Authors: Mary Nichols
Pretty
compliments as well as good looks! Was she supposed to be impressed? A man
needed more than that to become a lifelong partner, though she could not
exactly define what it was. A kind of empathy, she supposed, a meeting of
minds, mutual love. Oh, yes, love above all things. 'And where did you learn
your social accomplishments, Mr Devonshire?' she asked.
They parted at
the end of the line and he was not able to answer until the dance brought them
together again at the far end. 'Social accomplishments,' he repeated. 'I was
not aware of any in particular.'
`Flattery, for
one. Do not think I am misled by that, Mr Devonshire. Young I may be, but I am
not such a goose as to be taken in by compliments.'
She left him to
circle around another dancer, while he did the same and then they came together
in the middle, stepping round each other like a pair of fighting cocks. `In
that case, what shall we talk of?'
`I am intrigued
to know why Papa asked you to escort us.'
`He trusts me,
as I trust him.'
`How long have
you known him?'
`His lordship?
Since I was ten years old.'
`As long as
that?' She was surprised for the second time that evening. In truth, life
seemed to be full of surprises just lately. Was that all part of the process of
growing up? When you are young, she thought, you accepted people without
troubling yourself with questions about how and why they came to be the kind of
men and women they were.
There was, for
instance, more to her father than the devoted husband and parent, and this man,
with his easy elegance and brooding good looks, knew more than she did. She was
torn between her need to know and her reluctance to let him see her ignorance.
And her natural curiosity won. 'How did you meet?'
Again they
parted and again they returned to each other. 'He found me in somewhat
straitened circumstances and helped me to find my feet. I owe him my life, my
education, my ability to earn a living, for without the education I could have
achieved nothing.' His voice took on a husky tone as he spoke, as if it was
something he found difficult to speak about,
but it was full of sincerity, nothing like the light voice he had used
to pay easy compliments.
She tilted her
head to look up at him and wished that she had not. He was looking at her with
an expression which seemed to say, 'I know all about you, everything there is
to know, I can see into your soul. Nothing can be hidden from me.' She gave an
involuntary shiver which spread from her body down to her toes and fingers.
`Oh. Then you
would do anything he asked of you?' she queried.
`Anything
within my power. Even attending functions I have no particular interest in and
being interrogated by a young lady who seems to forget her manners at times.'
His smile belied the severity of his words and she realised he was teasing her.
Instead of being annoyed, she laughed.
`I beg pardon
for that, indeed I do, but how else am I to learn if I do not ask questions? No
one sees fit to enlighten me unless I do.'
He smiled as
the dance came to an end and offered her his arm to go into supper. Her mother
followed, escorted by Lord Hart. 'What do you wish to be enlightened about?'
`Why I am here
at all.'
`You mean why
you exist? That is a profound question indeed.'
`No, I meant
why I was brought to London. And why I have never met Mr Martindale, or even
heard of him before. It all seems so strange. Do you know him?'
`Before tonight
I had not met him.' He settled her in a seat at one of the small tables dotted
around the dining room and sat down beside her, but she was more interested in
the answers to her questions than in eating, delicious though everything
looked.
`How old are
you?' he asked, offering her a plate of little tartlets filled with fish in a
creamy sauce.
She took one
and put it on her plate alongside a chicken leg, wondering whether to refuse to
answer, but as he was treating her in a very avuncular fashion and her mother,
though out of earshot, was looking at her, she decided she might as well humour
him. 'I am nineteen.'
`There you are,
then. It is surely time you came out. Most young ladies are not only out, but
married by your age.'
`Perhaps they
are, but Mama has not been well these last two years and we were obliged to
postpone my Season. We had planned it for next year when Mama had fully
recovered and Papa hoped to be less occupied with the war. His change of mind
was so sudden and all because of Lieutenant Veillard and that portrait...'
She stopped in
confusion, wondering why she had mentioned that. Did she think he knew the
answer? Or was it that his manner invited confidences?
He smiled,
putting food on his own plate and beckoning a waiter to pour wine for them
both. 'Now it is my turn to be intrigued. Tell me, who is Lieutenant Veillard?
The name sounds French.'
`It is. He is a
prisoner of war, but he is gentleman and a great artist.'
`Oh. I see. An
unsuitable liaison...?'
`It was nothing
of the kind. It is all on account of him painting me like a French aristo. He
made me look older, in a great hooped gown and dripping with jewels. It upset
Mama.'
`It is hardly
surprising. You are the embodiment of a young and innocent girl and an English
one at that. No wonder Lady Martindale was upset. She could hardly hang the
picture, could she? Or show it to her friends.'
`No, but she
need not have accused poor Lieutenant Veillard of stealing.'
`Stealing
what?'
`I don't know.
That is where the mystery comes in.' She turned to face him, her cheeks flushed
and her eyes bright. She had gone this far, she might as well go on. `You could
not find out for me, could you?'
`Me? Certainly
not.' His answer was immediate and somewhat acerbic. Seeing the pained
expression on her face, he wished he had paused long enough to ask her why it
was so important to her, why she had asked him and not someone closer to her.
Did she suppose he would be like clay in her hands, soft and malleable? Or was
she clutching at a straw, a last resort because no one else would take her
seriously? His answer had been the correct one, but he wished he had not spoken
so sharply. 'I am sorry,' he added more gently.
She sighed. The
answer was no less than she expected. If Mr Devonshire had such a high regard
for her father, he would not do anything behind his mentor's back. 'I mean to
find out,' she said. 'I mean to discover why Mama is so afraid and why I have
suddenly acquired a cousin I knew nothing of.'
`You have not
suddenly acquired him. If any acquiring has been done, it is surely the other
way about; he is undoubtedly two or three years older than you are. I imagine
your arrival put his nose severely out of joint.'
`He is still
the heir; my arrival did not change that.'
`No, but you
need to be plump in the pocket to run an establishment like Hartlea. What do
you suppose he will do for funds when the time comes?' He smiled. 'Not that I
expect that to happen for many years. I sincerely hope his lordship has a long
life before him.'
`Oh, so do I,'
she said. The thought of her father dying was not to be entertained. 'Let us talk
about something more cheerful.'
Which is what
they did and she discovered that he was not so stuffy as he had at first
appeared and his sense of humour matched hers. Before long he had her laughing
at some anecdote about the Prince Regent, whom he appeared to know quite well
and the rest of the evening passed so pleasantly she forgot her unanswered
questions, but they were still there, ready to surface again as soon as the
heady evening was over.
As for Philip; he had not enjoyed himself so much for years,
though he was only too aware that as a prospective suitor, he had nothing to
offer the delectable Miss Martindale. And, wending his way back to his lodgings
in the early hours, he laughed at himself for even allowing the thought to
cross his mind.
Country hours of early to bed and early to rise and dinner
at three were impossible in London. Too much happened in the evenings and
hardly anything before mid-day, so that Juliette constantly found herself going
to bed at dawn and rising at noon. Dinner was more often at five or six and
supper nearer midnight.
It played havoc
with her sleep and her digestion, and she began to wonder if her mother's
fragile health would stand the strain for a whole Season. But Lady Martindale
would not hear of having a quiet day or two with no engagements.
`We might as
well have stayed at Hartlea if we are going to sit at home doing nothing,' she
said, the day after the ball. They were in the morning room, having only just
come down from their bedchambers, although the day was well-advanced. Her
ladyship was examining the invitations that had arrived earlier. 'You will
never take if you are not seen out and about.'
`Mama, I do so
hate that expression. It makes me sound like a cow at market or a custard you
are afraid will curdle. And it is so one-sided. I want to have a say in what
happens to me.'
`Juliette, you
are not old enough and wise enough to make a suitable choice without some
guidance. But your papa will not force you to marry someone you take in
dislike, of that I am sure.'
For the first
time Juliette felt brave enough to question her iron-willed mother. 'What about
you, Mama? Do you not believe in marrying for love?'
`Love comes
later, if you are so fortunate. Your papa was chosen for me by my father, but I
would not change him for the world.'
'And have you
anyone in mind for me? Mr Martindale, perhaps, or Mr Devonshire.'
`Mr
Devonshire!' Her mother's astonishment was genuine. 'Good gracious, that never
entered my head. He has no title and no fortune and besides, I do believe he
has foreign connections.' She looked closely at Juliette as she spoke. 'You
have not formed an attachment there, have you?'
`No, indeed
not,' she said, aware that her cheeks were flaming and angry with herself for
not being able to prevent it. 'He is too pompous by far. He behaves towards me
like an uncle who has been entrusted with my moral welfare...'
`Which is
exactly the truth of the matter.' Her mother laughed. It was the first time
Juliette had heard her laughter since the episode over the portrait. 'At least
it was so last night because your papa asked him to escort us and you are vexed
because he prevented you dancing a third time with James Martindale.'
`Is Mr
Martindale really my cousin? I find it hard to believe that we have never met
before. He hinted that Papa and his father quarrelled. It doesn't sound the
least like Papa to hold a grudge for so long.'
`It is not. If
any quarrelling was done, it was all on one side, I can assure you.'
`What was it
about?'
`I really do
not know.'
`Why has
nothing been done to mend the rift?' she asked, wondering why she did not
altogether believe her mother did not know the reason for it.
`I do not know
that either, but now you have the opportunity to set all to rights.'
`Me?' Juliette
asked in surprise. 'How can I do that?'
`James is very
taken by you, he made no effort to hide it...'
`Oh, Mama, you
surely do not think he will offer for me? We have only just met.' She was not
ready for offers yet. The thought of receiving a proposal filled her with
apprehension. What was she supposed to do? How was she to know whom to accept?
Her reading of romantic novels had led her to believe she would know when she
fell in love because it would be like a bolt from the sky and there would be no
doubt in her mind at all. But no one she had yet met had delivered such a blow,
certainly not Pierre Veillard, or Mr Martindale. There was something about him
that sent shivers of apprehension down her spine and she had no idea why that
should be. As for Mr Devonshire, he was, according to her mother, not even to
be considered and yet he was the one who made her heart beat faster and he was
easy to talk to. She had confided in him about Pierre and the portrait without
a second's hesitation. But that wasn't love, was it?
Her mother did
not answer because at that moment a footman appeared to announce the arrival of
Mr Martindale.
`My respects,
my lady,' he said, sweeping confidently into the room dressed in biscuit
coloured pantaloons, a blue superfine coat with darker facings, a blue and
yellow striped waistcoat and the most extravagantly tied cravat Juliette had
ever seen. He bowed before her ladyship, who smiled and offered her hand to be
kissed, which he did with aplomb. Then turning to Juliette, he asked, 'And how
are you, Miss Martindale?'
`I am very
well, Mr Martindale.'
`I hope you are
not too tired after last night because I was hoping for the favour of being
allowed to escort you for a carriage ride in the park this afternoon. I have
recently acquired a brand-new barouche and a pair of matched bays.' He turned
to Lady Martindale, smiling. `That is, if your mama will consent to accompany
us.'