Sylvia Andrew (13 page)

‘I won’t ask him to present me, and I shall dance with the girl before the supper interval. Will you take me on?’

‘That’s only half an hour away…You won’t do it, Coker! Five guineas that you can’t.’

‘Fifteen minutes would be enough, but we will leave it at the half-hour. And we’ll make it ten guineas.’

‘You won’t do it, y’know. Miss Beaudon is well known to be difficult to please, and you started off very badly.’

‘I’ll do it with ease, and enjoy it. The ten guineas are as good as mine. But first we must find the chit. Getting her away from Maria Canfield will be the hardest part. You seem to know something about the heiress, Felton. Tell me about her…’

T
hey wandered away and Francesca was left to fume alone in her alcove. To be the subject of such a conversation, to hear men making a wager on her future behaviour disgusted her, and she spent some minutes recovering her temper. Her first impulse was to find Mrs Canfield and then leave Carlton House, but cooler reflection persuaded her that this was impossible. What reason could she possibly give for such discourtesy to her royal host? That one of his closest friends had insulted her? Impossible!

Besides, it was said that Lord Carne was coming to Carlton House on his return from Paris and Lydia had been in high spirits all day because of it. She could not deprive the girl of her chance to meet her hero again. No, flight was not possible, so she must simply find Mrs Canfield and stay close to her for the rest of the evening—that might be protection enough.

Unfortunately, her plan was foiled from the outset. She saw Mrs Canfield at the far end of the room and got up to join her. But she had gone little more than a few paces when she was confronted with the very man she hoped to avoid.

‘Miss Beaudon!’

Francesca looked coldly at him and nodded.

He smiled. ‘I have looked for you everywhere. I wish to explain…’

‘You must excuse me, Lord Coker. I am on my way to join Mrs Canfield.’ Francesca made to walk past him.

‘Then I will accompany you. It is hardly fitting that such an exquisitely elegant young lady should walk unprotected through these crowds.’ He put up his glass and surveyed the scene with a look of contempt. ‘One wonders how some of them got past the flunkeys.’

‘It really isn’t necessary…’

Taking Francesca firmly by the arm, he said, ‘Come, Miss Beaudon. I see your friend only a few yards away.’

As they threaded their way through the throng, Lord Coker said, ‘You are right, of course. Explanations are tedious. We will dispense with them. Ah, Mrs Canfield! I have your lovely protégée here, but I am in something of a dilemma.’

‘A dilemma, Lord Coker?’

‘You see, the Prince Regent, in his infinite wisdom and kindness, has asked me to look after one of your charges during the supper interval. But I hardly dare take Miss Beaudon away from you without first asking your permission. She is too modest to agree without it.’

‘I assure you, Lord Coker—’

Ignoring Francesca’s protest, he went on, smiling all the while with great charm at Mrs Canfield, ‘Or should I offer to look after your lovely daughter, instead? The Prince would not wish me to ignore his orders entirely, you see.’ He raised one eyebrow.

‘But I…I…It is too much honour, Lord Coker. The Prince is very kind, but—’

‘He likes his own way, too.’ Lord Coker’s smile grew a little steelier. Mrs Canfield threw a desperate look at Francesca as he went on, ’Pon my soul, ma’am, the choice is a difficult one. A golden goddess like Miss Beaudon here, or—’
he turned to Lydia, who was standing by her mother looking awed at being addressed by the great Lord Coker ‘—Miss Canfield—a bewitching naiad in green. And so delightfully young.’

Lydia blushed and looked down, but she was smiling at his flattery.

Mrs Canfield stiffened and Francesca said hastily, ‘I believe Lydia is already engaged for the supper interval, sir.’ She looked at Lord Coker with delicate disbelief. ‘But if the Prince has commanded—’

‘I assure you on my honour he has, Miss Beaudon.’ He looked at her, daring her to challenge his words. ‘Do you wish me to take you to him?’

Francesca gave him a level look. ‘I would not put you to so much trouble. I am sure the Prince is a loyal friend.’

‘Then shall we go?’ He offered her his arm; after a moment’s hesitation, she curtsied to Mrs Canfield and took it.

Francesca was thinking hard as she walked away. She found it galling that Lord Coker was about to win his wager so easily. The minute they joined the throng on the ballroom floor he would be ten guineas the richer, and she would have helped him to it. Was there a way in which she could prevent his leading her on to that floor in the next half hour? She would certainly try.

‘But, sir,’ she said, smiling as charmingly as she could, ‘did you not say that the Prince wanted you to take me to supper?’

He stopped and looked down at her. ‘I did.’

‘Then should we not go to the supper room rather than the ballroom?’

‘I think not,’ he said calmly. ‘I am very self-indulgent, Miss Beaudon. I cannot deny myself the pleasure of a dance with you—indeed, a waltz with you. Come.’ He would have walked on with her, but she removed her arm and stood where she was.

‘Please, Lord Coker,’ she said with another delightful smile. ‘Do not indulge yourself at my expense. I am an indifferent dancer, but I love to talk—you have been described to me as one of the best conversationalists in London. And in addition, I am really very thirsty.’ She looked at him under lowered lashes in what she hoped was a beguiling manner.

His thin lips twisted in a complacent smile at her pleading tones and he took firm hold of her arm. ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘we shall talk all you wish. We have much to say to one another, I am sure.’

‘Then—’

‘But we shall dance first.’

Francesca felt her control slipping. ‘I don’t wish to dance, sir!’

His grip on her arm was cruelly tight. ‘Nonsense, of course you do.’ When she still pulled against his grip, he said softly, ‘I can’t believe you wish to make a scene here, my dear. Think what damage it would do you and your friends…’ and without waiting any longer, he swept her into the circling throng.

Francesca endured, rather than enjoyed, the dance that followed. Lord Coker was expert enough, but, without holding her too obviously close, his grip on her waist, and in the twists and turns of the waltz, was both intimate and cruel. Nor did he release her afterwards. Before she realised it, he was leading her out of the ballroom.

‘Lord Coker! Stop! Where are we going?’ she cried, as they went through long doors into an apparently empty passage.

‘You wished for refreshment? This is a less crowded route to the supper room. We shan’t lose ourselves—I know Carlton House like the back of my hand.’ Suspicious, but unable to argue, Francesca allowed him to lead her down the passage. It was lined with furniture and
objects d’art,
but she was not allowed to linger.

They went through a hall, then along another passage and finally arrived at an entrance guarded by two flunkeys. At a nod from Lord Coker, they opened the doors and Francesca was led into one of the loveliest rooms she had ever seen. Furnished in blue velvet with touches of gold, the room was dominated by a magnificent chandelier. Forgetting her suspicions, she walked into the room, gazing at the pictures and ornaments, all in exquisite taste, which filled it. She was speechless with admiration.

‘I see you like it.’ Lord Coker had come up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Startled, she moved away and turned to face him.

‘Thank you for showing me such a beautiful room, sir. Now, if you please, I should like to join the others in the supper room.’

‘In a while,’ he said.

‘Now!’

‘Come, Miss Beaudon. You surely don’t imagine that I would take all this trouble to be alone with you just to show you a room! You expressed a very flattering wish for my…conversation. I thought we should manage better if we were private.’ He took her hand and kissed it. ‘The admiration you demonstrated for me before we danced has encouraged me to hope for even more.’ He smiled with arrogant confidence.

Francesca moved towards the entrance. The doors were shut. Refusing to panic, she said coldly, ‘Lord Coker, I think you mistake me. I am not in the habit of listening to anyone who tries to coerce me. I insist that these doors are opened immediately!’

‘Admirably said! Well, I will let you go—’

With a sigh of relief, Francesca put her hand on the ornate handle of the door. She was pulled back ungently and held in his arms.

‘After you have heard me out.’

‘Let me go!’ she cried, struggling in vain to free herself. ‘You must be mad, sir!’

‘Not mad—merely in love.’

If Francesca had not been so frightened and angry, she would have laughed at the lack of any real feeling in these words. He could not have made his motive plainer. But the situation was none the less serious. Fear of this man, fear of the scandal should she be discovered in this private room with him, anger at his arrogance and conceit—all were fighting for supremacy. Anger won. She leaned back as far as she could and said coldly, ‘If you do not release me this instant, Lord Coker, the world shall know you for the villain you are. I am not entirely without protectors.’

‘My intentions are honorable, Miss Beaudon. I wish to marry you. And, if you were to spread tales about me, then you overestimate your influence in Society. The world saw you laughing and flirting with me in the ballroom. You came willingly enough. No, my dear. Telling the world would not harm me, and it would ruin you. Come, you shall listen to what I have to say—how much I admire you, and how ardently I wish you to be my wife. We shall forget your harsh words.’ He pulled her head towards him and kissed her.

Outraged, she snatched up an ornament from the console table nearby and hit him with it. The vase shattered and he staggered with the blow. For a moment she was free. She fled to the far corner of the room, praying that the door she had seen there was not locked. It opened at her touch and she raced through and locked it from the other side, just as Lord Coker, snarling with rage, reached it. He was cursing her comprehensively and threatening her with ruin and destruction.

Francesca did not wait to hear. She fled through a second door and a third, forced herself to walk swiftly but calmly
down a staircase thronged with people. But though their presence offered some protection, she doubted she could control the trembling in her limbs much longer. She must seek out some quiet place where she could recover. The doors at the far end of the conservatory opened into the garden, and Francesca made for these, desperate for fresh air and solitude. She snatched a glance behind her.

Lord Coker was at the far end, by the staircase. He was consulting a footman, who shook his head and pointed in the other direction. She must escape before he turned and saw her.

Abandoning decorum, Francesca slipped out and fled in a panic down the garden. A bank of bushes lay to her right. She stopped, gave another rapid glance behind to make sure that she was unobserved, then darted to the side—and ran straight into the tall figure of a gentleman, who had apparently been enjoying the air, and indulging in a cigar. The unexpected force of the collision caused him to stagger, but he threw his cigar away and held her firmly in his arms until they had both regained their balance.

With no surprise at all, Francesca heard the deep, warm, familiar tones say, ‘Why! What a pleasant surprise! I thought you never wished to see me again, Miss Beaudon.’

It was too much. Francesca gazed up at Marcus in horror. It was humiliating enough that there had been a witness to her unseemly behaviour and headlong flight, but although she was somewhat overwrought by her scene with Lord Coker, she could have controlled her feelings with anyone else. But that she should meet Marcus again in such circumstances…it was too much! She burst into tears.

After an initial stiffening of surprise, Marcus gathered her more firmly to him and held her until gradually her sobs subsided and she was able to speak.

‘You shouldn’t…I must ask you…Please let me go. I’m sorry to make such an exhibition of myself.’

He released her instantly. ‘What happened?’ he said curtly.

For one moment Francesca was tempted to tell him. The feeling of security, of comfort she had experienced in his arms, was very seductive. But another moment’s thought stopped her. If she told Marcus what had occurred in the Blue Velvet Room, he might involve himself on her behalf. Lord Coker was a powerful man. He would take it very badly if Marcus, whom he would regard as a nobody, questioned his behaviour. She had no wish to see Marcus hurt.

Even worse, Marcus himself might look embarrassed and make some excuse to leave her. That would mortify her beyond bearing. So she said, somewhat lamely, ‘It…it was so hot in there. I was overcome.’

‘Francesca, I’m not a fool. It must have been more than that. Considerably more to have so discomposed you. I have never seen you in tears before.’

The proximity of this man, and the events of the night, loosened her tongue. Her reply was almost involuntary.

‘Haven’t you?’ she asked wryly. ‘I assure you I have shed many in the past. But then, you were not there to see.’

They stared at one another, and as they looked the old magic took hold of her. When Marcus grasped her arms and drew her to him, she did not resist. And when he held her even more closely, she did not pull away, but buried her head in his shoulder. The sense of being where she belonged was immediate.

Oh, Marcus, she thought in despair, why do I feel this closeness with no other man? Is this why I have refused all the others? Why I regard them as second-best, though I know them to be good, kind men, so much more worthy of my regard than you could ever be. They would never hurt me as you have hurt me, yet I can feel nothing for any of them. What have you done to my life, Marcus? Why did we ever meet?