Evelyn Richardson (15 page)

Blissfully unaware that her fate was being skillfully manipulated by two experts in the field of intrigue. Lady Frances went blithely about her business. Her second visit to her publisher was as gratifying as the first. He highly approved of several chapters she had given him and offered not the slightest criticism of style or content. This visit did, however, cause a slight deterioration in her developing friendship with the marquess and thus a slight setback to the Machiavellian plans of his female relatives.

Having bid a cordial good day to Mr. Murray, Lady Frances had just stepped out into Albemarle Street. As Aunt Harriet had taken the carriage to pick up two highly unusual rosebushes from a horticultural crony, Lady Frances had been forced to take a hackney to Albemarle Street. She had very properly been accompanied by James, but, not having been able to convince the hackney coachman to wait, he had been forced to go some ways off to procure one. It was thus that Mainwaring, driving back from a satisfying morning at the Royal Exchange, was astounded to see Lady Frances Cresswell alone and unattended in a neighborhood not at all the normal haunt of a fashionable lady. Mainwaring himself was not a rigid stickler for the niceties of ton-ish behavior. He certainly was not at all interested in the rigid propriety of most of society's grandes dames and had occasionally found it inconvenient in the extreme, but he thoroughly understood the minds of those who controlled social opinion. They did subscribe to such propriety and would have instantly condemned Lady Frances had they seen her. He could not have said why he cared so much that Frances not run the slightest risk of incurring their censure, but he did. He was not about to allow her to behave in a manner that would ruin her chances in the select society in which they both moved.

Consequently, his “Lady Frances, whatever are you doing alone in this vicinity!” which assailed that startled lady's ears was tinged with concern.

Recovering from her initial surprise. Lady Frances looked up to see him frowning down at her in a most discouraging manner. The frown and the tone of Mainwaring's voice were more indicative of his apprehension for her own good reputation than of disapproval, but Lady Frances, already guiltily aware of what the ton would think of an authoress, especially one who had the temerity to meet her publisher, heard only the severest censure in his tones. Annoyed that he should have discovered her in such a situation, and more annoyed that he seemed to think her answerable to him for her conduct, she put her chin up and greeted him defiantly. “Good day, my lord. And may I ask whatever are you doing here?”

Mainwaring, who had immediately realized the infelicity of his tone, tried for a gentler one in hopes of mollifying her antagonistic response. “It is not at all the thing, you know, for a young lady to be in this neighborhood and alone.”

Well and truly roused by this piece of condescending solicitude. Lady Frances had to exercise the strictest control to keep her temper in check. How dare he tell her what to do! She would have resented such censure from anyone, but from someone she barely knew, who surveyed her with a superior air from his elegant curricle, it was intolerable. She did not acknowledge the more personal hurt she felt, that someone with whom she had trusted her friendship thought so little of her that he should immediately leap to such an unflattering conclusion instead of relying on her judgment. In spite of all her resolution, the anger quivered in her voice as she answered, “I am not such a greenhead, my lord, as to have come here unescorted, but my footman has gone in search of a hackney. I had business to conduct here, and surely you would not have a lady sully her drawing room with trade?”

The set of her jaw and the martial light in her eye would have told a less-perceptive man than Lord Mainwaring that he had deeply offended her. He was slightly taken aback at the intensity of her anger, which resulted more from her sense of betrayal than from her taking exception to his criticism. In an attempt to retrieve his position, he offered her a place in his curricle, but his calm assumption that this magnanimous gesture would instantly repair any damage done to her social standing merely served to antagonize her further, and she coldly declined.

Fortunately, before the situation could deteriorate further, James arrived with a carriage and helped his mistress as she regally climbed into it without so much as a backward glance at the now furious Mainwaring.

The marquess would have been hard pressed to say whether he was more furious with himself for badly managing the affair, or with Lady Frances for her prickly independence and her refusal to let anyone assist her in the least. His actions had been motivated by the best intentions, but somehow Lady Frances had contrived to make them appear an intolerable insult and he was just as hurt as she that she should have so little faith in his judgment or actions. These reflections did nothing to improve his temper during the drive to Mainwaring House. His face looked like a thundercloud as he descended, throwing the reins to his tiger, and strode into the hallway. Kilson, relieving his master of his many-caped driving coat, sagely refrained from making any remark. Privately he tried to recall when he had ever seen his lordship in such a taking, and decided that only a woman could have made him angry enough to wear such a black look. He knew that Mainwaring, having dealt with chicanery and insulting behavior in every corner of the world, was too experienced and too much in control of himself to be overset by any man. Kilson was well aware of his lordship's liaison with Vanessa Welford, but he could not believe that a woman who catered only to the more basic aspects of Mainwaring's nature could arouse such anger. Lady Welford was too predictable to have done such a thing. Clearly it was another female. And Kilson knew of no better source of information on that head than Kitty's Alice.

Upon being approached by the great Mr. Kilson himself, Alice was practically speechless with the honor, but in defense of her reputation as confidante, she rose nobly to the occasion and confided to her august interrogator that she suspicioned it was Miss Kitty's great friend Lady Frances Cresswell who had overset his lordship—that lady being the only one, besides the dowager and Lady Streatham, mentioned by Kitty in connection with his lordship. Kilson knew as well as, if not better than, the dowager his master's taste for voluptuous females. The news that a young lady whom he recalled as being a there slip of a girl was taking up so much of his master's time gave Mainwaring's seasoned henchman pause for thought. If Mainwaring preferred ripe beauties, he also preferred those whose sophistication made dalliance with them a much more comfortable and predictable affair than it was with those who were young enough to retain romantic notions and thus make unreasonable demands. That his lordship was paying even the slightest attention to someone who was more elegant than alluring, was unmarried, and only twenty-two besides, meant that the situation was serious indeed. In all the years he had been with his lordship, Kilson could not remember his having enjoyed a woman for a companionship other than the type supplied by his mistresses. The single exception to this was the dowager, for whom he retained a deep, though well-concealed fondness and respect. Kilson completed his inspection of the wine cellar, where he'd gone to mull over this revelation in privacy. As he slowly mounted the stairs, he resolved to keep a much closer eye on things. Years of sharing every sort of uncomfortable lodging and adventure with Lord Mainwaring had given him a great fondness as well as a healthy respect for his master. He had often wished that Lord Mainwaring had had a brother or cousin who possessed the same curiosity, the same keen mind, the same willingness to take risks that so endeared his master to him and made him stand out among men the world over. No man should be as constantly alone as Lord Mainwaring was, not that he was without friends, but none of them ever seemed to be a true companion who could share the same view of the world he had. It had been Kilson's dearest wish that such a companion would appear. Until now, it had not occurred to him that such a companion might be female, but the more he considered it, the better such an idea seemed, and he began to devise ways in which he could learn more about this Lady Frances of whom Alice seemed so sure.

The object of these reflections, having failed to quell his ill humor by tossing off a glass of the best brandy and immersing himself in some complicated business correspondence, gave up and strode over to Gentleman Jackson's, hoping to work off his ill humor through physical exertion. There he was welcomed enthusiastically by the noted pugilist, who was often heard to remark that his lordship had excellent science and was certainly wasting his talents in diplomatic circles. The physical exertion and the reassuring male sporting atmosphere, whose simple codes offered a direct contrast to the complicated patterns of polite behavior imposed by the ton, restored his good humor in part. He decided to improve it further by dropping in at Brooks's. Apparently the exertion at Jackson's had not dissipated his ill humor as much as he had thought, for Bertie, encountering him on the steps, greeted him with an inquiring look. “Hallo, Julian. Whatever has put that murderous scowl on your face?”

“Hallo, Bertie,” his lordship responded, not a little put out that he was still annoyed by such a trivial incident. As Bertie's inquiring look showed no signs of fading, Mainwaring sighed and confessed, “Very well, if you must know, it's that highhanded friend of yours. She's too independent for her own good.”

Comprehension dawned in Bertie's eyes, but he agreed in a conciliatory tone, “Yes, she never would be led by anyone else. But whatever does that have to do with you?”

Mainwaring related with some acerbity the entire encounter.

“Well, you do have a point, Julian. She undoubtedly was wrong, and not a little stupid in being there—especially unattended by more than her footman—but I don't blame her for being annoyed at your interference in her affairs. You should be the first to understand her resentment. You're too accustomed to running your own show, Julian. You forget that she might be as little inclined to take anyone's advice as you are.” Bertie's look seemed to suggest he was recalling an incident when he had been foolhardy enough to do just that. Mainwaring grinned ruefully, acknowledging the accuracy as well as the justice of his friend's observation.

Chapter Eighteen

Lord Mainwaring was saved by his grandmother from having to debase himself with a call of apology to Lady Frances. Curious about the young woman who seemed to be occupying an unusual amount of her grandson's busy life, she took matters into her own hands and invited the elder daughter of her dear friend Lady Belinda Cresswell to tea. Taking a more active role in the matchmaking, she instructed Julian himself to drive the young lady. She had also invited Lady Streatham and Kitty, who, having spent the morning together running up bills on Bond Street, came separately in the Streathams' carriage.

It was an unusually fine day and Mainwaring took advantage of the opportunity to drive Lady Frances around the park before proceeding to the dowager's. For some time they rode in silence while Mainwaring tried to phrase an apology for his interference in her affairs that would convey his sympathy with her resentment at this interference while at the same time maintaining the correctness of his original censure of her conduct. Judging correctly that an abject apology might mollify Lady Frances temporarily, but would in the long run weaken her confidence in the strength of his character or judgment, he decided to forgo any apology in favor of offering assistance. Still, he hesitated, searching for just the words, asking himself at the same time why he should care in the least what he thought of her or she of him. “Lady Frances,” he began tentatively, and then continued with more assurance, “I have some experience in the business world and would be more than happy to put that and any personal connections I might have at your service should you have any affairs you would wish settled.”

Recognizing this offer for what it was—a very handsome and practical offer of assistance and an assumption of some of the responsibility for the unpleasantness of their last encounter—Lady Frances was both surprised and touched. She turned to him with a grateful smile, “Why, thank you, my lord. It is very kind of you.” Mainwaring was unprepared for the relief he felt at her ready acceptance of his peace offering, and found himself thinking what very fine and expressive eyes she had.

Frances knew that her own bristly independence had been at least as much responsible for their contretemps as Mainwaring's interference, and she offered her own form of apology by admitting the true nature other business. “Ordinarily I would accept your generous offer, because though I may be a green 'un, I am not fool enough to insist on doing myself what someone else can do better. But in this instance I am afraid I can't. You see”—a slightly conscious look crept over her face—”I was conferring with my publisher.”

“Your publisher!” her companion echoed in thunderstruck tones. “No doubt we can expect to see ourselves pilloried in print soon in Society Unmasked, by a Lady of Quality.”

Lady Frances laughed, but she had recognized the suspicious look at the back of his eyes. “Oh, no, I am not that sort of female who preys on society in order to satisfy a craving for power or notoriety. This is, I am afraid to admit, a project that is far more in keeping with a 'bluestocking' than a 'lady of quality.' “

Julian cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

“You see,” she continued, “I have always felt that people go about educating children in a way designed to set up their backs in the least amount of time possible. They stuff their brains full of dry, disassociated facts and expect them to repeat them in the same disembodied manner. Then they are astonished when children fail to do so. Yet children can remember and repeat a story quite easily, and the more adventurous the tale, the more readily they remember it. What is history, what are wars, kings, queens, scientific discoveries, but great adventures? I have written a history book in this style and taken it to Mr. Murray, who was my father's publisher. He had already published some of my tales for children, but nothing so ambitious as this, and he felt he needed to consult with me personally before doing so.” Here Frances paused to draw breath and look anxiously at Mainwaring.