The Uncatchable Miss Faversham (2 page)

    ‘Bonaparte!’ Charlotte shook her head. ‘Is that all you can think about? Why, it must be getting on for six years since Corunna.’

    ‘Five, to be precise.’

    ‘Five, then.’ His sister seemed exasperated into indiscretion. ‘You’re thirty years old, Nathaniel. When are you going to settle down and marry a decent woman?’

    ‘When I find one who can damn well stand the sight of me,’ he told her, then repented as he caught the expression of dismay on her face. ‘Forgive me, Charlotte. I should not have spoken to you like that. Better I had remained at home. I am poor company tonight.’

    Concealing his boredom, Nathaniel resigned himself to watching the dancers jostle for space in the high-ceilinged hall. It was a sight that still had the power to entertain him, even if he rarely took to the floor himself. In the rural halls of Warwickshire, they had not yet learnt to dance as elegantly as in London. Mistakes were common, as were shuffling and partner-bumping, with the result that the assembly had more the appearance of a stage comedy than a public dance.

    Not that he would rather be in the capital, he thought grimly, where there was at least one lady whose acquaintance he could never wish to renew.

    Charlotte fiddled with her elaborate coiffure, a petulant obstinacy on her face. ‘I know you do not like to dance, Nathaniel. But I could not help seeing how you admired Miss Alissa Danberry as we came in. Such a pretty little thing, and this is her first season. Look, she is sitting down at present with her mama.’

    Reluctantly, Nathaniel allowed his gaze to drift back across the crowded assembly towards the young lady in question.

    She was over-young for him, about nineteen to his thirty years, but polite society would see nothing wrong in such a match. He was rarely drawn to the sort of simpering miss who frequented the rural assembly rooms of Warwickshire.

    Miss Alissa Danberry, however, was undeniably one of the more attractive debutantes of the season. Her tight, blonde ringlets clustered in the classical style about a heart-shaped face, her blue eyes wide and alluringly innocent. Her mouth was of the softest pink, like fresh-crushed strawberries, and it was just possible that her lips tasted that sweet too.

    Nathaniel felt a stab of arousal. He looked away before Miss Danberry, who was conversing in an animated fashion with her mama, could catch his interested glance.

    ‘I admit, Miss Danberry is a very handsome girl.’

    ‘Then why not ask her to dance?’

    ‘I am not in the mood for dancing. Besides,’ Nathaniel hesitated, ‘we have not been formally introduced.’

    ‘Oh, stuff! An introduction is easily remedied.’ Much to his annoyance, Charlotte turned with a dazzling smile to the elderly gentleman seated on her left. ‘Sir Allenby, if I might importune you for a few moments, would you be so good as to introduce my brother to Miss Danberry? He would like very much to make that young lady’s acquaintance.’

    To Nathaniel’s dismay, the elderly Sir Allenby seemed only too happy to assist her. ‘Of course, my dear,’ he agreed, rising starchily to his feet. ‘Would you care to follow me, sir?’

    Casting one last fulminating glance at his sister, Nathaniel had no choice but to limp down the room after Sir Allenby.

    Not that he was entirely reluctant. Tonight, even in a straight gown of chaste white muslin overlaid with lace, Miss Danberry’s curves were pleasingly noticeable. She would be a respectable enough match too; although untitled, her father was a country gentleman with land and a substantial income.

    All that remained was to discover if Miss Danberry could manage to find him attractive too.

    Nathaniel’s lip curled with derision. Though he had long since given up his youthful hope of marrying for love, his sister was right; there was still an obligation on his part to produce an heir to the Sallinger fortune–not to mention his own male needs to consider. Even with the prospect of discreetly visiting a mistress if the marriage proved joyless, he would rather not shackle himself to a woman who could not accept him in her bed.

    Nathaniel bowed as the suddenly shy Miss Danberry was pushed forward by her smiling mama.

    He tried to look pleasant, not too much of an ogre, all the while bracing himself for the inevitable rebuff.

    Sir Allenby made the introductions with a perfunctory smile and left them alone together for a few moments, leading the girl’s mother a discreet distance away.

    With her gaze demurely lowered, the blonde gave him a respectful curtsey. This move exposed her delightful cleavage still further as she did so.

    ‘Tis a great honour to make your acquaintance at last, Lord Sallinger,’ Miss Danberry began in a soft, countrified accent, then looked up at his face properly for the first time.

    Her gasp was accompanied by an expression of undisguised horror and an instinctive step backwards, one hand clamped to her mouth.

    Realising the offensive nature of her response, the girl started to make her apologies, stammering in her haste.

    ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’

    ‘No need to apologise, Miss Danberry,’ Nathaniel said tightly, and turned his head to hide the offending left profile. ‘My disfigurement is the price I paid for surviving the Peninsular. I have grown accustomed to the sight of my own monstrosity. No doubt it took you by surprise.’

    Miss Danberry flushed a deep, mortified scarlet. Her eyes stretched wide as she stared up at his face. She muttered something incomprehensible, then turned and fled back to the safety of her mama’s side.

    Another female conquest!

    Ignoring the pitying glances from onlookers, Nathaniel limped on toward the refreshment table and requested a glass of Burgundy. He ought to be inured to such public rebuffs, having suffered plenty over the past five years since returning from the Peninsular. And no amount of disgusted young women could hurt as much as the sight of his comrades-in-arms dying in agony around him at Corunna.

    Even so, raising the wine glass to his lips, Nathaniel noted with some surprise that his hand was trembling. Not yet as hardened to such nonsense as he’d thought, then.

    He should not allow himself to dwell on Miss Danberry’s horror at his disfigurement. Not here in the draughty crush of a public assembly, at any rate.

    No, this latest humiliation must only be considered later in the privacy of his study at Sallinger House, the comforting solace of a brandy decanter within easy reach.

    Despite this soldierly resolve, Nathaniel stared broodingly down into his glass of Burgundy, unable to prevent himself remembering the girl’s face, the horror in her innocent blue eyes.

   
What on earth had he been thinking?

    He might have lands and a title but a man of his brutish looks had no right to stamp himself on some fresh-faced debutante. Miss Danberry was Beauty and he was the Beast; it was only in fairytales that such encounters came off well for either party.

    It was on reaching this unpromising conclusion that Nathaniel was seized by a fierce desire to return home to Sallinger House.

    His head swung, restlessly searching the crowded assembly room for his sister. Faces turned hurriedly away as he did so, curious gazes lowered carefully to the floor. He felt his temper rise and did nothing to control it.

    Let them stare – damned provincials!

    Putting down his wine glass with a snap, Lord Nathaniel Sallinger limped on through the crush. The crowd of pantalooned, feathered revellers fell away before his height and forbidding countenance.

    One florid-faced woman gave a sharp cry as he passed and dropped her fan. Nathaniel was obliged by the rules of politesse to stoop and retrieve it, handing over her black lace fan with a bow. He said nothing to the foolish woman, since etiquette forbade any display of temper towards a woman. Inwardly though, he was seething at her reaction and the way she had shrunk from his touch.

    No need for alarm, madam! The grotesque Lord Sallinger will soon be relieving the rustic ton of his presence.

    His sister took one look at his face as he approached and stood up in swift, clumsy concern. ‘Nathaniel?’

    ‘We’re going home.’

    ‘Dearest, I need to tell you something.’

    ‘Now!’ he insisted, then made an effort to rein in his temper, again ashamed by his boorish ways. He set his teeth. ‘I apologise, that was unfair of me. You wish to stay?’

    ‘Not if staying would distress you further. I saw what happened with Miss Danberry. That silly girl! I’m sorry now that I ever suggested the little wretch to you as a partner.’

    ‘It was not your fault. You could not have guessed how she would react.’

    Compulsively, Nathaniel reached up to the scarred side of his face, running his fingers over the ridges there, the result of repeated sabre-cuts from horseback, just missing his left eye.

    His hand dropped back to his side.

    ‘Besides,’ he continued in a more friendly tone, ‘it’s not as though I’m unused to such rejections. Come then, if you truly do not mind curtailing your entertainment, let us return home before the evening grows any worse.’

    His sister stared down at her feet, and only belatedly did he notice her heightened colour, the slight tremor of her rounded body.

    Nathaniel put a quick, reassuring hand on his sister’s arm. ‘You must not concern yourself over this nonsense, Charlotte,’ he insisted. ‘Not in your condition. I’m not angry. Except with myself, perhaps.’

    ‘It’s not that.’

    ‘Then what is it?’ He frowned. ‘Are you unwell?’

    ‘Nothing, it’s nothing,’ she whispered.

    But she swayed slightly and Nathaniel made a rough noise under his breath.

    Carefully, he guided his sister back to her seat, furious with himself. With her husband away at sea and another child expected before his return, the last thing his younger sister needed to deal with was his remorseless self-loathing.

    Once Charlotte was safely seated, he took his sister’s hand and pressed it gently. ‘Better?’

    ‘Thank you, yes.’

    ‘Good. Now, what has occurred to upset you?’

    ‘I heard this evening from Lady Allenby that … ’ She hesitated again, blanching. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’

    He struggled with his impatience. ‘Remember what Papa used to tell us, Charlotte. No news ever improves with keeping. So no more of this shilly-shallying, if you please. Just let me have this news, however bad.’

    ‘Very well,’ Charlotte said, biting her lip. ‘She’s back.’

    Nathaniel frowned, not understanding. ‘Forgive my stupidity, but who is
she
?’

    ‘Miss Eleanor Faversham.’

    ‘
What
?’

    ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’ Charlotte squeezed his hand and would not let him pull away. She must have caught the expression on his face, that momentary flash of agony. ‘It’s true, I’m afraid. Lady Allenby tells me she arrived back in Warwickshire yesterday evening. To oversee Mrs Lovett’s funeral, since she was a tenant of her late father’s up at the Hall. Well, it’s very awkward, but the upshot of it is that she’s here.’

    Nathaniel was finding it difficult to breathe. He disengaged his hand and drew back from his sister, his mind reeling with disbelief.

    ‘Miss Faversham is here?’

    ‘Yes, here tonight.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She’s standing right behind you, in fact.’

    Stiff, his heart galloping at a wicked pace, Nathaniel forced himself to turn and glance over his shoulder.

   
Eleanor!

    For a terrible moment his soul seemed to fly soaring out of his body toward her glorious beauty. Then, just as suddenly, it snapped back into him, defeated.

    Eleanor, his chief tormentor for the last five years – absent in body, ever-present in his dreams – was back in Warwickshire.

    Eleanor was looking across at him, that familiar teasing half-smile on her curving lips, and for a moment it was as though she had never been away. She was quite as lovely as he remembered, even if her skin was no longer as radiant these days, the suggestion of a darkish smudge under each sparkling blue eye – those late night London parties, no doubt, keeping all her lovers on a string! – and she had lost the delightful innocence of youth.

    Yet despite all that, she was still Nell, with her burnished chestnut hair and defiant tilt of the chin– and no more his than she had ever been.

    Busy old Lady Allenby was at Eleanor’s elbow, chattering away as she led her reluctant charge forward, apparently unaware of the tension singing between them.

    ‘Miss Faversham, you will of course remember your closest neighbour, Lord Sallinger, and his sister Mrs Tatchell, wife to Captain Tatchell, who is away at sea.’

    With the unsteady air of a woman who had enjoyed more wine than was altogether advisable, Lady Allenby waved her fan carelessly at Nathaniel and Charlotte.

    ‘Miss Eleanor Faversham is come back into Warwickshire to make arrangements for Mrs Lovett’s funeral. Dora had been unwell for some months, of course, but her death was still a shock to us all. For she was not much above five and forty years of age, you know.’ She lowered her voice with a hint of disapproval. ‘You may wonder that Miss Faversham is not in mourning dress, but Dora Lovett was not
family
.’

    Charlotte managed a few words of welcome, a shy smile on her face as she stared over his shoulder at her childhood friend.

   
There was no escape, no help for it.

   
Nathaniel rose and bowed to both ladies, his hair falling carelessly over his temples. His voice, he noted with surprise, was remarkably steady.

    ‘Lady Allenby, Miss Faversham,’ he said, straightening. ‘How do you do?’

    Lady Allenby seemed suddenly flustered, as though she had committed some embarrassing solipsism by mentioning the deceased Mrs Lovett’s Christian name. Dora Lovett had been the mistress of Eleanor’s father, set up in residence at Faversham Hall while his wife and daughter were safely in Jamaica, which meant the rather too attractive and free-living widow had not enjoyed the friendship of many well-bred ladies in Warwickshire.