The Willful Widow (14 page)
It was not that he disliked woman precisely. He would have given a great deal to possess his friend's easy charm that seemed to endear chambermaids and incomparables alike. But Alan, who had led a lonely childhood with only books and tutors as his companions, had never learned the art of desultory conversation and therefore was ill equipped to converse on any subject lighter than the theories of 126
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Pythagoras or Plato's
Republic.
His first essays on such topics had caused young misses to gaze aghast at him and seek solace with anyone, no matter how ugly, poor, old, or feebleminded in order to be able to understand what was being addressed to them. These unfortunate early experiences had given the young Lord Beardsley such a distaste for social intercourse that he had resolutely avoided it at all costs for years; hence his old schoolmate's amazement at coming across him in such foreign surroundings.
"It must have been a very strong attraction indeed that lured you from the safety of Hillingdon Park to the delights of the metropolis."
"It was." Alan sighed at the remembrance of the marchioness's delight at learning her son was forced to make a visit to town.
"That bad, eh?" Justin remarked sympathetically as he caught his friend's involuntary glance to a corner of the room where the Marchioness of Hillingdon was holding court with the other town tabbies.
"Yes." The reply, though simple, held all the eloquence of a desperate man. "I wanted to consult them at Greenwich about some of the instruments I am planning to acquire at Hillingdon. Besides, you know John Herschel has left Cambridge to assist his father."
"He has?" Though Justin's and John's paths had barely crossed, their mutual friendship with Alan had kept Justin aware of the young man's brilliant career at the university. It 127
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would have taken a great deal to make him leave its hallowed halls.
"Yes. His father's health is failing, but he insists on keeping up his research, so there was nothing for it but for John to help him. I thought I..." Alan's gasp of dismay caused his friend to glance up in time to see the marchioness, like a Spanish galleon in full sail, bearing down upon them.
"Relax, my lad. Let me handle this." St. Clair laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "How delightful to see you, ma'am," Justin greeted his friend's mother, treating her to the full benefit of his devastating smile. "I admire your skill in luring Alan to the countess's rout, and I am taking advantage of his presence to introduce him to a charming young woman of my acquaintance."
Ignoring Lord Beardsley's horrified gaze and the imploring clutch on his sleeve, he continued, "But I shall return to claim the next quadrille with you if I may. As I remember, you always appeared to your best on the dance floor—such elegance and such queenly bearing. I was quite young at the time, as your husband was still alive, but I do hope you will indulge me."
"Why, how kind. Of course I shouldn't, I am far too old. What must the others think? But thank you, I would quite enjoy that." The lady, taken completely by surprise, stammered like a schoolgirl.
"I am honored. Until then, I expect Lord Wayland here will keep you tolerably amused." Beckoning to a young buck bearing down on them, Justin hailed him. "Hello, Andrew. Thought I might see you here. Be a good fellow and keep 128
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Alan's mother company while I take him to meet a young lady I feel certain will interest him."
Lord Wayland, another university acquaintance, struck as incoherent as the marchioness by the picture of Lord Beardsley with a female at a ball, nodded blankly as Justin gave his friend a gentle push in the direction of Lady Diana's little party.
"But, Justin, you know I," Alan began to object then, recalling the truly masterful way in which his former schoolmate had handled his redoubtable mother, fell silent, giving himself up to the inevitable with as much good grace as he could muster. After all, Justin had never steered him wrong before, but there was always a first time, he thought grimly as he followed his friend across the crowded room. Meanwhile Justin was congratulating himself. He had seen enough of Lady Diana to feel quite certain she would soon have Alan relaxed and conversing as easily as she had charmed the hapless Reginald—and Alan was a far greater catch. Far more intelligent than Viscount Chalford, he had the added charm of having already succeeded to his father's title and fortune, both of which were far more impressive than those that Reginald had to look forward to. True to his predictions. Lady Diana soon put his friend at ease. On being informed that Lord Beardsley was in town to visit the celebrated William Herschel and his son, she immediately brightened exclaiming, "Are you an astronomer?
Then I am quite in luck, for I have a particular question I should like to address to someone well versed in such things. 129
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Undoubtedly, you are well acquainted with the
Almagest
are you not, Lord Beardsley?"
Diana's quick assessment of Lord Beardsley's character had not been mistaken. Shocked out of his customary timidity by the lady's apparent knowledge, he replied without even thinking, "Why, yes, but are you?"
"Not well enough, it seems. There are certain concepts that I still find perplexing and, knowledgeable as Lady Walden and Viscount Chalford are in their own particular realms, they have not the least interest or inclination for matters scientific."
"Are
you
an astronomer then?" Alan gazed in patent amazement at this astounding young woman.
"Oh no, not in the least," Diana hastened to reassure him. Actually, I was reading Ptolemy's
Harmonica,
which I found to be so fascinating that I turned to his other more famous work, which was even more intriguing, but rather rough going for me I am afraid. I am unable to grasp his theory of the equant, but I feel sure that with a little explanation on the part of someone who understands it, it would become clearer to me."
Lord Beardsley stood openmouthed. He very rarely expected such words to issue from the mouths of his fellow men, much less a female. In fact, so interested was he by the phenomenon that he quite forgot his customary shyness when faced with a member of the opposite sex. "Well, it is not all that complicated really if one stops to consider..." he began.
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"Alan, why do you not explain all this to Lady Diana during the quadrille. Your mama keeps looking over here, which reminds me of my promise to lead her in this next set. I must take my leave of you." And with that Justin was off leaving his friend to stare helplessly after him.
"She does look as though she wishes us to dance," Diana commented, correctly interpreting the marchioness's rather pointed looks in their direction.
Alan nodded glumly.
"Well, as she seems to be one of
those
sorts of mothers, perhaps we had better do so. Tony Washburne has just such a mama. She is forever keeping her eye on him, but once he has danced with me and one or two other unexceptionable women, she usually quite forgets about him and disappears into the card room."
"She does?" The concept of thus handling an interfering parent was obviously a new and striking one to his lordship.
"Oh yes," Diana blithely assured him, "and as he doesn't really consider me a female and as I can usually find him at least one other person who doesn't simper at him, we deal extremely well together. I am not a bad dancer, and I can see that you are quite light on your feet. We should manage very well I should think, and then your mother will ignore you, I promise."
The idea that he, Lord Beardsley, who had always been the last boy to be chosen for a team at games, should be thought of as anything but clumsy was so novel that at first it was impossible for him to grasp. But the more Alan considered it, the more he realized that it was self-consciousness more than 131
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anything else that had made him awkward. After arriving at this discovery, he actually began to relax and enjoy discussing with Diana the purpose of his trip to London, the Herschels and their work, and his own particular interests in the field.
Thus it was that Justin, catching sight of his friend as he and the Marchioness of Hillingdon completed a figure, was astonished to see him talking and dancing as easily as anyone else in the room. As chief architect of the entire situation, he should have been inordinately pleased, but somehow he was unaccountably annoyed that Diana had been so successful at making Lord Beardsley relax.
After conducting Alan's mother to the card room and assuring himself of her comfort, Justin made his way back to the group where Alan was earnestly explaining to a genuinely interested Diana how Ptolemy had improved upon Hipparchus's original star charts while Lady Walden and Lord Orpington were deep in a discussion of the East India Company.
In fact, Reginald was the only one who paid the least attention to his uncle's approach. "Hello, sir." He seized upon Justin eagerly and was about to launch into one of his usual extended discourses when a silvery voice fluted, "Justin St. Clair, how perfectly charming to see you here." Justin turned to find himself confronted with a vision.
"Hello, Blanche," he greeted her with tones that failed to echo the lady's enthusiasm.
Secure in her position as the reigning toast of the clubs, Lady Blanche Howard was oblivious to the gentleman's lack of 132
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interest, launching instead into a running commentary of who had set her cap at whom and which one of the Season's crop of hopefuls was most likely to be sought after. "But I must say there are far more young ladies than gentlemen here and there is positively no one besides you and Lord Livermore who has the least amount of dash." The beauty pouted prettily at him.
"Blanche, you must overcome this blind partiality on your part. What about Viscount Rexhame? No one who has recently fought two duels can be said to be lacking in
dash,"
Justin began helpfully.
"What, Colin? He's a mere baby—wet behind the ears. I need someone who is a man of the world." Laying a small white hand on his arm, she raised adoring blue eyes to his face.
Any other man would have been reduced to abject slavery—transfixed by her melting look, the perfect rosebud mouth parted slightly, and a delicate blush tinging the perfect complexion—any other man but Lord Justin St. Clair that is. Accustomed to being sought after by women of all nations and all ranks, he remained unmoved in the face of such loveliness. In fact, misliking altogether the young lady's proprietary air, he hastily disengaged his arm. "You flatter me, Blanche, but I rather fancy that is Castlereagh beckoning to me, and one ignores such a summons at one's peril." He truly had remarked the foreign secretary glancing in his direction, and had caught the statesman's eye in order to have an excuse to escape. Just to give credence to his words, Justin did stop to exchange a few desultory remarks with the 133
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gentleman, pausing just long enough for the briefest of exchanges before he quit the ballroom in disgust. Why had he returned to England? He should have stayed on the Continent, At least there the women were only out for amusement instead of one's hand in holy matrimony, and at least there they were honest about it.
Lady Blanche Howard did not care a fig for Lord Justin St. Clair. All she cared for was to capture his wealth to add to her already considerable fortune, his impeccable lineage to lend respectability to her family's recently acquired title, and the cachet of having won one of the
ton
's sought after bachelors. Justin snorted in disgust and directed his coachman to Suzette's. She at least had a perfectly healthy appreciation for his appetites and maintained the relationship on the most practical of levels, so that it was mutually beneficial to both of them with no false protestations of undying affections to confuse the issue.
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It was with the utmost sigh of relief that Justin climbed the stairs to the opera dancer's house and handed his hat and cape to Mademoiselle de Charenton herself. For all that theirs was a financial arrangement, Suzette greeted him with far more real appreciation in her eyes and far less covetousness than Lady Blanche had.
"Suzette, my dear, you look utterly ravishing." Justin's eyes slid appreciatively over the diaphanous gown that revealed more than it covered. He planted a lingering kiss on her generous lips and allowed her to lead him to a satincovered divan before a welcoming blaze, and gratefully accepted the glass of brandy she handed him. How blessedly quiet and serene it was here, the crackle of the fire the only sound, the soft candlelight washing over silken hangings. Justin sighed and ran a hand over his brow. Why did he bother with charades such as the Countess of Axbridge's rout? He always came away feeling as though he were nothing so much as a thoroughbred on parade at Tattersall's, and his encounters this evening had done nothing to lessen this sensation. Lady Diana's behavior had only made it all worse. He had been beginning to believe that she at least was a woman who was above such things. Almost she had convinced him of her uniqueness with her obvious knowledge, quick mind, and her determination to prove herself in what had always been a strictly masculine domain. But she had 135
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proven tonight that she was no better than any other member of her sex or the
ton,
for that matter.
"Ah, mon
cheri,
you must not frown so." Suzette came to sit next to him, her eyes full of concern.
"I beg your pardon, my dear. How rag-mannered of me to ignore the most beautiful woman in all of London." He raised his glass to her before gulping it down.
