Sylvia Andrew (17 page)

Miss Canfield laughed and blushed and for a while their conversation turned to other things. But just as they were leaving the floor, Lydia said suddenly, ‘I wish she was happier—I sometimes wonder if she is in love.’

Marcus was startled. ‘In love? Who?’

‘Francesca, of course. Well, people often seem to be unhappy when they’re in love, don’t they? But I’ve watched her very closely, and have never had the slightest hint as to who he might be. I suppose she spends more time talking to Lord Denver than to anyone else. He’s very kind, of course, and certainly very handsome. Mama likes him a lot, I know. But Francesca…I don’t know. She certainly doesn’t seem to encourage him—nor anyone else, which is strange when
everyone knows that the object of the Season is to meet and marry someone you like.’

‘It isn’t always that easy, Lydia.’

‘I suppose not. You haven’t found anyone yet, have you? You know, I once hoped that you and she would become attracted. But it would never have done. I’ve given that idea up.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it. But what makes you say so?’

‘Well, most ladies of our acquaintance fall over themselves to attract your attention, Lord Carne. No, don’t smile at me, you know it’s true. But Francesca seems so reluctant to talk of you that I sometimes wonder if she doesn’t like you. She’s always very…quiet when I mention your name. I suppose she could hardly admit to me that she doesn’t like you. And yet…’

‘Yet what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Tell me, do you know Lord Endcombe’s son, Tom?’

Marcus had been more intrigued by that ‘yet’ than he could show, but he had to drop the subject of Francesca, and exert himself to show interest in the present object of Miss Canfield’s volatile affections. He did this to such good effect that Lydia returned to Mrs Canfield, very well pleased with her distinguished partner.

Marcus then turned to Francesca, who was just joining them. Ruthlessly stepping in front of a gentleman who was about to claim her hand, he said with a charming smile, ‘I think you promised this one to me, Miss Beaudon. It will be the first time we have enjoyed a waltz together, I believe.’

T
hey walked towards the ballroom together, and many who saw them thought how well-matched they looked—Lord Carne, tall and distinguished, and the elegant Miss Beaudon. No one could have guessed from their air that Marcus was far from feeling as assured as he looked, nor that Francesca was bracing herself to put other, less conventional, occasions in Marcus’s arms out of her mind. She had always known it would be difficult and for this reason had always avoided dancing the waltz with him. But now she had to face it.

The music began, the couples swept on to the floor. Francesca concentrated with determination on the steps of the dance and stepped into Marcus’s arms. They circled once, twice, with utmost decorum, the correct distance set and scrupulously maintained between them.

Marcus eventually said in a carefully polite tone, ‘The orchestra is, I believe, excellent.’

‘And the floor not excessively crowded,’ responded Francesca, with equal care.

There was another silence while they negotiated the corner of the room. Then, ‘Lydia looks well, I think.’

‘It is a very pretty dress.’

‘Very pretty.’

Another silence, while they each searched for something unexceptionable to say. Marcus could bear this artificiality no longer. He said abruptly, ‘Do you dislike me so much, Francesca?’

Francesca missed a step. ‘What did you say?’ she asked in astonishment.

‘I asked if you disliked me so much that you cannot bear to talk to me even as much as ordinary courtesy would demand!’

‘How can you say that? I have talked as much to you as I would to anyone else!’

‘Then I can only pity your partners. Perhaps they are so dazzled that they find nothing to criticise.’

‘By my wealth, you would say. They are at least civil, Lord Carne.’ Francesca’s voice was cool but perfectly calm. In the old days she would have flared up to challenge him.

‘But I claim the privilege of an old friend to speak the truth.’

‘Truth is a double-edged weapon, Lord Carne. It is better not unsheathed without good cause. Tell me, is it your opinion that Lydia and Lord Endcombe’s son will make a match of it?’

‘Lydia is still very young. It’s early days yet for her to be making her choice, but I find nothing to object to in young Endcombe. He’s harmless enough. You, on the other hand, seem to be very reluctant to make any man happy—or am I behind the times?’

She stiffened, but still remained perfectly calm as she said, ‘Mrs Canfield has told me much of your generosity to her family since her husband was killed. This must give you some right to take an interest in their future…’

‘Let us say nothing of that! Peter Canfield was a very good friend to me.’

‘But you have no privilege as far as I am concerned. Nor do I propose to discuss my future with anyone who has so little claim to an interest in it, Lord Carne!’

‘For God’s sake, Francesca, stop this Lord Carne business! You called me Marcus once. Let me ask you again. Do you dislike me so much that you refuse to recognise any bond between us at all?’

‘There isn’t one. Not any longer.’

‘Then I am simply another member of the crowd to you? Look at me, Francesca, and tell me it is so, if you can.’

Francesca’s hand trembled in his. She was pale, but her calm air did not desert her, and she looked at him fearlessly as she said, ‘You ask too much. It would be uncivil to tell you that I dislike you, and I have already been too uncivil in the past. In any case, how could I…dislike you, when you have been so attentive to all of us? But I will not feed your vanity by confessing to anything but a memory.’

‘Of what?’

‘Of…of someone in another life, a man called Marcus, who once said he loved me. I am not sure he even existed, except in a girlish fantasy. Now I would prefer either to talk of something else, or to go back to Mrs Canfield.’

The waltz had come to an end, but neither of them was aware that the music had stopped. They stood staring at one another, each challenging the other, unheeding of the curious looks they were attracting.

‘This will not do!’ said Marcus with determination. He took Francesca’s arm and led her off the floor. But at the doors of the ballroom he turned away from where Mrs Canfield and Lydia were waiting, and marched her in the direction of the garden. Francesca pulled herself free. She was pale, but still calm.

‘I do not wish to go into the garden, Lord Carne. Please take me back to my friends!’

‘But I want to talk to you, Francesca.’

‘I can imagine what you wish to say and have no desire to hear it. In any case, Lady Huntingdon’s ball is not a fit place
for such conversations.’ Her tone was still measured, her air still remote.

It was the last straw. Marcus took her arm and walked her willy-nilly further into the garden. They would not be overheard here. Then he took both her hands in his. He said angrily, ‘Francesca, I cannot bear to see you like this. I have seen statues who have more animation! You may deceive Society with your touch-me-not airs, but you cannot deceive me. I know you too well. What has happened to you?’

‘When will I manage to convince you that you do not know me any longer? You take too much on yourself. I am not, and never was, your responsibility, Marcus.’ Her voice rose as she spoke, and he could see that she was breathing less steadily.

‘Ah, a touch of emotion at last! And you called me Marcus!’

Francesca bit her lip, and turned away from him. He was absurdly pleased to see it—the first round was his. There was a long way to go before she would smile at him with the same unguarded, affectionate warmth which Lydia had evoked, but he would not rest until she did. And he had at least cracked her unnatural composure. He exulted in the thought. He, of all the men in London, still had the key to that other Francesca—one which the polite world had never seen or even suspected, but a girl he had once loved.

‘Francesca,’ he said softly, seductively.

She tore herself out of his grasp. ‘No! I won’t listen to you!’ she cried. ‘I don’t know why you are doing this—amusement, curiosity, pique—but whatever it is, it is not kind! You broke my heart ten long years ago, Marcus—you see, I am not afraid to confess it. I understand your reasons—better now than I did then. But you left a lonely and unhappy girl behind you, and there were times when I was not certain I would survive the treatment. But I managed.

‘It has taken me all that time since to learn common sense,
but I have done it, too. I will not now throw all those lessons aside! I will not go back to what I was, not for you, not for any man in the world! I tell you, I
will not
listen to you!’ Francesca dashed a hand across her eyes, turned abruptly away from him and head bent, went back into the house.

He would have followed her, but was stopped at the door by a familiar figure.

‘Marcus, old fellow! Well, upon my word—still pursuin’ the fair Francesca, eh? More worth the effort now, ain’t she? My word, what a difference a few years can make.’

‘Freddie! What are you doing here?’

‘M’cousin brought me. Respectable chap, and devilish dull, but he got me an invitation, so I suppose I have to be grateful. The wine’s not at all bad. Have you had some?’

It was clear that Freddie had indeed enjoyed the wine. His face glowed with good humour.

‘Freddie, you must excuse me. I have to—’

‘I’ll come with you, Marcus. Truth to tell, there aren’t many familiar faces in the crowd. I’m not sure I’m all that
grata
to most of them.’

The last thing Marcus wanted was Freddie Chantry’s company, especially at this moment, but it was like trying to get rid of a puppy who wants to play. The years, he thought grimly, had done nothing for Freddie’s sense.

‘As a matter of fact, I was a touch surprised to see you with Miss Beaudon, Marcus. Especially coming in from the garden,’ he added with a knowing look.

‘I had something to say to her in private.’

‘Of course you had! Talking all the way through that waltz, too. We all wondered what was going on. If you don’t mind my saying so, old chap, the ballroom ain’t the sort of place to try that sort of thing. Bound to set the tabbies miaowing. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the odds on Denver didn’t lengthen even more after tonight…’

‘Odds on Denver? What do you mean? What has George to do with anything?’

Marcus spoke so brusquely that Freddie took a step back. ‘Sorry, Marcus. Thought you’d have known. They were saying in the clubs that Denver’s the most likely man to succeed with our heiress.’

‘Denver!’

‘Oh, it was never by any means a sure thing. The lovely Miss Beaudon don’t show much by way of feeling, do she? But there’s no one else she showed any preference for at all. Till tonight, that is.’

‘Denver! She’d never have him!’

‘Why not? Denver’s very presentable. Plenty of address with the ladies, knows how to please, easygoin’…not short of the dibs—nice little estate and an income to go with it. She could have done a lot worse. What’s wrong? A friend of yours, ain’t he? But of course, if you and the charmin’ Francesca have decided to take up where you left off at Shelwood, that’s a different matter…’

Marcus’ face darkened. ‘Forget about that time, Freddie! You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Silent as the grave, old chap. But if you don’t want gossip now, you shouldn’t appear so dead to the rest of the world when you’re dancin’ with her. And you shouldn’t make off into the garden and upset the famously self-possessed Miss Beaudon!’

There was no difference in Marcus’s manner as he made his escape, but he was disturbed. He did not really believe that Francesca was attracted to Lord Denver. Of course she wasn’t! He had been frequently in her company in the past weeks, with and without George. There had been nothing to indicate any special affection between them. It had been an unwelcome surprise to hear what the clubs were saying, though…And the new Francesca did not wear her heart on her sleeve…but George Denver? Impossible!

He made his way slowly through the ballroom, where he was less than delighted to see Francesca, apparently quite recovered, dancing with the same George Denver. He watched them, somewhat sourly, for a few moments, then went on into the library, where card tables had been set up. Here he found Lord Beaudon in an otherwise empty room.

‘Carne! You couldn’t have come at a better moment. I’ve just won handsomely from Standish, and am ready for another victim. Care for a hand of piquet?’

Marcus agreed readily enough but, as they played, the mind of neither man was totally on the game in hand. They talked, casually, about the West Indies, the politics of Europe, and Paris, but each was interested in learning more about his companion than the state of the world. They had an enjoyable game, which Lord Beaudon won by a narrow margin, then by common consent they wandered on to the small balcony that overlooked the ballroom. Francesca was dancing again with Lord Denver.

‘Your daughter appears to be enjoying life in London, sir,’ said Marcus.

‘What? Oh, Francesca! Yes, yes, I believe she is. Though she sometimes finds the fuss and attention a touch tedious.’

‘Tell me, Lord Beaudon, do you find London much changed after your long absence?’

‘Society never changes, Carne. The mixture is very much as before.’ There was a slight pause, then he added, somewhat deliberately, ‘I am surprised to see Chantry here tonight, though. I’d have thought our hostess more discriminating.’

‘Oh, Freddie’s harmless enough.’

‘Friend of yours, is he? In that case I apologise, of course. He’s generally seen with the Witham crowd. You a friend of Charlie Witham’s, too?’

‘I…I know him, let us say.’

‘Ever been to Witham Court?’ Lord Beaudon asked idly.

‘Yes.’

‘Lovely place—at least, it was in my day. Is it still?’

‘The place itself is lovely, but it has deteriorated a lot in recent years. It badly needs some attention.’

‘Is that so? You know it well, then?’

‘Hardly,’ said Marcus. ‘I’ve only stayed there twice.’ He looked at his companion with a slight frown. ‘It’s next door to Shelwood, of course. I expect that’s why you take such an interest in it? Surely your daughter could tell you more about it than I?’

Lord Beaudon looked back at him blandly. ‘She seldom talks about her life at Shelwood, and I haven’t questioned her, Carne. But it’s never a good thing to have a neglected estate on one’s doorstep. I am quite certain that Shelwood itself is in perfect condition. My late sister-in-law would not have permitted otherwise.’

‘I am certain she wouldn’t. I hear it is in the hands of a manager at the moment. Does…does Miss Beaudon intend to return there at the end of the Season?’

‘I suppose that depends…She might decide to live with me—or she might take a husband.’

‘Yes, of course.’

The eyes of the two men followed the graceful twists and turns of the throng below.

‘She seems to be difficult to please, my Francesca. She doesn’t say much, but I rather think she’s had any number of offers.’

‘She’s a beautiful woman.’

‘I agree, though we needn’t beat about the bush, Carne. She wouldn’t be half as beautiful to some eyes if the Shelwood estate wasn’t in the frame, too.’