Lady Hawk's Folly (13 page)

She agreed that it was difficult, but privately she was alarmed by his artless conversation and found herself wondering what sort of larks he might be up to without Hawk’s firm hand on the reins. Nevertheless, at the first opportunity, she broached the matter to her husband.

He had come into her room to visit with her while Mathilde du Bois was putting the finishing touches to her toilette. At last, when the imperious dresser indicated that she had done all she could, Mollie arose from the dressing chair and turned with a grin to her husband.

“Well, what do you think?” Her puff-sleeved, scoop-necked gown of lavender lutestring clung to her exquisite figure in a most alluring fashion. Her hair had been caught up at the back of her head in a cascade of intricate braids and curls, with soft tendrils wisping about her ears and the nape of her neck, and her cheeks were pink with the pleasure of knowing she looked very well indeed.

Hawk smiled back, looking splendid himself in a well-cut black coat and knee breeches, a white silk shirt, and white stockings. His cravat was tied in a simpler style than that affected by the swells, but Mollie thought he looked very handsome.

“Magnificent,” he said in response to her question. “The other ladies will weep with envy when they see you.”

Mollie chuckled, dismissing Mathilde du Bois. But when Hawk held up her sable-trimmed silk cape, she shook her head, deciding it was an excellent time to tell him of Ramsay’s complaints. Hawk heard her out in silence. Then, when she paused, he merely looked down into her eyes as if he would read the very thoughts behind them.

“Well?” she demanded, raising an eyebrow.

His expression did not change. “Defending the young again?”

She opened her mouth to deny the charge, then closed it and turned away, thus missing the flicker of amusement in her husband’s eyes. She thought about what she had nearly said, that he was wrong, both about her reasons and about the way he was handling Ramsay. He did not press her for an answer, and at last she turned back to face him again, a tiny frown creasing her brow.

“I do not think I am automatically defending him, sir,” she said carefully. “I hope you will not always leap to that conclusion if I choose to disagree with you.”

He nodded. “That’s fair enough. Why did the lad not come to me himself?”

“He said you had no wish to discuss the matter,” Mollie replied bluntly.

“He’s right.” The response was even more blunt.

“But don’t you see how frustrating this is for him? He feels as if he cannot move without you at his side, overseeing everything he does.”

“Better frustrated than over his ears in debt or lying on the floor in some gaming hell with his throat slit from ear to ear or killed in an alley by Resurrectionists to be sold to a medical school.”

“For heaven’s sake, Gavin!”

“I’m sorry if your sensibilities are offended by such talk, Mollie, but unlikelier things happen every day in this town. There are not enough bodies to accommodate the need, so the Resurrectionists, for a price, provide them, and a drunken young man weaving his way home from a gaming hell in the small hours of the morning is a prime target.”

“Ramsay does not get drunk!”

“How do you know?”

“I…I don’t.” The tales she had heard of how Oxford students spent their time did not encourage her to pursue a blind defense. “I don’t know what he does when he is away,” she admitted, “but I’ve never seen him in his cups.”

“No, nor have I,” Hawk said. “I scarcely know the lad at all anymore. But I
am
responsible for him, Mollie.”

She nodded, then looked up at him again. “Is it not unwise to stifle his high spirits, Gavin? Might he not do something foolish out of simple frustration?”

He did not speak immediately. Then, after a small sigh, he said, “I’ll talk to Ramsay, sweetheart, and discuss my position with him. I ought to have done so before now. Perhaps I have been overly protective.”

Mollie was satisfied. She was coming to believe that her husband had developed a strong sense of fairness, and she was certain that even Ramsay could not say she had not done her best for him. This time when Hawk held up her cape, she smiled and allowed him to arrange it around her shoulders before accompanying him down to the main hall, where the others awaited them.

Except for the previous Season, when old Lord Hawkstone’s untimely death had curtailed her activities, Mollie had refused to allow her husband’s absence to interfere with her pleasures and had ruthlessly removed her household to London each spring in order to indulge herself, and Lady Bridget as well, in that whirlwind of social activity known simply as the Season. It occurred to her in the coach on the way to King Street to wonder how great a difference Hawk’s presence would make to her pleasure.

So far he had not interfered with her in any way. She had spent a prodigious amount of his money on herself, on Lady Bridget, and, for that matter, on the ground-floor saloon. Since he had often met them upon their return from a shopping spree, he was not unaware of the vast number of packages that had been borne into his house. Yet he had not said a word in opposition to such expeditions. Ramsay might complain of his clutch-fisted nature. Mollie certainly could not do so.

Nor had he once questioned her comings and goings. If she chanced to mention paying a call upon Lady Cowper or receiving one from the Princess Esterhazy, he expressed an interest in hearing all about it. But if she didn’t mention where she was going or where she had been, Hawk didn’t press her for information.

Now she wondered if his presence alone would affect her popularity. Never before had she lacked a partner at a ball or an assembly. But some of her flirts might be put off by a husband’s proximity, particularly when the husband was a gentleman as large as Hawk and had, moreover, a reputation for being handy with his fists. And if they were not put off, what, then? Hiding a smile, she remembered several gentlemen who were especially audacious. How would Hawk respond to their attentions toward his wife? A tiny thrill of anticipation shot up her spine as several potential scenes leapt to her imagination.

However, as matters transpired that evening, there was no cause for her to bother her head about such things. Not that she was ignored, for she was not. Hawk danced with her once, a country dance, then seemed content just to watch her enjoy herself while he introduced Ramsay to various persons who could be expected to provide the lad with unexceptionable entertainment in the days ahead. Despite his earlier complaints, Ramsay enjoyed himself hugely, and when Mollie caught Hawk’s twinkling eye upon her midway through the evening, just after Ramsay had led a pretty, lively damsel into an energetic round dance, she grinned back at him, knowing he expected her to be pleased by his efforts. He did not ask her to dance with him again, but she frequently saw him watching her while he conversed first with one old acquaintance, then another.

She had had a doubt or two earlier when Hawk had said he would enjoy watching her cut a dash, but it seemed now as if he had meant it. Lady Bridget preferred the cardroom, so Mollie saw little of her, and as time passed, the evening grew more lively. There were a number of scandalized exclamations when the Countess de Lieven and Cupid Palmerston took to the floor in a lively waltz, the first such occasion in the staid assembly room. They were soon joined by Lady Jersey and her partner, however, and then the Princess Esterhazy and hers, and before long many of those who knew the steps, including Mollie and Sir James Smithers, were whirling around the floor, laughing and exchanging comments about the controversial dance. Naturally, there were still many who disapproved, but their comments were kept to a minimum once it was seen that the haughty patronesses had decided to allow waltzing within the hallowed precincts. Indeed, the only sour note all evening, as far as Mollie was concerned, was provided by Lady Andrew, who, coming upon Lord Ramsay unexpectedly, demanded in carrying tones to know what he thought
he
was doing in town.

“I daresay you were sent down,” she declared, lifting her chin. “Cutting scandalous capers, no doubt.”

“No, ma’am,” Ramsay answered politely. He was carrying two cups of orgeat, one for himself and one for Mollie, having been sent to fetch them by Lord Alvanley, who had given it as his opinion that Lady Hawk was in need of refreshment and a quiet sit-down. Mollie, sitting beside his lordship now, saw Ramsay’s plight and excused herself to go to his assistance.

“Good evening, Beatrix. Is one of those for me, Ramsay? Perhaps her ladyship would like the other?”

“No need to put the boy up to politeness he hasn’t thought for himself, Margaret. I have just been telling him he ought not to be here at all.”

“I told her I wasn’t sent down,” Ramsay said, his tone long-suffering, “but she will have it that if I weren’t here under false pretenses, she’d have been informed of my presence in town.”

“But how can you not have known?” Mollie asked, looking at the older woman in surprise.

“Because no one saw fit to inform me, and because this young man has not got manners enough to pay a proper call,” Lady Andrew declared. “I’ve every intention of telling your brother just what I think of such rag manners, sir. I cannot imagine what he is about to allow you to leave school like this.”

“It was not his decision, but mine,” retorted Ramsay, goaded.

“Stuff and nonsense. As if you would be here if he disapproved.”

That statement being unanswerable, Mollie and Ramsay both felt Lady Andrew had had the last word. They did not allow her to dampen their spirits, however, and greeted Lady Gwendolyn Worthing and her placid husband some moments later with enthusiasm.

Though neither Mollie nor Ramsay could think for a moment that Lady Andrew had not made good her threat to speak to Hawk, he said nothing of such a conversation to either of them. Indeed, in the days ahead, as their social activities increased, he often seemed uninterested in his wife’s and his brother’s whereabouts. As often as not, his pursuits did not march with theirs. He might begin an evening in their company, but later he would take himself off with one crony or another, leaving Mollie to the attentions of her favorite flirt of the moment and Ramsay more and more to his own devices.

Instead of finding herself at ease with the situation, Mollie soon discovered that Hawk’s indifference became irksome, and she began to do what she could to bring him to his senses. She carried a fan and flirted outrageously with all manner of persons at Lady Sefton’s ball. Then, later that same evening, at a rout in Berkeley Square, she singled out the elegant Mr. Brummell for a half hour’s dalliance. He seemed amused by her efforts, and so, unfortunately, by the look of him, did her husband.

The following evening at a late supper following a play at the King’s Theater, Lady Gwendolyn, who had sat beside Mollie in the Colporter box, took her to one side and demanded to know if her wits had gone begging.

“I daresay I sound just like Aunt Trixie,” she declared roundly, “but the way you were flirting over that ridiculous fan with the men in the pit tonight made me itch to suggest you sit with Harriette Wilson and her sisters!”

“Gwen!” Mollie was truly shocked, for Harriette Wilson was the most famous courtesan in London. It had been fascinating to see her in her own box at the theater, if annoying to see one’s own husband among the cavalcade of bucks and dandies paying court to the woman during one of the intervals, but to have one’s behavior compared to hers! Mollie’s eyes flashed.

“Well, and so you might stare,” Lady Gwendolyn said in a stern undertone, “but I saw you, and I’m persuaded that Hawk cannot have helped but notice, too. Whatever are you about, Mollie? Such behavior will infuriate him. I shouldn’t wonder at it if he does not read you a thundering scold.”

Mollie shrugged. “He pays me no heed,” she said a little dismally. “He said from the outset that he would not interfere with me, and he does not.”

“Poppycock,” Lady Gwendolyn retorted. “He may not wish to put a rub in the way of your pleasure, but my brother will not stand idly by while you make a cake of yourself—and of him as well. Have a care, Molly. I know whereof I speak. Remember Lord Featherby? And Hawk was in Spain then, thank God.”

Her sister-in-law’s warning gave Mollie enough food for thought so that she half-expected Hawk to say something in the carriage about her behavior. She had no wish to make him truly angry, but had merely hoped to make him exert himself a little more to please her. He showed no sign of anger, however, merely speaking casually about the farce that had followed the play. From time to time he did regard her searchingly, as if he expected her to say something to him, and she wondered if he was giving her an opportunity to apologize for her behavior, which during the past week or so had admittedly been rather blatant. But since he did not seem to be angry and since she had no wish to stir his anger, she decided it would be foolish to introduce the topic at all.

Thinking over the past few days, she decided she had been a trifle heavy-handed in her efforts, and she determined to be more subtle in future. After all, her only intent was to make Hawk pay her more notice. Clearly, his sense of challenge was no longer stimulated by the mere fact of seeing her with other admirers. Indeed, it seemed to please him that the other men found her attractive. He spent his time renewing his old acquaintances and making new ones, always, she thought, in conversation with someone. And those conversations were not only with other men. There were women, too. Lots of women. There was nothing at all scandalous in his behavior, nothing even that could stir her jealousy. She knew that before their marriage he had been at least as popular as she was herself, so no one could wonder at the number of ladies he was acquainted with. But he seemed determined to renew his acquaintance with them all. He was invited everywhere, and if Mollie was otherwise engaged, he went alone, sometimes taking part in as many as six or eight entertainments in a single evening. Therefore, she was rather surprised a day or so after the news reached London of Wellington’s victory at Vitoria when Hawk insisted that she accompany him to a rout at Ashburnham House, the London residence of the Russian ambassador.