglas “How can I get Frances off by herself for a while, Douglas?”

“You can’t,” his cousin replied bluntly. “This is not Castle Hunter, Ian, and Lady Mary Graham is not your mother. She keeps a close eye on Frances. You may perhaps be permitted to drive her in the park, but only at the hour when half of London is there as well.”

Ian frowned. “You don’t mean it?”

“I do.”

Ian took a hearty helping of sausage. “Well, when Lady Mary discovers I am going to marry Frances she’ll loosen up.”

“Has Frances said she’ll marry you?” Douglas asked carefully.

Ian swallowed his sausage and raised his coffee cup. “Not yet. But she will. She’s got this fixation about me not joining the army. I’ll have to persuade her.”

“You’ll have to persuade your mother first,” Douglas said dryly.

Ian grinned, his teeth very white in his dark face. “If Frances says she’ll marry me, mother will come round.”

“Is that why you want to marry her?” Douglas said harshly. “To force your mother into buying you a commission?”

Ian put down his cup and looked at Douglas. “What a stupid thing to say.” His voice was quiet and very hard.

Douglas’s eyes fell before that sword-like look. “It was, rather. I’m sorry.”

Ian began to eat again. “What else is there to do in this town besides courting Frances?”

Douglas sighed. “The same things there are in Edinburgh, only more of them.”

Ian looked bleak. “God, Douglas, if I don’t find something to do with myself soon I shall go mad! Or die at an early age from too much drink.”

His cousin laughed. “How are things in Scotland?”

“Not good,” Ian said grimly. “More and more landlords are bringing in sheep. All they want is to take as much of the profits as they can and spend it all in London. No one is plowing anything back into the land. I’m sorry to say that my brother is as bad as the rest of them. Consequently there are more and more people living on smaller and smaller pieces of land. And no one is trying to do anything to remedy the situation.”

“I know,” Douglas said quietly.

“That’s one of the reasons I want to get away, Douglas,” Ian said desperately. “I can’t bear to see what is happening to the Highlands. And it is our own leaders who are doing it! The disaster of the ‘45 will be as nothing compared to what is coming now. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.’’

“I know,” Douglas said again.

* * * *

Frances was sitting in her aunt’s drawing room with Lady Mary, the Marquis of Bermington, and the Earl of Chilton when Ian arrived in Hanover Square that afternoon. He paused on the threshold, a startled look on his face as he took in the room’s inhabitants. “Ian!” Frances looked lit from within as she said his name.

“I didn’t realize you were holding court, Frances,” he said, moving across the room with a catlike grace unusual in so big a man.

She gave his hand a warning squeeze. “I don’t think you know my aunt. Lady Mary Graham. Aunt Mary, may I present Mr. Ian Macdonald.”

“How do you do, Mr. Macdonald,” Lady Mary said discouragingly. She was a small, dark woman and her eyes widened slightly as he came across to bow over her hand. “Goodness, but you’re big!”

   Ian smiled charmingly. It was part of his policy to make a good impression on Lady Mary. “I am so pleased to meet you, Lady Mary,” he said in his deep, slow voice.

Frances introduced him to Lord Bermington and Lord Chilton and invited him to sit down. He was eight years younger than Chilton and twelve years younger than Bermington, but both those sophisticated men of the world paled beside his intensely alive presence. He sat down, crossed his arms, and lifted an ironic eyebrow at Frances. Your move, his eyes said to her unmistakably.

“I promised Ian I would drive out with him today, Aunt Mary,” she said promptly.

“But Miss Stewart, I thought you were driving with me,” protested Lord Chilton.

“I am so sorry, my lord,” said Frances with sweet earnestness. “But Mr. Macdonald and I are childhood friends, you understand. We haven’t seen each other in ages and we have so much catching up to do. How is your mother, Ian?” she asked, turning to him.

“Very well, Frances,” he answered gravely, but his eyes glinted with amusement.

“I’m so glad. You must tell me all about Castle Hunter.” She rose. “If you’ll excuse me, Aunt Mary, gentlemen, I will go and get my hat.”

She exited gracefully, leaving Ian to face the hostile glances of two English nobles. “How do you know Miss Stewart?” Lord Bermington asked suspiciously.

Ian stared at him with unruffled composure. He had always been a good winner. “My mother is Miss Stewart’s godmother,” he said agreeably. “We have known each other since we were children.”

“That can’t have been very long ago,” snapped Lord Chilton, looking at the young face before him.

   Ian looked at him appraisingly, and Chilton found himself growing red. He was of medium height and slightly chubby, and Ian’s gaze spoke volumes. Fortunately, Frances reappeared and the three men rose, Ian towering over the other two.

Frances gave a shrewd look around and said, “I’m ready.” She and Ian went down the stairs and out the front door,

“You’re lucky I happen to have a phaeton with me,” he informed her as they went. “What would you have done if I’d walked?”

“Walked with you, I expect,” she answered serenely.

And so, feeling very pleased with themselves and with each other, they went out driving together.

They quarreled the whole time.

 * * * *

Ian and Frances were the subject of several conversations that evening. Robert Sedburgh was dining at White’s with Viscount Morton and Henry Farringdon when the topic came up. All three men had, at one time or another, proposed marriage to Frances, and normally they found the best way to preserve their friendship was to avoid talking about her. However, a new contestant had entered the race for her hand and they all found themselves intensely curious. “I saw Macdonald driving Miss Stewart in the park this afternoon,” offered Lord Morton.

“Did you?” Mr. Farringdon raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You were the only one of us to meet him, Rob. He’s a childhood friend of hers, or so I heard. What did you think?”

   “He put on quite a performance last night for a childhood friend,” Lord Morton put in before Lord Robert could answer. “He continued it this afternoon, I might add.”

Both of his listeners put down their forks and stared at him. “What happened?” asked Lord Robert.

“Well, they weren’t getting along, that’s for sure. Macdonald looked like a thundercloud.”

“What about Miss Stewart?”

“Oh, she was making an effort to hide her feelings. She noticed about half the people who greeted her.” There was a pause. “She looked furious.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Mr. Farringdon said hopefully.              

“Is it?” Lord Robert looked at Lord Morton. “Did it seem like a childhood friends, brother-and-sister kind of quarrel to you, John?”

“No.” Lord Morton looked sober. “No. It didn’t look like that at all. I don’t quite know what the relationship between those two is, but it definitely isn’t that of brother and sister.”

“Hell!” said Mr. Farringdon violently.

“Yes,” responded Lord Robert. “Quite.”

* * * *

“Hell!” said Ian as he slammed his riding crop down on a table. “What’s the matter with Frances, Douglas? She never used to be like this.”

Douglas looked up from the book he was reading. “You didn’t persuade her, I gather,” he said mildly.

“It’s like talking to a wall!” Ian stormed. “She’s as bad as my mother—no—worse. ‘If you really loved me, Ian, you would promise me to stay out of the army.’ Christ! It doesn’t seem to occur to her that if she loved me she wouldn’t try to blackmail me.”

-Douglas looked at the dark, stormy face before him. “She’s afraid for you, Ian.”

Ian sat down in a chair and moodily contemplated his long, booted legs. “I know.” He looked up at Douglas, a sardonic glint in his eyes. “She wants me to go to the University of Edinburgh and study law. She says her father can get me in. I ask you, Douglas, do you see me as a lawyer?”

Douglas smiled. “No. I don’t.”

“The University of Edinburgh,” Ian said in derision. “I should die of the tedium. The only reason I lasted at Cambridge for as long as I did was because . . .” he looked quickly at Douglas and then shrugged. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

Douglas sat up in his chair. “Go on,” he said. “You’ve whetted my curiosity.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Then, as Douglas continued to look at him expectantly, he relented. “Oh, it was the wife of one of the bigwigs. I had begun to wonder if there was something wrong with me. From what I heard I was the only eighteen-year-old boy at school who had never had a woman.” He frowned. “It was Frances, I suppose. I was too involved with her to think of anyone else.”

“I know,” said Douglas without expression.

Ian flashed-him a sharp look but continued. “Anyway, I was beginning to think I had a problem. Then I met—ah, well, I met
her.
It was an experience.” Ian grinned reminiscently. “I learned more from her than I ever did in the lecture room. She told me I may have to face a lot of problems in my life, but
that
most definitely wouldn’t be one of them. She was very reassuring.”

   Douglas stared at him for a few minutes without speaking. Ian was contemplating his boots once more and Douglas had a good view of the hard line of his young cheek, shadowed by his down-looking black lashes. There was a sense of power unleashed about Ian. It was what gave his presence its remarkable intensity. And he’s only twenty years old, thought Douglas inconsequently. Ian suddenly rose to his feet. “Anyway, she doesn’t really matter,” he said. “Only Frances matters. And I don’t know what to do about her.”