The Suitor (5 page)

And yet
not
a stranger. For he was Julian, as he had become in two years, and her heart would have known him anywhere. Her whole body had yearned toward him with an awareness
she had felt for no other man.

He had made a good impression. He was the nephew and heir of the Duke of Stanbrook, who had taken in Lord Darleigh when he was carried back from the Peninsula both deaf and blind. And he had come, as was courteous and proper, to pay his respects—and had then behaved with consummate tact, withdrawing his person as soon as he decently could and escorting Philippa out into the garden for a few minutes so that she could recover from her near swoon.

Even Philippa’s parents had been inclined to look kindly upon him and had commented upon how he had changed for the better since their last encounter with him.

He was not mentioned during the journey back to London.

But surely when they met him there again …

Oh, surely
.

He did not come for five whole days. Of course, he would have felt obliged to stay away for a short while in order to make his story about visiting a friend in Gloucestershire believable.

In the meanwhile, the busy round of social activities resumed. Philippa went out every evening, including a first visit to Almack’s, her mother having finally procured the coveted vouchers. She danced every set there except the waltz, for which she needed permission from one of the patronesses. She had three regular partners wherever she went, each of them both personable and eligible, and five or six other gentlemen had solicited her hand for a dance more than once or stopped to exchange pleasantries if they saw her on Bond Street or Oxford Street or strolling in Hyde Park.

They could put the unfortunate incident of their visit to Middlebury Park out of their minds, her mama remarked on the fifth morning after their return while they were at breakfast. Miss Ginty had invited Philippa to a picnic at Richmond during the afternoon and there was to be a party of young people with them as well as Mrs. Ginty, of course, to act as chaperon. Mr. Mendelhall was to be one of their number. He had singled out Philippa for particular attention ever since her come-out, and everyone knew that he was in possession of a substantial fortune.

“I believe we may be confident of an offer from him before too many weeks have passed,” she said, smiling at her daughter and looking at her husband.

Mr. Mendelhall was good-looking in a boyish sort of way, and he had agreeable manners and easy conversation. Philippa enjoyed his company and that of her other new friends. Indeed, she told herself at the end of a very pleasant afternoon, she was one of the most fortunate of
mortals. If she tried to list all her blessings, she would grow weary long before reaching the end of the list.

Except that Julian had not come.

And five days seemed like
forever
.

How much longer would he stay away?

Mrs. Ginty’s coachman set down the steps of the barouche when she arrived home, and she turned on the pavement to offer her thanks and say her farewells. There was a flurry of merry good-byes as the butler opened the door of the house and held it for her, and the barouche went on its way.

Philippa ran up the steps and into the house—and almost collided with someone coming the other way.

He caught her upper arms in his hands to steady her and took one step back from her.

And suddenly the determinedly cheerful smile she had brought into the house with her so that her mama and papa would smile in return and believe her happy—suddenly her smile glowed with all the sunshine in the world.

“Julian!” she cried.

“Miss Dean.” He dropped his hands from her arms and made her a bow, and she was reminded of the presence of the butler and perhaps other persons not far off.

“Mr. Crabbe,” she said.

She could not tear her gaze from his face. His skin had a dark tone to it, as though it was sun-bronzed. She had forgotten that about him. It was a fact that made him more than just handsome.

“I came to pay my respects to Mrs. Dean,” he told her, “and to assure myself that you had returned safely from Gloucestershire. I was fortunate enough to find Mr. Dean at home too.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointment suddenly taking the place of the first euphoria of seeing that he had come at last. She had missed his visit. “I have been to Richmond for a picnic.”

“I trust you enjoyed it,” he said. “You have certainly had a lovely day after all the rain of the past week. Mrs. Dean has informed me that you will be at Lady Ingersoll’s ball tomorrow evening, and she has kindly granted me permission to solicit your hand for a set of dances there.”

“Oh.” Her eyes devoured him.

“Will you waltz with me?”

“Oh,” she said again, less happily. “No, not the waltz, I am afraid. I have not yet been granted permission.”

“Permission?” He frowned. “That archaic social law is still in force, is it?
Would
you waltz with me if you were permitted?”

“But I am not, alas,” she told him. “I have been out for only—”

He set a finger briefly over her lips and winked slowly at her. For a moment he looked like the old roguish Julian who had so attracted her when she was sixteen.

“I said
if
,” he reminded her. “
If
you were allowed to waltz, would you waltz with
me
?”

“For all the rest of my life,” she said.

And for a moment there was that intense look in his eyes before he smiled and bowed again with graceful formality.

“I shall avail myself of the permission of your mother, then, Miss Dean,” he said, “and the tacit permission of your father and ask for a dance tomorrow evening. I beg you to reserve a set for me.”

“I shall certainly do so, sir,” she promised him.

“Good day to you, then, Miss Dean.”

And he was gone.

Her father was coming down the stairs even as the butler closed the door behind him.

“You saw Crabbe, then, did you?” he asked as she hurried toward him to kiss his cheek. “I might have considered his visit the height of impertinence if we had not seen him at Middlebury Park. He seems to have grown into a decent young man after all. Your mama gave him permission to dance with you at the Ingersoll ball—but only if
you
wish to dance with
him
.”

“I have already said I will, Papa,” she said. “I do not mind at all—even if he
did
cause me two days of unutterable boredom in my room two years ago.”

He actually chuckled, and she laughed with him.

“You had a good time at the picnic?” he asked. “But I do not need to ask, do I? You have a glow on your cheeks and a sparkle in your eyes. Mendelhall, is it? Well, if he chooses to call on me, I shall listen to what he has to say and allow him to pay his addresses to you if I am satisfied with what I hear.”

He continued on his way to the library, and Philippa ran upstairs to dispose of her bonnet and parasol.

She was going to dance tomorrow night
with Julian
.

If only she could waltz with him.

But she must not be greedy.

“You have been in town scarcely two days, Julian,” Lady Charles Crabbe said to her son at dinner that same evening, “yet you have already conceived a tendre for a young lady making her come-out this year?”

She was looking at him in some surprise, her eyebrows raised, her knife and fork suspended above her plate.

“The tendre was conceived two years ago, Mother,” he confessed. “In Bath. When I stayed for a while with my aunt and uncle, if you remember. Miss Dean is Cousin Barbara’s friend.”

“But how old was she?” his mother asked faintly.

“Sixteen,” he said. “She is eighteen now.”

“Sixteen?” She set down her cutlery very carefully across her plate.

“I have been waiting for her to grow up,” he explained.

She contemplated her plate for a while, a slight frown between her brows.

“I do remember that time,” she said. “You were rusticating in Bath. You were a severe disappointment to me. I had hoped for a son who was different from his father. And then suddenly you
were
different and have remained different. Is there some connection here, Julian? Was it not the death of your father, after all, that caused the change? Was it this
—girl
?”

“Yes,” he said. “Philippa Dean. A young lady now. I fell in love with her when she was but a girl, and I have remained in love with her.”

“Yet I am now hearing about her for the first time,” she said, transferring her gaze to his face, “even though she has had such a startling and positive influence upon your life.”

“She was too young to be courted,” he explained to her. “But no longer. And she means everything in the world to me.”

She continued to gaze at him in some amazement.

“I am delighted, of course,” she said. “At least, I
believe
I am. I have feared that you were
driven and lonely, Julian, that you would neglect your personal need for love and companionship. Well, I would declare myself speechless if I were not sitting here talking. And tomorrow evening I will meet this paragon who has held your heart for two years. And that brings us back to your original question. Yes, I am acquainted with more than one of the patronesses of Almack’s, though none of them are my bosom friends. Lady Jersey is probably the most amiable and the most approachable. I shall see what I can do, Julian. I’ll call on her tomorrow afternoon, though if I find her at home it will be a miracle.”

“Thank you,” he said as she picked up her knife and fork again and resumed her meal. “You will like her, Mother, I promise you.”

“Lady Jersey?” she said. “I do not like her above half, you know, but for your sake …”

He laughed, and her eyes twinkled at him.

“I am predisposed to like your Miss Dean,” she said, “if she is prepared to rescue you from the loneliness I thought you prey to, Julian. Goodness, I had not the slightest suspicion of any such thing. I daresay, then, that all those letters you have exchanged with Barbara in the past few years have not been entirely due to a strong cousinly affection between the two of you, have they? I need my head examined.”

He laughed again. “I
am
fond of Barbara.”

He was not laughing the following evening. He was feeling quite absurdly nervous, considering the fact that this was by no means
his
first Season. He had attended
ton
balls by the dozen in the past, but usually only to ogle the newest beauties on the marriage mart and to play a few hands in the card room if the stakes were high enough to be worth the effort. He had danced with all the prettiest girls, flirted outrageously with them, and moved on long before he could become entangled in expectations he had no intention of honoring—or else long before the more careful of the papas could discover the precarious state of his finances and his father’s.

Tonight he was here for another purpose entirely. And tonight he was an almost entirely different person from that careless, expensive, rakish fellow he had been. Both Mr. and Mrs. Dean were present with their daughter, he saw immediately and in some surprise. Most fathers left the dreary business of chaperoning their daughters to their wives.

There were a couple of young ladies with Philippa, and they were engaged in conversation with a group of gentlemen. All were laughing merrily as Julian came up to them and made his bow. He felt a million years old.

Philippa introduced him, and he joined in the conversation for a few minutes before directing his attention exclusively to her.

“Miss Dean,” he said, “dare I hope you have a space free on your dancing card for me?”

“Ho,” the red-haired Sir Dudley Foote cried, “not the first, Crabbe. That is already promised to me.”

“I was hoping for the first waltz,” Julian said, smiling, his eyes still on Philippa.

She gazed back at him with wide, wistful eyes.

“Alas, sir,” she said, “I am not yet allowed to dance it.”

“Then perhaps,” he said, “you will allow me to sit it out with you, Miss Dean.”

“Now why did I not think of that?” Michael Forster lamented, smiting his brow with the heel of his hand.

“That would be kind of you,” Philippa said, and he scrawled his name on her card before lifting his eyes to hers.

But the orchestra members were tuning their instruments, and the opening set was being announced, and Foote led her onto the floor while the other gentlemen claimed all the other young ladies except one.

“Miss Hancock,” Julian said, bowing to her, “may I have the honor?”

Her eyes lit up with relief.

“Thank you, sir.” She set a hand on his wrist.

The waltz—one of two—did not come until just before supper. Julian danced every set before it, for he did not want anyone, least of all her parents, to think he was singling out only Philippa for attention. He thought those dances would never end. His mother had indeed found Lady Jersey at home this afternoon, and that grand lady was in attendance this evening and bowing her head graciously to all about her, her plumes nodding above her head.