Sylvia Andrew (12 page)

This conversation was one of many similar ones, but since Mrs Canfield kept her counsel, Francesca and Lydia were free to enjoy the popularity which their own charm brought
them, and susceptible gentlemen in Society were soon debating which lady was more worthy of their devotion—the divinely fair Miss Beaudon or the vivaciously dark Miss Canfield.

They were invited everywhere and met everyone of note. Everyone, that is, except Lord Carne. He was apparently away, for Society saw nothing of him, and it was rumoured that he was employed on some Foreign Office business in France. Lydia and Mrs Canfield were disappointed, but the name meant nothing to Francesca and, though she sympathised with Lydia, she was personally unaffected by his absence.

‘I know you wish me to meet this paragon, Lydia, but surely, if he is as eligible as you say, he would regard me with indifference?’

‘But Lord Carne is not like that at all, Francesca! He is the kindest of men—is he not, Mama? And whatever Mama may say, I think you would be an ideal match for him. Oh, why doesn’t he come? I do so wish he were here! He promised to dance with me at my début!’

‘I’m sure he will keep his promise to you, Lydia,’ said Mrs Canfield with a sympathetic smile. ‘But you must try for a little patience, my dear—the season has hardly started yet. And it does not become you to be gazing round every five minutes, as you were last night at Lady Carteret’s, to see if Lord Carne is present.’

‘No, Mama.’

Francesca took this conversation to heart, for she too had been guilty of such behaviour, though it had not been to seek out Lord Carne, nor had it been with Lydia’s eager anticipation. Wherever she went, she was unable to prevent her eye from wandering through the crowds, looking in apprehension for a tall lithe figure, to stop herself from listening for the deep, warm tones of the man she had dismissed so summarily from her life. Marcus.

She smiled ruefully. Once, she remembered, she had passionately wished to be powerful, rich and beautiful enough to give him a set-down. Well, she was now rich enough, and though she would never consider herself beautiful, others admired her. But did she have the power? Could she give Marcus the set-down he deserved? She doubted it. She was not certain how to deal with him at all when they met in Society—as they surely would. But her training in difficult social situations was not put to the test. To her great relief, she told herself, she never saw him, however diligently she watched and listened.

Apart from this, Francesca found that she was enjoying London life, though after a while she began to wonder whether she would ever find the husband she sought. Mrs Canfield saw to it that she was introduced to a number of respectable gentlemen, and one or two of them seemed more than ready to regard Miss Beaudon as a future wife.

But though Francesca acknowledged their worth, she found it impossible to take any of them seriously. Mr Caughton was both respectable and reasonably rich, but the poor man was very dull! Lord Banford was more amusing, but he brayed like a horse—she couldn’t possibly live with that. Sir Jeremy Sharp was handsome enough if you liked blond men, but she found his uncritical admiration definitely cloying. Though she had no intention of falling in love again, the prospect of living in intimacy with anyone she had met so far appalled her—she was apparently more difficult to please than she had thought!

Meanwhile, the approval of the world around her was balm after all the years spent as an outcast, and it was very pleasant to go to balls and routs, to walk, drive and ride in the Park, to visit the shops whenever she wished, and, above all, to be accepted for her own sake. So she decided to put aside the question of her future, and enjoy for the moment all that life in London had to offer.

This state of affairs was not to last much longer. One evening at the theatre with her father, Francesca became aware that she was being stared at by a lady and gentleman a short distance away, and when she turned to see who it was she recognised Lady Forrest and Freddie. Though it was a shock, Francesca looked away again as indifferently as she could. But apparently it was not enough to put them off.

‘Forgive me, but have we not met before?’ Lady Forrest had come over, followed by a reluctant Freddie. She was smiling, but her eyes were appraising Francesca, as if she could not quite believe what she saw. Then her look shifted to Lord Beaudon and the smile became more practised. This, her admiring gaze told him, was someone worthy of her attention. Lord Beaudon remained unaffected. He had taken in Lady Forrest’s opulent charms and Freddie’s slightly seedy air, and lost no time in removing his daughter from both.

‘I rather think not,’ he said coldly, and, taking Francesca’s arm, led her firmly away. Francesca gasped at this snub, but was quite content to go with him.

‘You didn’t know them, did you?’ he asked after they were safely back in their box. ‘They’re certainly not the sort you ought to know. Raffish, both of them.’

‘We were never introduced, if that’s what you mean, Papa,’ said Francesca. ‘I…have come across them when they visited Witham Court.’ He gave her a sharp look, and she nodded. ‘The gentleman was Freddie. Lady Forrest I met more recently when she was on her way there. I have no desire to know either of them any better. Thank you for rescuing me—I had no idea you could be so…so…’

‘Ruthless? Oh, I know all the ways of dealing with undesirables, my dear. I was one of them myself in the old days! But if I’d known who that fellow was, I might have been considerably less courteous.’

‘Courteous
? Is that what you call it?’ asked Francesca with a laugh that caused her father to smile in return. ‘Then I’m glad you didn’t know who he was. And I’d far rather forget all about both of them.’ And in her enjoyment of the play afterwards, she did indeed forget the encounter.

But the damage had been done. Charlie Witham was told of the incident when Lady Forrest next saw him.

‘I could
hardly
believe it, Charlie. It was Lord Beaudon with her—I asked Freddie. What a
rude
man he is, for all he’s so handsome! But it
must
be Fanny Shelwood, it
must
. What a
transformation!’

‘A little beauty, give you my word,’ said Freddie. ‘Good mind to take up where I left off, money or no money.’ This enthusiasm did not please Lady Forrest.

‘She’s still as skinny as a rake, of course,’ she said coldly. ‘And basically as plain as ever, I suppose. But her clothes! Where did she get the means to dress herself at Fanchon? And the pearls she was wearing were worth a small
fortune
. I am
dying
to know, Charlie. Didn’t you say that Lord Beaudon was her father? Is he really foisting his love-child on the
ton
?’

‘He’s capable of it. But it don’t sound like his sort of caper. I wonder whether we’ve been wrong all these years…I’ll see what I can find out, Charmian. I’ll put Withers on to it right away.’

Withers worked to good effect, and such details as were not available through official documents he ferreted out elsewhere. Charlie Witham could hardly wait to spread the news. An heiress loose in London, with such a colourful story behind the scenes! A long-lost father, a vengeful aunt, poverty, deprivation and the sudden acquisition of enormous wealth…In no time, the whole of London was humming with the details of Francesca Beaudon’s past history. And, what was more to the point for some of them, her present riches.

Poor Francesca became an object of universal sympathy, curiosity, and ambition, inundated with invitations on every side, pursued relentlessly by every gazetted fortune-hunter in London. Her father was furious, and he, Mrs Canfield, Lydia and a small circle of true friends rallied round to protect her. But their powers were limited. Short of remaining indoors, there was no way Francesca could avoid the unwelcome attentions of gentlemen who had ignored her when they thought that the Beaudon fortune was all she could look forward to.

The self-control she had learned as a child helped her to remain calm, in public at least, but her simple pleasure in London life was now at an end. It was almost the last straw when Marcus reappeared in London, and she found that all her brave resolutions had not diminished in the slightest her confusion of feelings about him. And it seemed inevitable that their meeting should be just as unexpected, every bit as unconventional as their former encounters.

Francesca had had enough! It was too bad! Evenings that had been so delightful just a few weeks before were turning into nightmares. She had looked forward to visiting Carlton House ever since Mrs Canfield had described its splendours. Besides, whatever they said about the Prince Regent, he was the leader of London Society, and it was an honour to be invited to one of his balls. But she had been sadly disappointed. The atmosphere was stifling in the crowded rooms, and though the furnishings were every bit as magnificent as Mrs Canfield had said, Francesca found them slightly overdone.

The Prince himself was not at all as she had imagined him—handsome, witty, and regal. Instead she was faced with a corpulent gentleman, whose clothes were too tight and too elaborate, and who was so heavily complimentary to her that she blushed in spite of her famous cool reserve. He insisted on holding her hand for far too long, and then introduced her
to a tall, saturnine gentleman who was standing near by, whose cold eyes were appraising her in a manner which caused her to feel rather like a horse complete with a price tag stuck to her forehead.

‘Lord Coker has been asking who the beautiful young lady in the blue dress is, Miss Beaudon. He’s a great friend of mine so—may I tell him?’ the Prince asked with a roguish look.

‘Of course, sir. I am honoured,’ was Francesca’s dutiful reply.

‘Miss…Beaudon? Charmed t’meet you,’ drawled Lord Coker with marked lack of interest. There was a slight pause then, somewhat puzzled, Francesca curtsied and moved away. She joined Mrs Canfield and Lydia, and together they went through to the ballroom.

‘You look serious, Francesca. Was the Prince Regent not as you imagined?’

‘It is always strange to meet someone so famous in the flesh, ma’am,’ was Francesca’s diplomatic reply. ‘But tell me about Lord…Coker, was it?’

Mrs Canfield looked disapproving. ‘He is a great friend of the Prince, of course. But I would regard him as an undesirable acquaintance for my daughter. He can be charming…’

‘I did not find him so.’

‘No, he did not set himself to please you, did he?’

Francesca laughed. ‘Why on earth should he?’

‘It is said he is in search of a wife. And Lord Coker’s wives are always rich.’

‘Mrs Canfield! How many has the poor man had?’

‘Save your sympathy for the two first Lady Cokers. Neither of them was a happy woman. Francesca, I am very content that Lord Coker appeared to ignore you. Do not seek his acquaintance. He is a dangerous man to cross. The Prince Regent is capricious, but at the moment Lord Coker is undoubtedly enjoying his favour, and it gives him a great deal of undeserved power.’

Francesca could hardly believe that her friend, normally so moderate, so restrained in her judgements, could be so harsh. But she soon forgot Lord Coker in her enjoyment of the conversation and dancing that followed. Later on, however, when she was sitting quietly, half-hidden in one of the many alcoves, his indifference to her was accounted for.

Lord Coker and a companion came strolling through the room, observing the dancers. They did not notice Francesca behind them, and through some trick of the acoustics in the room their conversation was perfectly audible to her. Wine had perhaps made them less cautious than they might have been.

‘Why on earth you’ve dragged me away from the best run of luck I’ve had in weeks, just to watch all this cavorting, I cannot imagine, Coker! What the devil are you at?’

‘I need to find the demned Shelwood filly. I’ve been looking for her all night, but I haven’t seen a trace! How can I fix my confounded interest with her if I don’t even meet her?’

‘Of course you’ve met her! Prinny introduced you not an hour ago. Damned civil of him, if you ask me.’

‘When? Which one was she?’

‘The tall blonde girl in blue.’

‘That’s Beaudon’s daughter.’

‘She may be Beaudon’s daughter, but she’s the Shelwood heiress all the same. Shelwood was her grandfather.’

‘The devil he was? So she is an heiress, after all. Damn it! I was looking for someone called Shelwood, and when the Prince introduced us, I thought he was amusing himself at my expense with the Beaudon filly. You know his way. Confound it! I may have made a slight error there.’

The other chuckled. ‘You were more than a touch uncivil to the lady. You’ll have to exercise all your famed address to reinstate yourself when you do find her.’

‘You think I can’t?’

‘Miss Beaudon doesn’t look like your usual empty-headed debutante. You might find it harder than you think.’

‘A wager, Felton?’

‘On what? That you’ll marry her?’

‘I intend to do so, of course. But at the moment, my aim is to get her to dance with me.’

‘Oh, I shan’t bet on that. All you’d have to do is to ask Prinny to present you to her as a partner—and he’d do it for you, too! You’re very much in favour at the moment.’