An Improper Suitor (8 page)

The London Season was in full swing, and Julia kept busy. The Grosvenor Square house received a new stream of visitors. Mamas and grandmamas wished to reacquaint themselves with their dear friend Lady Bullfinch – and to remind her that their sons were
eligible
bachelors. Gentlemen callers arrived with bouquets and poems. There was even one marriage proposal, which her ladyship declined. Julia only discovered this after the fact, when she spoke to her about it over breakfast.

‘You aren’t interested in Mr Eckles, by any chance, are you?’ she asked, putting her blue china teacup down with a clatter and eyeing her doubtfully.

‘No, of course not,’ said Julia.

‘That settles it, then,’ said her ladyship. She immediately launched into another topic of conversation, something about a new exhibit at the Egyptian Hall.

‘Wait,’ said Julia, breaking in before the force of the torrent carried her away. ‘Why did you ask about Mr Eckles?’

Lady Bullfinch turned her hands over and examined the palms closely. ‘If you must know,’ she said, ‘the fool offered for you.’

It was Julia’s turn to put down her teacup, very slowly. ‘I gather you turned him down?’

‘Naturally.’

‘I would be grateful if you would consult with me first, before declining anyone else. I needn’t remind you that I have the right to make my own choices.’

‘Of course I know that,’ said her grandmother. ‘I was just trying to
spare you unnecessary embarrassment.’

I’m tired of everyone wanting to spare me something or the other.
Why did she always find herself saying the same thing? Did she really appear so fragile?

‘I know you are acting with the best of intentions, but I would rather deal with any awkward proposals myself. Surely you think me capable of that?’

The old lady sat perfectly still, her eyes fixed on Julia.

Julia sighed. ‘It’s nothing that can’t be mended,’ said Julia. She smiled as she thought of Mr Eckles and his curly-coated retriever. ‘I’m glad you got rid of poor Mr Eckles. He’s convinced I want to know everything about his breeding programme.’

‘I hope not,’ said her ladyship, blandly.

Julia chuckled as she caught her meaning, for once not feeling embarrassed. ‘Not his personal one,’ she said, playfully, ‘just his dogs.’ He was not a bad person. Simply a bore. ‘I hope he manages to find a wife who is interested. For her sake, at least.’

Lord Neave was among the callers. His visit was formal, and he did not stay beyond the requisite twenty minutes. During that time he offered to escort her to the shops to buy material for her new riding habit. This time he arrived in a barouche with matching greys, and they set out accompanied by Julia’s maid. Before long he had convinced her to buy any number of fripperies – new lace, a green ribbon which he insisted matched her eyes, and a new bonnet trimmed in lavender. Julia was amazed at his involvement in her purchases.

‘Very few gentlemen will spend the time to advise a lady what to buy. Most gentlemen would be consumed by boredom at the sight of the first ribbons.’

‘But you must know by now, Miss Swifton, that I am interested in most things that interest you. You have a lively mind, and turn the dreariest shopping expedition into’ – he searched for a word – ‘a picnic.’

‘La, Lord Neave,’ she replied. ‘now you are being a flatterer, and you know I dislike it.’

‘Then I’ll cease immediately.’

His light-hearted mood resonated with hers, and she was more inclined than ever to view him favourably. True, he flirted a great deal, but that was only to be expected. She did not take his remarks seriously, but enjoyed them in the spirit that they were meant.

Lord Benedict called on her, too, one morning, and since he was a solitary caller, he and Lady Bullfinch spent a pleasant twenty minutes discussing gardening, a topic obviously familiar to him. His older sister Emily had forced him as a boy to spend many hours helping her with pruning and picking flowers, and he proved to be quite
knowledgeable
.

‘I was only twelve, and never thought of saying no to her. Then one day my father caught me at it and my poor sister was at the receiving end of his wrath. At that time I was happy enough to abandon the thorns and nettles to her, so I strutted away with my father. But later I would watch her from the window and wish I could join her.’

Of Lord Thorwynn there was no sign.
Perhaps I have finally succeeded in driving him away
. The irises wilted, and had to be thrown away.
Good riddance
. She had many other, sweeter smelling flowers.

Lionel leaned against the wall at the Kinleighs’ townhouse, concealed by a gigantic terracotta pot with a squat palm tree growing out of it. Not for the first time that evening, he swore. If it was not for that Swifton hoyden, he would be dining comfortably in Brooks’s, before setting out for a night of far more pleasurable activity than escaping scheming matrons. By showing up several times at society balls, he had sent the wrong message. Every mother with an eligible daughter descended upon him the moment he arrived.

Of course, the real question that hammered at him was why on earth he couldn’t leave well enough alone?

True, Neave needed to be brought to justice, and the
ton
needed to know the truth about him. But why had he taken it upon himself to pursue him, when he had already failed before? And when Miss Swifton had made it perfectly clear she did not appreciate his attempts?

The sound of his name broke into his reflections. A footman waited a few steps away, with a folded note on a silver salver. Lionel took the
paper and glanced down at the writing. His name was scribbled on the front, in a hurried, almost unintelligible hand.  

He dismissed the footman and opened the letter. The scrawl inside, if possible, was even worse. Someone in a great hurry had penned it.

It was unsigned. He prided himself on remembering people’s
handwriting
, and he had not encountered this writing before.  

He crushed it into a ball and tossed it on to a tray with empty glasses. It must be from some unknown married lady, bored with her husband and looking for some adventure.  

Neave could wait. At least for the moment. He was more than glad to abandon the boredom of the ballroom.  

Similar situations had happened before. He liked it when the lady took the first step – the element of surprise heightened the pleasure. As long as it was a pleasant surprise, of course. However it turned out, the prospect of some new amusement would compensate for being forced to attend these endless balls.  

He drained his glass and added it to the tray. With a spring in his step, he headed for his rendezvous.  

He was not one to disappoint a lady.

Julia knew it was unwise to go out into the darkness of the garden, but she had to breathe some fresh air or she would explode. One of the reasons she had given up going to balls was the crush. She disliked being in a room with so many people pressed together. In the larger townhouses that had formal ballrooms, there was always some corner where one could escape. But tonight the only empty corner was behind a palm tree, and that was occupied by Lord Thorwynn.  

Not a trace of moonlight lightened the shadows. The only
illumination
came from inside the windows. She did not want to be seen, outlined against the house, so she turned and took a path that led her just out of the light. She did not go far. She simply wanted a private
moment to breathe away from the din of the ball. She stood under a tree, leaning her arm carefully against the bark and removing her silk slippers to stretch her cramped toes.

She let the darkness enfold her. The sweet aroma of jasmine wafted towards her, and she drank in the scent, relishing the gentle warmth of the May night.

But not for long. Men’s voices moved towards her. Quickly, she withdrew behind a hedge, into the darker shadows. She crouched a little, hoping her head would not show above it. She could not risk an encounter with a group of strange men, especially if they were in their cups. Most likely they would be, if they were frolicking in the garden in the dark.

She expected them to continue past the bush back to the ballroom. Instead, they stopped just a few feet away. Her heart beat faster. Had they seen her hiding? She waited, scarcely breathing, the rush of blood pounding in her ears.

Then someone spoke. The familiar voice startled her. He was so close she expected him to reach into the bushes and take hold of her arm. Relief flooded through her and she started to step out.

‘I promise you, she’s mine.’ Something in the way he spoke was different. His voice had a hard edge to it that stopped her in her tracks. She kept very still, waiting for him to finish before revealing her presence. ‘I have her exactly where I want her. I’ll bring her outside tonight, and you’ll witness the event.’

One of the men sniggered. ‘I for one wouldn’t mind watching.’ She could not mistake the ice-eyed man they had met in Hyde Park. He had hardly spoken, but she would know that voice anywhere. ‘She’s a tasty morsel. Perhaps she’ll consent to have me after you’re done with her.’

Neave hissed. ‘You must remember, we’re not talking about a common whore. This one’s a lady.’

‘Not after you’ve finished with her,’ said a third man. Appreciative male laughter followed.

‘Remember that my goal isn’t to ruin her. The wager only specified that I would bed her, with you as witnesses. Nothing more,’ said Neave.

‘Getting cold feet, are you?’ sneered the ice man. ‘You’re running
out of time. If you want to win that wager, you had better move tonight.’

‘The agreement stipulated two weeks. I still have three days, according to the wager.’

‘We can’t keep following you wherever you go in case you manage to lift her skirts. We’re here tonight, so this is your chance, win or lose.’

‘Better get back to the ballroom, then,’ said the third man. ‘I need a few drinks if I’m to skulk in the bushes waiting for you to deliver the goods.’

‘I for one am not intending to get foxed,’ said another man,
beginning
to move away. ‘I don’t intend to ruin the sport by stumbling about in the dark. Might interrupt something.’ Some more laughter followed.

Their voices grew dimmer. She did not move. She had not heard Neave’s voice as they moved away, and she was afraid he had stayed behind, that he had caught sight of her. Her mouth felt dry, but she didn’t want to swallow. She scarcely dared to breathe.

Nothing happened. Only silence on the other side of the bush. She tried to peer through the gaps in the branches, but she could see
nothing
.

She waited, stomach twisting into coils, heart like a clock gone wild. He would have to move first. She would not give him the
satisfaction
of stepping out.

Time lengthened. She had no idea how long she stood behind that hedge. Eventually she began to realize that if he wanted he could have seized her and pulled her out. He did not need to wait for her to come out.

Her heart resumed its normal speed, and the pain in her stomach receded. She discovered she had crushed a handful of leaves in her hand, their bitter odour filling her nose. No doubt her gloves would be stained. She tried to slide soundlessly from her hiding place, but her muscles refused to obey. She crashed into the side of the bush and stepped out, watching for any movement. There was no-one around. She lifted her gown and darted back to the French doors of the
ballroom
.

The clamour and the heat hit her as she stepped inside, but she did
not feel safer. She imagined Neave and his friends watching her,
closing
in. Scores of faces rose up in front of her and they all looked the same. She was afraid any moment Neave would come up to her and ask her to dance. She could not have faced him, not without giving herself away.

She escaped to the ladies’ retiring room. There, perhaps, she could recover some of her calm. Enough at least to walk over to her
grandmother
and tell her she needed to go home.

But, too flustered to notice her direction, she went too far, or took the wrong turn. She imagined Neave following her. She hurried down the dim corridor, looking frantically for the door. The fall of footsteps sounded behind her. She turned round the corner and threw open the first door she found. She entered and shut it quietly behind her.

She started to tremble. She didn’t think she could stop. Their words had not fully registered until this moment. At first she thought they could not be talking about her, but then she remembered she had met Neave exactly ten days ago. It could not have been someone else.

After that, she had been too intent on getting inside safely to think about it. But now the whole scene flashed before her. She realized she was fortunate to have escaped. Only that reckless desire for fresh air had saved her.

She wondered if he would have succeeded. Would she have gone with him into the garden alone? She did not know. Perhaps he might have drawn her out by claiming the need to confide to her. She would have accompanied him, if he had done so.

She thought of all those things he had told her. About his father. About the army. All lies, all meant only to engage her sympathy. She should have known that someone with such a dark past could not move through life so lightly, laughter in every step.

She ran shaking fingers over her face. She was disturbed, true, but after all, she had escaped. She did not know to what lengths he would go to win the wager, but she would take every precaution. He only had three days. And if he planned to abduct her, he would not find her unprepared.

She grew calmer. She took a deep shuddering breath and looked around her.

She was alone in the library. Fool that she was. Planning
precautions
yet standing there like a sitting duck. She turned quickly, anxious to join the crowds in the ballroom. There was safety in numbers, after all.