Anne Barbour (16 page)

“Ah. But he certainly cannot enter into your feelings, or your activities—”

“You are quite correct, Mr. Carver,” said Hester with some asperity. “Lord Bythorne is singularly unenlightened concerning the ability of a woman to govern her own existence, but, fortunately, I am in no way accountable to him for my actions.”

“Well,” replied Mr. Carver softly. “You seem to have escaped falling under his lordship’s legendary charm. You are, I believe, unique among the members of your gender.”

He cast a sardonic glance down the table to where Barbara was regaling Thorne with a tale he seemed to find amusing in the extreme. Noting a certain rigidity in his expression, Hester asked, “Barbara says you and she have been friends for some years.”

“Does she?” he asked casually. “I think, perhaps, friends is too strong a word. Acquaintances might be better—and fairly distant ones at that.”

Despite the coolness of his tone, Hester was startled to note a distinct flash of derision in the gentleman’s eyes.

Chapter Eleven

Hester had little opportunity to ponder the implications of Mr. Carver’s remark, for the rest of the evening was a blur of activity. After dinner, the guests proceeded to a brilliantly lit town house in Upper Brook Street, where Hester was introduced to yet another contingent of the
beau monde
. To her surprise, she was much sought-after as a dance partner, a result, she was sure, of Lady Bracken’s efforts.

She had forgotten how much she enjoyed dancing, but after several country dances, and two or three waltzes, she felt that her spirit had taken wings. Flushed and breathless, she stood in conversation with a group of ladies and gentlemen who prior to that evening had been totally unknown to her. She had expected to be shunned by polite society for her radical beliefs, but there was little overt reaction to her name. She was greeted with smiles of amused tolerance by some of the gentlemen and there was a bit of buzzing among the ladies, who sent sidelong glances of curiosity, but Hester was accustomed to being viewed as an oddity of nature. By and large, however, it was as though most of the persons here had never heard of Hester Blayne and her scandalous behavior. Yet another example of the redemption to be obtained under the banner of the Bythorne name, no doubt.

On the other hand, she mused ruefully, perhaps most of the persons present were truly ignorant of her activities. The
ton
, after all, had determinedly ignored the war against Napoleon until it was brought almost to their own shores. It was not surprising then, that they could manage to ignore a feminist firebrand in their midst. Still, her efforts to blend in with the matrons lining the walls of the Debenham ballroom had been fruitless, and if she were to be honest, she was enjoying herself immensely. She bestowed a brilliant smile on a gentleman who had just solicited her hand for the boulanger.

“That sounds lovely, Lord Mumblethorpe. I—”

“But, you must have forgotten, my dear.” The voice sounded behind her, deep and amused. “You promised the next dance to me.”

She whirled to find Thorne at her elbow. Lord Mumblethorpe, whose portly form was contained in corsets that creaked with each movement, bent an indignant stare on the earl.

“I say, old man, this is out-and-out piracy. Have a notion to call you out, demmed if I don’t.”

“Now, now, Mum, you don’t want to do that. I have a prior claim, after all—relative and all that.”

Without waiting for a reply, Thorne whisked Hester onto the dance floor. There was little opportunity for conversation during the complicated figures of the dance, but when the last strains of the music had died away, Thorne led her to the refreshment table. Procuring punch and lobster patties, the two made their way to a small chamber just off the ballroom.

“My, that was lovely!” gasped Hester as she sank down on one of the little chairs scattered about the room. “I was afraid I had forgotten the steps, but it all came back to me.”

“But you are an excellent dancer, my dear. Has it really been so long since you attended a ball?”

“Good heavens, it’s been ages,” replied Hester, deciding for the moment to ignore Thorne’s highly improper, “my dear.” “In fact, aside from a few country assemblies, I don’t think I’ve so much as set a toe on a dance floor since my Season.”

“You had a Season?” Thorne’s brows lifted. “Not that it is to be wondered at, of course,” he added hastily. “I am merely surprised that we did not meet.”

“Oh, we may have,” Hester responded airily. “I met so many people, I am sure I would not have remembered a fraction of them.”

Touché, Miss Blayne, thought Thorne, grinning inwardly.

“For, of course,” continued Hester, “my family, though out of the way in many respects, made sure that all the daughters had their moment of glory. At least, while my mother was alive. We were rather pinched for funds after Mary and Cecilia were brought out, but I was trotted out in my turn. I stayed with my Aunt Aurelia, in Portland Square.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’m afraid the whole project was an unmitigated disaster, for I must tell you, my lord, I Did Not Take.”

“You surprise me,” said Thorne solemnly. “Do you mean to tell me that the gentlemen to whom you were introduced did not listen attentively to your views? For I should imagine you treated one and all to a thorough exposition of your philosophies.”

“How did you guess?” Her mouth curved upward in a warm chuckle and Thorne wondered if she was aware of the magical effect of her smile. Probably not, he concluded, for she seemed totally ignorant of her charm. “I was positively grim—and thin and mousey. I wore all the wrong clothes, of course.” Her smile faded. “In short, I was almost guaranteed to fail in attracting a husband, or even a modicum of attention.”

“Well, you are more than making up for that lack this evening. Perhaps you are what is referred to as a late bloomer.”

“Very late,” remarked Hester dryly. “In any event, I know well to whom the credit for my sudden surge of popularity belongs. Gussie has been very busy on my behalf— and I wish she would not.”

“You do not enjoy being solicited for every dance?”

“Well, of course, I do, but I know it is not for myself, which is always lowering. And, to be truthful, keeping my mouth shut is becoming a strain. It has been all I could do not to prick some of the balloons of pomposity that crowd the room tonight.”

“Well, when you finally give in to the urge, do call me. I could use a spot of entertainment.”

Thorne found himself relishing the militant sparkle that rose to her eyes. Hester Blayne, he mused, might be a thorn in the foot of society, but she was never boring.

“You would like to see me pilloried for my beliefs?” she asked a little sharply.

“No, of course not. Do not twist my meaning. It is only that I have never been a lover of pomposity myself, and rather looked forward to the sounds of balloons popping all over the dance floor.”

Hester was forced to laugh. “That is what you say now, but I wonder what your reaction would be if I started discoursing to you right now on the woeful injustice being done to women.”

Thorne looked about. “I suppose a case might be made for the women of the poorer classes, but I see no injustice here. Every female in the place looks well-fed. Their gowns cost enough to feed a starving family for a year and their jewelry could fill the treasury of a small country.”

Hester clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘That is just the sort of thinking I most abhor. The women in this room are, in the main, simply the visible representations of their husband’s status. They have no identity of their own, and their only function in life is to oversee the running of their lord’s house and bear him children.”

“But, what is wrong with that?” he asked innocently, almost holding his breath in anticipation of the fire he knew would rise in her eyes. Lord, she was almost beautiful when she was truly aroused to anger.

“What is wrong with it?” she echoed on cue. “No human being should be the—the chattel of another. It is degrading, and—” She halted abruptly and glanced at him sharply. The animation died from her features and her face became closed. “Oh, I see. You are merely amusing yourself. How very predictable of you, my lord. And now, if you will excuse me—thank you for a lovely dance, but I believe I shall return to the ball.”

She rose, and with a whisper of silken skirts, moved from the room, her head held high and her back very straight. Thorne gazed after her, breathing in the scent of violets that lingered after her. He knew an unaccustomed feeling of shame at his behavior. She was so very earnest, after all, and it had not been kind of him to mock her. He sighed, if only she were not so vocal in her foolish theories, flirting with her might be a pleasant diversion. As it was, one had merely to poke a little fun at her passion and she came all over sensibility and affront.

He strolled back into the ballroom in search of Lady Barbara. Now, there was a female who knew to a nicety how to please a gentleman. She was totally lacking in prickles and knew precisely what was expected of her.

He stifled the sense of loss that struck him for the merest instant as he caught a last glimpse of Hester wending her way through the throng in the ballroom—a feeling that he had just let something valuable slip through his fingers.

* * * *

“What do you think, Hester? Can I wear this bonnet with the primrose muslin?”

Hester looked up from the desk situated in her sitting room as Chloe entered the room. In her hand she carried a charming Gypsy straw bonnet, embellished with cherries and trailing matching ribbons. On her head she wore a villager hat whose ribbons of pomona green precisely matched the gown she was wearing.

Hester put down her pen. “Well, the villager is certainly a good choice, but the Gypsy has perhaps a trace more dash.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” replied Chloe, tossing the villager on a chair to replace it with the Gypsy.

“Where are you off to?” inquired Hester.

Chloe’s features puckered. “Oh, it is too tedious, really. Some of my friends have got up an expedition to Richmond. It sounded like such fun, but then John—Mr. Wery got wind of it and practically invited himself along. I just know the whole afternoon will be ruined.”

“Dear me,” said Hester, surprised. “I thought you and Mr. Wery had come to a better understanding over the last few days. Did he not dance with you twice last night at the ball?”

“Yes, but just for the country dances.” She grimaced. “He thinks the waltz too daring to be engaged in by very young girls. Good heavens, it’s been popular now for several years and you may see schoolgirls practicing it with their dancing masters.”

Hester smiled. “I think Mr. Wery wants to impress you with his concern for your reputation.”

“He’d do better,” snapped Chloe, “to impress me with his ability to waltz.” She heaved a lugubrious sigh. “If only he weren’t so unutterably boring one might be able to bear his company a little more easily.”

“How is your campaign going—the one designed to give him a disgust of you?”

Chloe gave a despairing sniff. “Not well. Would you believe, he has apparently decided there is a great deal of merit in my views on woman’s education. Now, instead of prosing on about sheep, he bores on about his schools. Not that I am not interested in his efforts,” Chloe said hastily, “but one would like to converse just once in a while about—oh, fashion and gossip.”

“Of course,” remarked Hester gravely. “But, I thought you were going to talk about your craving for jewels and your determination to live in London.”

Chloe brightened. “Oh, that’s going much better.” She giggled. “Last night, when he complimented me on my pearls, I bemoaned the fact that I am not old enough yet to wear the emeralds that my mother left me. Then, I went on at some length about all the gewgaws I look forward to wearing when I am a married lady. The poor man looked positively green by the time I ran out of breath.”

“That sounds promising,” agreed Hester with a laugh. “I predict that he will soon take you in such aversion that he will refrain from calling on you at all. I am sure you will be relieved when he no longer seeks you out at dances or pleads a space on your outings to Richmond.”

Chloe’s face fell a trifle. “Oh. Well, yes, I certainly do look forward to that day.” She rose from the chair into which she had flung herself and smoothed her skirts. “I had better make myself ready, for he will be here shortly.” She glanced out the window. “Oh dear, it looks as though it might rain later. Pinkham has a new way of doing my hair that I mean to try.” She laughed self-consciously. “John said last night that he likes it when I pile it atop my head. I think that is the first real compliment he has ever paid me, and I mean to see if I can make him produce more.”

She ran from the room and Hester was left to shake her head. There was no doubt that young John Wery was among the worthiest of young men, but he had a great deal to learn about winning the heart of a fair lady. It was too bad, really, that it was the rakes of the world who seemed to possess the keys to those hearts.

Hester considered her prime exhibit. He had no morals and no compunction about taking his pleasure where he might, and there was not a woman at the ball last night who was not aware of this fact. Yet, the silly creatures fairly threw themselves at his feet as he strolled among them, each hoping she would be the next blossom to be plucked and later flung aside. They knew that his intentions were not serious, that he was not interested in marriage, and yet they encouraged his advances—married and unmarried females alike. There were even those among them who believed that they could reform him. How was it he was able to engender the burning conviction in each of their breasts that she was the one woman in the world to whom he would turn for permanent companionship?

Lady Barbara Freemantle was apparently one of that number, and, to be sure, it looked as though she had an inside track to that much desired outcome. But, Lord, what made them all think he was worth the effort? She herself seemed to be the only female in London who could see the charming peer for what he was, a lecherous, uncaring, breaker of hearts. She only wished that she possessed the physical attributes that would lure him to her. She would very much enjoy breaking his heart, assuming there was one to break, of course, which she very much doubted.