The Memory of Your Kiss (21 page)

“And what is wrong with that?” She rose. “Come. Your father should be home by now. He was helping plan the Lord Mayor’s reception for the royal visitors.” They were halfway down the stairs when she said, “Did you check the mail? There was a letter for you.”

The letter was from Adam Richardson—Viscount Kirkly now that they were back in England.

Richardson had supplied the address and a full description of Percival Laughton. Zachary immediately fired off a note with this information to the Bow Street Runners whose services he had hired previously. He was determined to leave no stone unturned in his efforts to protect Sydney’s son. He did not stop to consider that he was acting on behalf of “Sydney’s son” rather than his ward, the young earl.

Despite still being in half-mourning, Sydney decided to accept an invitation to an
al fresco
“breakfast” hosted by the Marquess and Marchioness of Rodham to celebrate the defeat of Napoleon and the safe homecoming of their son, Viscount Kirkly. The marchioness, once a reigning beauty in society, had, in her fifties, become a reigning hostess in
ton
circles. Invitations to Lady Rodham’s entertainments were much sought after and this event at the Rodham estate in Richmond promised to be a huge affair.

Sydney dressed with special care, refusing to admit to herself that she anticipated seeing Zachary there. Her fashionable gown was a simple style in linen of a subdued jade green with ecru lace at a square neckline and elbow-length sleeves. Her hair was arranged in the popular Greek style with ribbons of ecru lace wound through it. She knew she would appear to good advantage.

And it was important that she do so, for this would be her first public appearance since taking William into Paxton House. Lady Ryesdale would also be among the guests. The two of them were sure
to draw a good deal of attention. They had agreed they would present a united front to the gossips: friendly, cordial, dignified.

Sydney, Aunt Harriet, and Celia arrived at the party escorted by Lieutenant Lord Trevor Harrelson, looking resplendent in his army uniform, for uniforms were
de rigueur
for military men in these continuing days of national celebration. Besides a generous sprinkling of various military uniforms, Sydney noted other men and women in colorful array.

“Good heavens! Just look at all these people. I had no idea there would be so many,” Celia said as they waited in line to greet their hosts. In a colorful cotton print of yellow and white with dashes of green, Celia looked very fetching on the arm of Lieutenant Harrelson.

“I think Adam said his mother had invited over five hundred,” Harrelson said. “She does this every summer, but this year is special.”

“She has certainly provided wonderful venues of entertainment for so many,” Aunt Harriet commented.

And, indeed, the hostess has done so. There were four huge canvas pavilions situated about the grounds, each with tables and chairs and a buffet attended by several servants to see that no guest went hungry or thirsty. Other groupings of benches and chairs were scattered about in shady areas of the lawn. Two courses of paired sticks were laid out for guests who wished to play pall mall, an outdoor version of billiards played with colorful balls and mallets. And there were boats tied up at the river’s edge. Sydney noted that several couples had already availed themselves of the boats, the ladies’ bright parasols adding dots of color to the river scene. Off to the side of the party area, archery targets had been set up where young women might show off more than their archery skills.

Telling herself she and Louisa had chosen well for their first appearance at the same outing, and knowing that Jonathan was well protected at home, Sydney gave herself up to the not unpleasant task of having a good time. She was acquainted with the marquess and his wife, but had not met their son previously. Introduced to the Viscount Kirkly now, she thought he looked at her rather keenly as they engaged in the usual meaningless talk of a receiving line.

As soon as they were through the receiving line, Captain Thompson approached to claim Aunt Harriet for a stroll about the gardens. Sydney, Celia, and Lieutenant Harrelson also chose to stroll about, pausing frequently to chat with this or that friend or acquaintance.
Sydney kept looking about the crowd—discreetly, of course—hoping to see Zachary. Finally, she spotted him some twenty or thirty feet away. He was with two other soldiers, his parents, and another older couple and a young woman. Sydney recognized these three as one of the most garrulous members of Parliament, his gossipy wife, and his equally gossipy daughter. Just then Zachary’s gaze caught hers and he smiled a greeting even as the young woman demanded his attention.

Sydney turned on hearing someone call her name. With little pleasure she recognized the speaker.

“Lady Paxton and Miss Carstairs. How lovely to see you here. I do so enjoy talking with old school friends.” The Viscountess Ellsworth, the former Faith Holmsley, was accompanied by her husband, as well as Sir Thomas and Lady Fullerton, the former Elizabeth Kenmore. The two couples were with another gentleman whom Sydney did not recognize. She judged him to be in his late thirties; he was of medium height with thinning blond hair, very pale eyebrows and lashes, and ice-blue eyes. Unwilling to be rude to old classmates, even ones she liked as little as these, Sydney murmured greetings and would have moved on.

The viscountess pulled the blond man forward and said, “Lady Paxton, do allow me to present a dear friend. Actually, he is a connection of yours. Mr. Percival Laughton.”

Celia gasped.

Lieutenant Harrelson said, “Oh, I say—”

Sydney was furious. She had no doubt at all that Lady Ellsworth knew exactly what she was doing, for there was a malicious gleam in her eyes and a sly smile on her lips. Sydney felt trapped. She could hardly create a scene by giving the man the cut direct.

He bowed. “Pleased, I am sure.” He looked amused and self-satisfied at catching her off guard.

She was aware of several listeners nearby. Keeping her tone neutral and her voice low, she said, “How extraordinary that you should seek my acquaintance in this manner.”

He laughed outright and said in a voice clearly intended for the bystanders, “Ah, but my dear Lady Paxton—my cousin, as it were—I have no doubt that if I called at Paxton House, you would send me away with a flea in my ear.”

“Very probably,” she said in the same controlled voice.

The amusement was gone from his eyes, leaving only ice. “Nevertheless, we have family business to discuss.”

Before she could formulate a response, Sydney was suddenly aware of movement at her side. “Is this boorish fellow bothering you, Lady Paxton?” Zachary asked.

“Not anymore,” she said, turning away. She placed a trembling hand on the arm Zachary offered.

“You needn’t think I’ll be put off so easily,” Laughton said, still blustering.

Zachary, too, spoke in a low voice, but one laced with authority. “Any interest you have in Paxton affairs will be handled through me. Should you persist in annoying her ladyship, you will find the consequences most uncomfortable.”

Laughton sneered. “Zany Zack to the rescue, eh? Oh, yes, your antics in Spain have not gone unnoticed. But your army bravado is meaningless here in England, cousin.” He put a nasty twist on the last word, and Sydney thought he was playing to his Ellsworth-Fullerton audience.

“You wish,” Harrelson said.

Zachary gave his friend a warning look and jerked his head indicating they should leave. He patted Sydney’s hand on his arm. “Pay Laughton no mind, Sydney. His type are usually more bark than bite.”

Behind her she heard Faith, Lady Ellsworth, say, “How very rude. We were taught better manners in school, weren’t we, Liz?”

The sycophantic Elizabeth responded from her customary script. “Oh, my, yes.”

These two Sydney could easily ignore. Despite Zachary’s assurance, it was much harder to dismiss Percival Laughton’s parting shot.

“This is by no means over, cousins.”

M
rs. Carstairs
and Captain Thompson rejoined the group as Zachary steered Sydney to where his parents, Gordon, and McIntyre still stood. To his immense relief, the talkative parliamentarian and his encroaching wife and daughter had moved on.

Introductions and greeting accomplished as necessary, they all gravitated toward one of the pavilions where, sufficiently supplied with food and drink, they commandeered a large table seating twelve. As they sat down, Celia, responding to her mother’s question, explained the incident to those who had either not seen it at all or had seen, but not heard what was happening.

Zachary was not sure who maneuvered the situation—he suspected his mother—but he was not at all displeased to find Sydney seated between him and his mother. Her physical closeness reignited the desire he had felt returning so forcefully that day in her library. Despite still unresolved issues between them, he wanted to reestablish the rapport of those days in Bath,

During a pause in general conversation, Gordon grinned at Zachary from across the table and asked, “So, Quintin, did you dispatch that devious devil back to his natural habitat?”

Zachary saw that Sydney was surprised at the ease and familiarity with which an ensign addressed a major. “Not quite,” he answered, “though I think Harrelson was ready to take him on.”

“I could have handled him had you not interfered,” Harrelson said in a tone of mock hurt.

“With your usual grace and finesse, I’m sure,” McIntyre said. “We remember that brawl in a Madrid tavern.”

Harrelson looked embarrassed and Celia affected a shocked tone. “A brawl? Oh, never say you engaged in something so uncouth as a brawl.”

Setting a plate of food and a glass of wine at an empty place, Adam Richardson joined the group. “A brawl? Not at my mother’s party. She would be most vexed.”

“Not here,” McIntyre said. “That one Harrelson started in Madrid.”

“Oh, that one.”

“Couldn’t let that Spanish captain get away with disparaging English horsemanship,” Harrelson said.

“Well, he got his comeuppance the next day.” Gordon proceeded to explain to the non-Rangers at the table. “A race. Harrelson’s black easily outran the Spaniard’s chestnut.”

“My hero,” Celia teased.

“No, Miss Carstairs. I fear you miss the point,” Gordon said. “The
horse
won the race.”

They all laughed and Harrelson said, “But with my superior expertise guiding him.”

His friends snorted.

“Of course it was,” Celia said soothingly and patted his hand.

Richardson’s voice became serious. “I saw that little tableau a while ago. Didn’t want to interfere and create a scene unnecessarily, but if you’d like me to have Laughton removed, it could be handled discreetly.”

Zachary looked at Sydney to see her reaction to this idea. She did not immediately respond, but finally she said, “I think that would make matters worse. No matter how discreetly it was done, Mr. Laughton would have it all over town that Zachary and I had him thrown out.”

Zachary was sure her use of his given name had been a nervous slip, but the idea that that was how she unconsciously thought of him gave him hope. Sydney was looking down, so did not see the momentary lift of several eyebrows around the table.

“As you please, my lady.” Richardson nodded and exchanged a knowing look with Zachary.

Celia changed the subject. She directed her question to Harrelson, but in a normal tone that included everyone. “What did Mr. Laughton mean by that reference to ‘Zany Zack’?”

“What?” Lady Leonora demanded. “Please explain, Miss Carstairs.”

Celia repeated what Laughton had said.

“ ‘Zany Zack,’ indeed,” his mother said. “What does it mean, son?”

Zachary, somewhat embarrassed, looked about to see his closest friends all grinning at him. “It is nothing. Just a soldier’s joke.”

All four women at the table looked intensely curious and even his father lifted one eyebrow. “There must be more to it than that,” his mother said flatly. “Zachary? Trevor? Adam? You two ate enough of my ginger biscuits when you were boys. If you don’t tell me the truth, I shall refuse to share the recipe with your future wives or cooks. Someone enlighten me!”

Richardson laughed and said, “That is enough of a threat for me, my lady. When the then Lieutenant Quintin first returned to the Peninsula, he was involved in—uh—several rather perilous incidents.”

“We managed to read between the lines of the newspaper accounts,” Horatio Quintin said, leaning back in his chair.

“Some jokester came up with ‘Zany Zack,’” Gordon said.

Richardson went on. “Then when the peer—Lord Wellington—made him an exploring officer and he had his own team, we became ‘Zany Zack’s Rangers.’ Started out as a joke, you see, but not anymore.”

Celia’s brow wrinkled. “Exploring? For what were you searching?”

The five Rangers laughed at the naiveté of this question and Harrelson explained. “We were mostly counting French soldiers. Also, finding routes through the mountains for our troops. Adam here is an excellent map-maker.”

“It must have been very dangerous,” Celia said.

No one seemed inclined to respond to this, but finally McIntyre did so with a shrug. “War is always dangerous.”

“But you all survived and we rejoice at that,” Celia said brightly, apparently willing to let this thread of conversation go.

“Um. Not all. The Rangers lost two good men at Toulouse,” Gordon
said. Zachary knew Gordon was still very bitter about that needless battle and its carnage.

“I am so sorry,” Celia said, and others nodded or murmured their agreement with her sentiment.

Zachary was grateful when his mother changed the subject and lightened the mood by saying, “I must say, Adam, your mother has outdone herself this year.”

As the day wore on, Sydney found she was doing precisely what she set out to do: have a good time. Partly because Celia and Trevor Harrelson were inseparable and Trevor was enjoying being with his army chums, and partly because Sydney herself felt so very much at ease with the Rangers’ group, she spent most of the day in their company. After the meal in the pavilion, the group broke into smaller entities. Celia and Trevor seized the chance to be alone together, though in plain sight, by taking one of the boats on the river.

Sydney had been strolling about with Zachary and his parents when Horatio Quintin spotted an acquaintance. “Zachary, there’s Lord Foxworth. You were asking about rail transport. He would be just the person to consult.” He looked at his wife. “Do you mind, my dear?”

“No,” Lady Leonora responded, “so long as I do not have to listen to another long dissertation on the intricate working of a steam engine and how such machines are going to make horses obsolete.”

“There is a bench and some chairs over there.” Her husband pointed to a spot nearby.

“Father, I think those might be better.” Zachary pointed to a grouping twenty-five or thirty feet beyond. “More shade there.”

So far as Sydney could see, the places were equally shady. She gave him a questioning glance, which he seemed to ignore as he summoned a footman bearing a tray of glasses of lemonade. Then she noticed that these seats were near one of the pall mall games—the one in which Lieutenant McIntyre, Ensign Gordon, a man in civilian attire, and three young women were playing.

“We’ll be right back, my dear,” the elder Quinton said to his wife.

Sydney saw Zachary stop for a brief word with McIntyre, who nodded and glanced her way, then looked off in another direction. As she followed his gaze, she saw Percival Laughton staring at her. He
turned away, looking resentful. She switched her attention when her companion spoke.

“I am so glad for this moment alone with you, Lady Paxton. I hope I am not intruding to bring up what might be a delicate subject, but I did want you to know that I quite admire what you have done for Lady Ryesdale’s youngest son.”

“Za—uh—Major Quintin told you?”

“He told his father and me soon after you proposed it to him, but by now, of course, I have heard it from other sources as well. You must know it is quite the
on dit
of the moment.”

Sydney grimaced. “I did suppose that there would be talk. Thank goodness my son and his brother are so young that gossip is irrelevant to them.”

Lady Leonora gave her an admiring glance. “You are a remarkable young woman—but then I was sure you would be.”

Sydney did not know how to respond to this, so she sipped her lemonade to cover her confusion.

“Tell me about your name,” Lady Leonora said abruptly.

“M-my name? What about it?”

“Henry told Zachary he was marrying a woman named ‘Bella’ who turned out to be someone named ‘Sydney.’”

“My given name is
Sydney Isabella
. I was ‘Bella’ as a child. The family, the neighbors—including Henry—knew me as ‘Bella.’ Some still refer to me that way—when they are not intimidated by the titled Lady Paxton.”

“So when did it change?”

“My mother’s name was
Sydney
. I loved her very much. She died when I was twelve. I missed her terribly and I suppose—childlike—I felt closer to her in using the name she shared with me.”

“How sad to lose your mother as you were coming into that most difficult period of growing up.”

“Losing a parent is difficult at any age,” Sydney said, thinking of her father.

They sat in thoughtful silence for several minutes, enjoying the pleasant day and sipping their drinks, but Sydney did not find the silence discomfiting. She spied Aunt Harriet and her sea captain some distance away and smiled.

Lady Leonora followed her gaze and smiled, too. “Do you think Mrs. Carstairs and the captain will make a match of it?”

“If he has his way, they will. However, I doubt Aunt Harriet will contemplate any major change in her life until Celia is settled.”

“That does not appear to be too far off,” Lady Leonora said. “Trevor seems quite smitten.”

“His family may object, though. A duke’s son and a sea captain’s daughter?”

“Family objections are not always insurmountable problems,” the older woman said dryly.

Remembering what she knew of Lady Leonora’s marriage, Sydney smiled and shrugged. After all, her own marriage to Henry had not been a union of social equals.

Again they sat in companionable silence for a few moments.

It was interrupted by the appearance of Adam Richardson, Viscount Kirkly, with his mother, the Marchioness of Rodham, on one arm and Lady Ryesdale on the other. “May we join you?” he asked.

Sydney thought half of London’s social elite had their attention focused on this section of the marquess’s elaborate garden. Seeing the hand of Zachary Quintin in this meeting, Sydney gave Captain Richardson a knowing look and mouthed a “thank you” to him. He grinned.

When the newcomers were seated, Lady Leonora addressed the marchioness. “You have surely outdone yourself this year, Margaret. Whatever will you do for an encore?”

The marchioness preened. “I feel sure we will come up with something. My granddaughter is making her debut in two years.”

“Already? But I remember her as a baby,” Lady Leonora said.

“They grow up so fast,” the marchioness said.

“That they do. But it is such a delight to watch them grab at whatever life has to offer them. I swear Zachary’s Lucas will be walking within the week,” Lady Leonora said. “He just learned to say
Papa
—at least we think that is what he is saying.”

“And, Lady Paxton, you now have
two
little ones in your nursery.” The marchioness thus introduced the topic that was on the minds of so many of her guests. Sydney noticed that several of these had moved casually to be within hearing distance.

Richardson stood. “If you ladies are going to talk babies, I think I will find someone to discuss horse racing or sailing.”

The women laughed at him and waved him on, then Sydney responded,
speaking primarily to Louisa, but clearly enough for the onlookers.

“Yes. Our boys seem to be adjusting to each other quite nicely. My Jonathan is learning to share and his brother William is happier now. He cried a good deal that first night, but less each day since. You must visit again soon, Louisa.”

“Thank you, La—uh—Sydney. I shall.”

Sydney winked at her and Louisa smiled back.
There
, Sydney thought,
the first hurdle taken
. She knew her own frankness and the easy accord between her and Louisa would be the talk of every London drawing room the next day.

That night Sydney lay in bed reviewing the day and replaying certain images. Most of these, to one degree or another, involved Zachary. She knew very well he had prevented a recurrence of that encounter with Percival Laughton by ensuring that wherever she was, there would be at least one of the Rangers nearby. It had all been very discreet and very thorough. He had himself been at her side much of the day and she rejoiced in the easy rapport between them—and in the twinges of desire she felt whenever he looked directly into her eyes or their hands happened to touch.

She rolled over and stared blankly about her. Light from a nearly full moon slipped through gaps in the drapes to turn pieces of furniture into ghostly shapes.

As sleep continued to elude her, she recalled Lady Leonora’s question about her name. Was it possible Zachary really had not known whom Henry was marrying? That seemed unlikely, yet it would explain a good deal—like that insulting toast at the wedding breakfast. Zachary must have thought she knew he would be at the wedding, and he must have known then of Louisa, but to what extent? Certainly now Zachary and Louisa exhibited none of the characteristics of a long-standing friendship. In fact, just today, Louisa had said to Sydney and Lady Leonora, “Major Quintin’s visit came as such a surprise. Imagine having a stranger effect so much change in one’s life.”

She pounded her pillow into yet another position. Had her distrust and resentment been misplaced? If so, it may have served one positive purpose: it had prevented a silly schoolgirl’s dwelling on what
might have been as she tried to build a life around her marriage. A marriage built on a lie. Still, it had not been so very different from dozens of others.