Evelyn Richardson (12 page)

Lord Mainwaring could have undeceived her, but he did not relish the tone of the conversation. “I had not thought to ask the lady her age,” he answered blightingly.

“Oh, Julian, do not be angry,” she pleaded, tracing the strong line of his jaw with a caressing finger. “I was only thinking of you. I know how you detest all those women who constantly throw out lures to you, whether they are the girls or their mamas.”

The marquess was not so easily hoodwinked and he did not believe her for an instant, but in the interests of a peaceful evening he appeared mollified as he caught her hand and kissed it lingeringly. “Your solicitude overwhelms me, Vanessa, my dear,” he murmured, gazing intently at her.

Vanessa, responding to the attraction of those dark blue eyes, failed to detect the undertone of sarcasm in his voice. She sighed contentedly and leaned back luxuriously against the squabs, revealing, as she did so, rounded white shoulders and a daring décolletage.

Kean was performing his much-celebrated Richard III, but Mainwaring, who considered him a shade on the melodramatic side, though admittedly an inspired actor, had come to the theater for other purposes man watching the famous man rave and roll his eyes. He was certain that he would encounter Lord Charlton there, and he felt that the delicacy of the business for which Charlton had approached him required the discretion of a seemingly chance encounter. His surmise was correct and he came upon Charlton in the gallery. They exchanged a few desultory remarks on Kean, the general public's opinion of his intensely original interpretation of Shakespeare, and their own slightly more critical views before Julian remarked casually, “Speaking of dramatic and theatrical natures, I saw Prinny the other day.”

“Oh? And how is he? I haven't seen him this age.” The other man's tone was equally casual, but there was a wealth of unspoken questions in his eyes.

“He's fine as fivepence. And he is slowly abandoning the idea of a purely Chinese theme for his Pavilion for an Indian motif, and wanted to consult me on decorations and architecture. You know the plan Repton submitted to him years ago was in the Indian style, but he hadn't the money at the time. Now he seems to think he has, and has urged Nash to make his alterations in that style. What a damned extravagance! But his pioneering use of cast-iron construction is something I would like to encourage, considering the plight that industry will be facing without the war and demand for artillery. We naturally turned from Indian art to India, to the world in general, and affairs in Europe in particular. He seems to be losing all his enthusiasm for Alexander as the world's enthusiasm for the Tzar grows. Poor Prinny, he doesn't like others to be more popular than he—as though that would be difficult. At any rate, as well as being a notable diplomat—or meddler, however you see it-Alexander is much more slender and fair than Prinny. He is also an absolute monarch and Prinny is inclined to be jealous of all that power. He seemed to welcome the chance to throw a dash of cold water on the flames of Alexander's enthusiasm for his much-vaunted Holy Alliance.”

Lord Chariton voiced his approval. “Very good, my boy, and I do thank you. I know it must have been a crashing bore to listen to those never-ending plans of his.”

“No trouble at all, George. Besides, one must give him credit, you know. Prinny is really quite an amusing and artistic fellow. It's a great deal too bad he happens to be a prince as well.”

Having concluded this satisfactory interchange, they proceeded to their respective boxes. It was with some difficulty that the marquess entered his, owing to the number of admirers crowded around Vanessa. Lady Welford might have lost her heart to her latest flirt, but she had certainly not lost her craving for masculine attention. She laughed and flirted, flashing her magnificent dark eyes, which seemed to promise anything and everything to whomever her glance lighted on. Her more rational self also dictated that it would be a politic thing to encourage other cicisbeos, despite her interest in the marquess. Seeing her constantly surrounded by males would make him proud to have won a prize so desirable to others, and it would keep him from becoming sure of her affections. When that happened, men were all too often known to ignore their mistresses as thoroughly as they ignored their wives. It would do Mainwaring good to be forced to compete with other men for her attention. And last, if by some incredible chance he did leave her, she didn't want to be caught without anyone to pay her court. It thus behooved her to cultivate as many admirers as possible. Hearing the door to the box open, she turneded to see Mainwaring. Extending a swanlike white arm to him, she cooed invitingly, “Do come back and sit down, my lord.'' She pulled a chair for him close to her, creating a sense of intimacy, as though they were the only occupants of the theater. She looked so lovely with diamonds sparkling at her smooth white neck and in her dark hair, her brows arched delicately over eyes alight with the flattery she'd been receiving, and a faint flush suffusing her beautifully sculptured neck and arms, Julian wondered at himself that he remained so unmoved by all this beauty, that he could mentally note and catalog all these features without feeling the least desire for her. He supposed he had been thinking too much about his conversation with Lord Charlton and all its political ramifications. He dismissed his lack of feeling as only natural in someone who had switched in an instant from playing a vital role in world politics to being reduced to flirting in a box at a play. He watched the rest of the act in thoughtful silence while his charming companion continued to laugh and chat with her eager swains.

As he escorted her in his carriage back to Mount Street, the marquess reflected rather cynically on the flatness of the evening. With the exception of the encounter with Charlton, it had been like so many other evenings: dressing to be seen and admired; selecting a place to be seen and admired; and then being seen and admired, as though there were nothing more to life. Unconsciously he compared this evening to the one at Astley's and the pleasure every person in the party derived from the skill and daring of the performers. Everyone had been in high spirits that owed nothing to a selfish craving for attention, but to a zest for living and enjoying each other. That last thought caught him up short. I'm not only becoming cynical but also entering my dotage, he admonished himself.

Vanessa had ordered an intimate supper in her boudoir. Certainly she had done everything to create a romantic atmosphere: peach satin draperies and upholstery coupled with the warm glow of a few strategically placed candles enhanced the warmth of her skin, lent her dark eyes an air of mystery, and hid any possible wrinkles. The food was exquisite, the wine a perfect complement to the dinner and the evening. Her conversation, consisting chiefly of the latest on-dits, was both amusing and provocative. But somehow, the very skillfulness of her creation robbed it of all romance for Mainwaring. The perfect setting was more a credit to her skill as a woman of the world than to her heart and its supposed passion for him. Or, if passion did exist, he reflected cynically, it was more for the money and position he represented man for his personal or mental attractions. The evening was anesthetic to his senses. He did not even bother to protest when she draped her soft arms enticingly around his neck, though he did not feel in the mood for lovemaking. I think too much, he told himself. Deliberately emptying his mind of all possible thought or observation, he gave himself up to her skillful seduction.

Sometime later he slipped out of her house and into the fresh night air. He was glad he had sent his carriage home as he sauntered along savoring the coolness of the breeze that ruffled the leaves on the trees in Berkeley Square and cleared his head. The entire evening had all been so predictable, so ... so very . . . “flat”—that was the word. Even the passion had been practiced rather than experienced. How can I feel so thoroughly jaded at thirty-five? he wondered. It must be time for a change of scene, a change of climate. As soon as Kitty has had her Season and I have found a man to look after Camberly properly, I shall get away. It's been some time since anyone has visited the plantations in Jamaica. I ought to take a look at them for myself. Somewhat cheered by this, he entered Mainwaring House, where Kilson was waiting for him. The sight of that old ally's battered face with its reminders of the adventures they had shared further improved his temper, and he was able to fall into a deep steep untroubled by additional disquieting reflections.

Chapter Fourteen

In contrast to the marquess, Lady Frances was finding London progressively exciting. Lady Streatham had most graciously taken her around with Kitty and introduced her to a variety of fashionable and intellectual delights she had not before encountered in the capital. If someone had told her before she left the country that she would spend an entire morning shopping in Harding, Howell, and Company's Grand Fashionable Magazine, she would have laughed at the absurdity of it. Yet she heartily enjoyed wandering from one department to another admiring the taste of the fittings and the glass partitions that separated them. When it came time to go, she was astonished at how quickly the time had passed while she strolled around looking at everything from furs, fans, silks, and laces to jewelry, clocks, perfumes, and toiletries. Always slightly inclined to scorn fashion and the hours people spent at modistes' and milliners', she was surprised to discover the artistic satisfaction to be found looking at beautiful silks and damasks, exquisite laces and gaily colored ribbons, not to mention the challenge in envisioning how to display them to their best advantage. She realized that to many, the pursuit of fashion was a form of aesthetic pleasure which, in addition to exercising their artistic and creative sensibilities, brought the additional reward of being regarded with envy and admiration by those around them. She purchased a handsome shawl of Norwich silk and some ribbons to brighten up a bonnet that had somehow always lacked the style she liked. Kitty found a beautiful corsage of silk flowers to add some color to the delicate pastel hues of the requisite attire of a young unmarried woman this Season. Lady Elizabeth discovered some magnificent beading at an excellent price, so all three ladies voted the excursion exceedingly satisfactory.

Lady Frances' more formal artistic tastes were stimulated and gratified when she was invited to join Lady Elizabeth on an excursion to the Royal Academy's exhibition at Somerset House. “I simply must go so that I shall be able to tell people that I have seen it,” Lady Elizabeth declared. “Besides, Lawrence's portrait of my dear friend Georgiana Beaumont is being shown, along with his portrait of the Prince Regent, so you see it is imperative that I at least take a peep. Critics insist that Lawrence's portrait of Prinny is the finest portrait of the heir apparent that has yet been painted, but I am not the least interested in paintings and have no artistic tastes whatsoever to help me understand or criticize them. Music, I enjoy and understand, but painting, especially portraiture, does not speak to me. Mainwaring says that you have an excellent eye, and Bertie praised your aesthetic sense excessively, so I do hope you'll come with me and tell me what to think or say, should someone ask me.”

Frances could not help feeling gratified at both the wording and the invitation, though she suspected Lady Elizabeth of improving on Mainwaring's and Bertie's admiration of her aesthetic sensibilities. Still, it was very flattering to have them remarked on at all. “I shall do my best, ma'am,” she replied. “But don't depend too much on me to articulate what is thought to be the most fashionable opinion. I do not in general admire Lawrence, and certainly do not agree with so many nowadays who consider him the equal of Gainsborough and Reynolds. Lawrence encourages social pretensions, painting the flashy exteriors of his patrons—the way they wish to be seen—instead of trying to reveal the personality underneath. Still, with those two great portraitists gone, he is the best of those that remain. I confess I am more interested in Turner.”

“Turner!” exclaimed Lady Streatham. Though she knew little about this unusual artist, she was nevertheless surprised that he should appeal to Lady Frances Cresswell. “I shouldn't think you would care for his work in the slightest. I remember seeing Snowstorm at the exhibition some years ago. It was all sky and violence, far too emotional for someone of your quiet elegance, I should think.”

Lady Frances was oddly upset by this remark. Did she appear so cool and unfeeling, then? She knew her natural reserve was interpreted at best as dignity and at worst as shyness. But perhaps it was also interpreted as indifference. Could it be true that Mainwaring's description of her as a prude—a remark she had interpreted as one made solely to provoke her—was in fact the articulation of general opinion?

Lady Elizabeth, noticing an unwontedly thoughtful expression creep into Frances' eyes, wondered what in her remark could have prompted such serious reflection. She promptly strove to banish this during the drive to Somerset House by chatting gaily of Freddie's and Nigel's latest antics. “I hear from Nigel that Mainwaring took the schoolroom party to Astley's. How did you ever accomplish that? If he even notices the existence of children, which is highly unusual, he ordinarily doesn't pay the least attention to them.”

The serious look vanished instantly, and Lady Frances laughed. “It was not my doing. Cassie was riding in his curricle on the return from seeing Lord Elgin's marbles, and I believe she merely asked him. Lord Mainwaring never had the slightest chance. Once Cassie has set her mind to a thing, she will brook no refusal.”

It was Lady Elizabeth's aim to look thoughtful. If she had been surprised to hear of the marquess's party at Astley's, she was astounded to learn of his expedition to view the marbles. He must be interested in Frances in some way to allow himself to be saddled with such lively children twice in one week. She had pushed him to waltz with Frances simply to ensure her acceptance in the ton and subsequent enjoyment of the Season. Now she wondered if she might not have unwittingly done more than that. Julian rarely put himself out except for a few select relatives and friends. For those few, he would do anything in his power, or beyond it, to secure their happiness, but he had a hearty dislike of obligations to anyone else, and was brutal in squelching expectations before they arose. She immediately resolved to visit the dowager with this piece of information, and perhaps the two of them could puzzle it out. That lady had a way of selecting the most reliable gossipmongers and expertly separating mere conjecture from fact so that she unerringly arrived at the truth of the matter. Lady Elizabeth very much wanted to test out her speculations on that reliable sounding board.