A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (2 page)

Some
six weeks later, Zanthe, Margery, and young Mr Sidney were sitting in the tastefully
appointed morning-room of their hired house in the Royal Crescent expecting
their first morning-callers.

Had the Dowager been able to see them,
she would have known her worst fears to be realised. Although she had not gone
so far as to wear colours, Zanthe had lightened her mourning almost to the
point of non-existence. She was charmingly attired this morning in a half-gown
of pearl-grey figured cambric, with a pleated bodice and elbow-length sleeves, the
whole trimmed with knots of black velvet ribbon. The heavy widow’s cap had been
discarded in favour of a confection of lace and muslin that hardly deserved to
be called a cap at all, from under which her ringlets rioted unchecked.

Margery’s attire was hardly less altered.
Free, for the first time in her life, from the dowager’s baleful influence, her
severe demeanour had been replaced by that of general benevolence. An
experienced lady’s maid had given her a more becoming hairstyle, and Zanthe had
insisted she discard the depressing browns and olive greens she had been
accustomed to wear. This morning, she wore stiff, amber silk that rustled in a
most satisfying manner whenever she moved and, on her head, was a startlingly
stylish mustard velvet headdress, rather resembling a large mushroom, adorned
with peacock feathers.

The ladies had been a week in Bath
already and had visited the Pump Room, attended a concert at the Upper Rooms,
and shopped in Milsom Street. Several ladies and a few gentlemen who had known
the late Lord Brookenby had left cards, but the ladies had not been ‘at home’
to callers until this morning. Parry had joined them the previous afternoon,
arriving by the Mail in excellent spirits and ready for any adventure that
might offer itself.

‘Not that I think it likely that
anything will happen in this accursed place. Never saw such a bunch of quizzes
in my life!’

Zanthe frowned, but her eyes danced.
‘Recollect, you’re not here to enjoy yourself, Paris. You’re here to protect
us.’

‘Protect you? From what, I should like
to know?’

‘Oh, from being seduced by rakes, taken
in by fortune hunters, kidnapped by—’

At that moment, the door opened to admit
the butler, followed by the first of their callers.

‘Mrs Weatherspoon, Miss Weatherspoon,
Miss Katherine Weatherspoon and Miss Susan Weatherspoon, m’Lady.’

There entered a wispy lady smothered in black
bombazine, followed by three flat-bosomed damsels unbecomingly dressed in white
muslin, which revealed a good deal of goose-pimpled flesh, for the May morning
was chilly despite the clear, blue skies and sunshine.

This lady advanced upon Margery saying,
‘Dear Lady Brookenby, such a pleasure to welcome you to Bath. Your late husband
was such a friend of my dear Mr Weatherspoon, also, alas, departed from this
world.’

Margery flushed a deep, unattractive red
and stammered something inarticulate. Seeing her at a loss, Zanthe rose from
her seat and bowed slightly before walking forward to shake hands. ‘As it
happens, I am Lady Brookenby, Ma’am. May I present my sister-in-law Miss
Brookenby and my brother Mr Sydney?’

Mrs Weatherspoon stared down her nose at
the proffered hand and just touched it with her own. ‘
You
are Lady
Brookenby? I confess I had not expected—’

‘I am Zanthe, the second Lady Brookenby.
My late husband’s first wife, Patricia, has been dead for several years.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The lady took in the pretty
gown, frivolous cap, and dancing curls with an expression of extreme
disapprobation. ‘That would explain it.’

‘Will you not present your daughters to
me?’

Miss Amelia, Miss Katherine, and Miss
Susan were duly presented, curtsied, and retired to a sofa where they sat
whispering, giggling, and casting sidelong glances of invitation to where Paris
sat studiously reading a newspaper while his sister made stilted conversation
with their Mama. This took the form of a ruthless inquisition by the visitor,
who had no apparent scruples about asking the most impertinent questions.

Eventually, losing patience, Zanthe was
obliged to give the lady a set-down. ‘Is there anything else you wish to know,
Ma’am? I think we have covered my lineage, fortune, childlessness, and future
prospects quite thoroughly.’

Mrs Weatherspoon bridled. ‘I beg your
pardon?’

‘Indeed, I think you should!’

The lady rose with outraged dignity.
‘Come, girls. We are leaving.’

All four then stalked out of the room,
leaving Zanthe laughing and Margery very worried, indeed.

‘My love, I know the temptation was very
great, but you should not have said that. Recollect that we are new arrivals
while she is an established resident. She might make things very awkward for
you.’

‘Oh, don’t worry yourself, Margery,’
interposed Paris carelessly. ‘No one could make things awkward for a sprightly,
young widow with three thousand a year.’

But Paris was wrong. Mrs Weatherspoon
was not popular, but she was powerful among the various ladies who gave balls,
got up concerts, and held receptions in Bath. The results of this disastrous
visit were apparent when Zanthe and Margery next visited the Pump Room. Several
ladies who had previously smiled graciously upon them now looked coldly and
turned a shoulder. The whispers flew around the room and came at last to Paris’s
ears. Mrs Weatherspoon had pronounced Zanthe to be improper, vulgar, and fast. No
lady of breeding, she said, could be expected to receive such a person.

A gentleman who had been watching the
little comedy being played out in front of him now moved with some deliberation
from his position by the door and made his way across the room towards Zanthe.
The crowd fell silent, watching.

‘Lady Brookenby.’ He bowed. ‘I hardly
dare hope that you remember me. I had the inexpressible pleasure of your
acquaintance before your marriage.’

Her eyes widened, and the pretty colour
drained from her cheeks. Then, recollecting herself, she lifted her chin a
little and met his eyes challengingly. ‘Most certainly I remember you, Viscount.’

To acknowledge the acquaintance of one
of the most notorious libertines in the country would hardly contradict the
rumours flying around the room. Indeed, if anything more were needed to
convince the Bath matrons that she was fast, she had now provided it. But she
had not seen him since she had been seventeen, and whatever came of it, she
could not turn away. Aware that, in the comparative silence, their conversation
was clearly audible to some of Bath’s most notorious gossips, she said in a
cool, even voice, ‘I am most happy to renew our acquaintance.’

He looked a little amused. ‘I am
overwhelmed.’ He gave the assembled company a lazy glance and smiled, showing
his teeth. Recalled to themselves, the crowd plunged into animated speech. In a
much lower voice, he continued, ‘I seem to remember that, at our last encounter,
you gave me a very decided rebuff.’

‘Did I? I really don’t remember that at
all.’

‘How should you? No doubt, at that time,
your life was full of gentlemen who attempted to kiss you.’

‘Not gentlemen, no.’

‘Ah, a hit, a very palpable hit!’

She laughed a little. ‘Much has changed
since those days. I have changed.’

‘Yes, you have grown even more
beautiful.’

She looked at him. ‘You have altered,
too, my Lord.’

Indeed, Viscount Launceston had aged in
a way for which the passage of eight years scarcely accounted. There were harsh
lines around his eyes and mouth to evidence the years of hard living. He was
now, she knew, only six-and-thirty, but he looked much older. He was not a
handsome man, but his lean face was wickedly attractive, especially when he
smiled and his rather hard eyes were lit from within by amusement. He wore his
modish attire negligently with none of the affectations of the Dandy set, and
no aspirant to fashion would have demanded to know who had made his boots or
designed his waistcoat.

‘I must congratulate you, by-the-by.’

She looked a question.

‘You have been in Bath for what—a
sennight?—and it appears that, already, you have made a most dangerous enemy.’

She looked a little scornful. ‘The lady
may say what she pleases about me.’

He glanced behind her to where Margery
stood alone and close to tears. ‘I think your companion is not so indifferent.’

Zanthe followed his gaze and bit her
lip. ‘You are very right. Poor, dear Margery; she had such hopes of this visit.
Her life has been a very lonely one, you see. And now— Oh, I should have
guarded my wretched tongue for her sake.’

‘Do not distress yourself. I shall spike
Mrs Weatherspoon’s guns for you.’

‘How?’

‘Firstly, I think a little polite
blackmail is indicated. The late George Weatherspoon was by no means the
pattern card of virtue his relict would have one believe. Nor, in her day, was
she.’

‘Excellent! And secondly?

He held her blue eyes with his. ‘You are
aware that everyone in the room is watching us?’

‘Yes.’

‘For your own sake, you should publicly
rebuff me once more, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘’Do so. I will retire with all
humility.’

‘I would not give them the
satisfaction.’

‘Then I must do it for you.’ His
expression altered, he stepped back quickly as though he had received a blow.
Then he shrugged his powerful shoulders and made her a deeply ironic bow before
turning on his heel. Not a person in the large room but would have taken their
oath that young Lady Brookenby had sent the disreputable Lord Launceston about
his business. There was a collective exhalation of breath, and then the
discourse rose again with renewed animation.

The
effects of the Viscount’s intervention were first felt the following Sunday
when Zanthe and Margery attended Holy Communion at the Abbey. After the
service, Mrs Weatherspoon made it a point to greet them with a wide, insincere
smile and kept them chatting in a brisk wind far longer than Zanthe thought at
all necessary.

‘Dear Lady Brookenby, I think you are
not acquainted with Miss Tarleton—Mrs Preston—Lady Kilmarnock—’ The
introductions seemed interminable but, for her sister-in-law’s sake, Zanthe
smiled, shook hands, exchanged commonplaces, and accepted a surprising number
of invitations that had, for some unaccountable reason, been overlooked by the
careless hostess. She could not help murmuring to Margery, ‘I wish I had been a
fly on the wall during that “polite blackmail” the Viscount spoke of. It
certainly seems to have worked a treat.’

‘Oh hush, Zanthe.’ Margery admonished
her. ‘The poor woman is trying to make amends.’

 Upon their release from Mrs
Weatherspoon, they were approached by a middle-aged couple who, while not
precisely identical, were so much alike that it came as no surprise to their new
acquaintances to discover that they were brother and sister, born within a
single hour. They were of the same height, tall for a lady, medium for a
gentleman, and both very thin. They shared an expression of extreme benevolence
and peered shortsightedly through thick spectacles. The lady wore her graying
hair in youthful ringlets while her brother’s still-thick thatch stuck up on
his head like a brush, giving him a permanently surprised appearance.

‘Do, pray, forgive us for coming up to
you like this without being introduced,’ twittered the lady in a high, girlish
voice. ‘So rag-mannered but, you see, I have a letter from a common
acquaintance of ours, my dear Miss Brookenby, and I can only hope that you will
consider it a sufficient introduction.’

‘A common acquaintance?’ Margery looked
pleased and interested.

‘Yes, indeed, Miss Brookenby, your respected
Rector, Doctor Thatcher, such a charming man, was up at Oxford with my brother—when
was it, Mortimer, oh, at least twenty years ago, was it not? How time does fly!
Oh, pray, may I present my brother to you, the Reverend Mr Cholmondeley, who is
taking his annual holiday from his clerical duties in Lancashire. And I am
Letitia Cholmondeley, “Letty” to my friends, of whom I do so hope you will become
one if you do not think it impertinent of me.’

She paused to take a breath, allowing Mr
Cholmondeley and Margery to exchange inarticulate murmurs. Zanthe, accustomed
to her sister-in-law’s incapacitating diffidence, recognised, with sympathy,
that Mr Cholmondeley was almost equally afflicted. However, when he spoke,
though his words were disjointed, his voice was unexpectedly deep and pleasant.

‘An
honour
—Ma’am. My
friend Thatcher—full of praise—your benevolence—the poor—I am overwhelmed!’

Miss Cholmondeley, having recovered her
breath, hurried once more into speech: ‘We do hope that we may persuade you to
lend us your aid while you are here, Miss Brookenby, if Lady Brookenby can
spare you to us. It is difficult to believe while we stand here by this wonderful
old abbey that not so very far away there are streets that would absolutely
shock you. Avon Street now—the poverty, the vice, and disease, you know—so very
distressing and not nice to talk about in front of dear Lady Brookenby, so
young and, if I may say so, very pretty—but there it is. If persons of goodwill
do not help them, the children especially, poor little things, I do not know
how they are to go on. And it is not the least use trying to interest them in
spiritual
matters while they are starving, of course.’

‘No, I should imagine not,’ agreed
Zanthe. ‘I’m sure we would both—’

The spinster threw up her hands. ‘No, oh
no, dear Lady Brookenby, we could not think of allowing you to join us in those
dreadful tenements. You are here to recover your health and spirits after your
sad loss. But your sister-in-law is used to go among the poor, and such sights
as she might see, however shocking—well—I am sure she has seen as bad or worse
in Lincolnshire.’

‘As too have I, my dear Ma’am. I have
been used to go among the poor quite as much as my sister, I assure you.’

‘Oh, but that is in the country! Here it
is so very—you can have no notion. It is not just the poverty, you know.’ She
lowered her voice and said in trembling accents, ‘There is crime—terrible crime
and much—vice.’

Zanthe smiled. The lady seemed to have a
very romantic notion of the bucolic life. ‘I daresay. You have your
housebreakers and pickpockets; we have our poachers and smugglers. I should
think there is little to choose between them for brutality and sheer
wickedness. However, I have found that even very rough men are often capable of
gratitude for any acts of charity and kindness toward their women and children.
And, as for the women, I assure you they are quite as likely to fall victim to
a life of vice as any of those in the town.’ She saw that it would be difficult
to convince Miss Cholmondeley that she should be included in the benevolent
meddling the lady proposed and, with a little shrug, she acquiesced for the
moment. After all, it was not to perform charitable deeds that she had come to
Bath.

While Margery and Miss Cholmondeley
plunged into discussion, and the Reverend gentleman beamed upon them both,
Zanthe stood clasping and unclasping her hands in her muff and wriggling her
toes in her little kid boots in a vain attempt to warm them. She would not for
the world have interrupted the conversation, however. It was such a pleasure to
see Margery happy and animated. She was staring up at the beauties of the west
facade of the Abbey when she heard her name and turned to find Paris at her
elbow.

‘Parry, Good Heavens, I had thought you
tucked up in bed still.’

Parry was in a rollicking mood. His
breath smelled strongly of brandy and his pleasant voice was slurred. ‘Bed?
Haven’t been t’bed all night’. Had a capital time, kickin’ up a lark with some
very good fellers.’

Zanthe took a step back from her
brother, wrinkling her nose. ‘You’re foxed—at this hour of the morning?’

He blinked at her owlishly.
‘Devil-a-bit! This ain’t nothin’. You should ha’ seen me a couple o’ hours
ago.’

‘Well, you must go away. Margery has
just made some new friends, and I won’t have you spoiling things for her.’

‘Don’t see that. Introduce me! Happy to
make their acq—acq—happy to meet ‘em!’

She thrust her hand in his arm and
dragged him to some little distance from the Cholmondeleys. ‘How odious you
are! Can you not behave yourself for my sake?’

He pulled his arm away and staggered
slightly. ‘Well, it was you insisted I come with you to this cursed place. D’you
expect me to sit about doin’ the pretty with a lot of dowagers?’

‘Yes! That is exactly what I expect.’
She folded her arms across her breast and pursed her lips crossly. ‘Your
behaviour is quite irresponsible.’

‘You looked just like Mama when you said
that,’ he told her, grinning.

She looked aghast. ‘No! Did I? Oh dear!’

He giggled. ‘All girls grow to be like their
mothers. Seen it over and over, and—’ He stopped abruptly and clapped a hand
over his mouth.

‘May I be of assistance?’

She turned swiftly to see Launceston
standing a little behind her. He was watching Parry with an expression of weary
forbearance. ‘I don’t know if you are aware of it, Ma’am, but judging from the
greenish shade of his complexion, your brother is about to be extremely unwell.
I suggest you allow me to remove him from this too-public locality.’

 Zanthe cast a look at her companions.
Margery and Letty were still in earnest conversation, but she caught Mr
Cholmondeley glancing in their direction. He looked away quickly as he met her
eye. ‘Pray, do remove him, Sir. If you would convey him home, I would be most
grateful.’ She hesitated a moment and then said, ‘Would you remain there until
I return? I would like to—to—have speech with you.’

‘It would be unwise.’

‘Please.’

He bowed. ‘Of course, if that is your
wish.’ He turned to Parry and, with surprising ease, picked the boy up and
threw him over his shoulder. ‘I will find a chair in the High Street.’ He
strode off around the corner of the great facade and was gone.

 It was about half-an-hour later that
the Brookenby ladies were admitted into the house by a disapproving butler. A
maidservant was busy in the hallway with a mop and bucket, and when Zanthe
attempted a propitiating smile in her direction, she was met with an offended
sniff. She realised that only an offering of hard cash was likely to soothe her
affronted household.

‘Where is my brother, Billings?’ she
asked as she shrugged herself out of her light silk pelisse.

‘He has been put to—he is in his
bedchamber, m’Lady.’

‘Good, good—and—Lord Launceston? Is he
still here?’

‘In the morning-room, m’Lady. A cold
collation has been set out in the dining-room for your refreshment. After the
gentleman leaves, of course.’ Thus reminding his mistress that it would be the
height of impropriety for the Viscount to lunch with her without her brother
present to play the host.

Zanthe smiled at her sister-in-law.
‘Forgive me a moment, Margery. You go on up. I must thank Launceston for his
kindness.’

‘We are very much obliged to him,’
acknowledged Miss Brookenby. ‘I should have been so mortified if the
Cholmondeleys had been aware of the state Parry was in.’

‘I think Mr Cholmondeley did see, but he
said nothing. I liked him, didn’t you?’

Margery flushed a rich purple and
nodded. ‘Very pleasant gentleman.’

‘He seemed to like you, too, I thought.’

Her sister-in-law glanced up eagerly.
‘You think so?’

‘Goose! I have just said so.’ She gave
her a gentle little push. ‘Go away now. I shan’t be long.’

The Viscount was standing by the window,
looking out over the haha to the countryside beyond. It was noon and, as the
sun was directly overhead, his face was in shadow. He looked in that dim light,
just as he had eight years earlier, thought Zanthe. His plentiful, black hair
fell over his forehead in a disorder that made her long to smooth it from his
brow; his dark eyes still glowed, she thought, with the passions that had at
once frightened and fascinated her. Then he turned into the light and, once
more, she was facing the man she had met in the Pump Room, his hair silvered at
the temples, lines of dissipation hardening his mouth, and deep, frowning
clefts between his eyebrows. He stood looking at her, and she watched his
expression change. He looked, she thought, like a man standing by the grave of
a loved one.

She came forward, holding out her hand. He
bowed formally, and her hand dropped to her side. She said, with a slight
effort, ‘It seems that you are always standing by to come to my rescue. How can
I thank you?’

‘What, for playing nursemaid to that
young idiot? You need not.’

‘For that and for dealing with Mrs Weatherspoon.
Whatever did you say to her? It must have been most persuasive.’

He laughed. ‘It is better that you
should not know, Lady Brookenby.’

‘Lady Brookenby? Why not Zanthe? That is
what you used to call me.’

‘I always thought it a very beautiful name.’

‘I make you free of it.’ She took a step
closer. ‘I remember other names—sweetheart—darling—beloved. Names no one else
has ever called me.’

‘Not Brookenby?’

She laughed, but not as if she were
amused. ‘No, most decidedly not my husband! He never rose above a terse
m’dear
.’

‘Yet he loved you?’

‘Yes, at first, but his infatuation soon
burnt itself out. Then, I think, he was merely fond of me.’

‘Fond! Oh my God!’

‘I wanted nothing more—from him. Jarvis,
why do you look so—can we not—?’

He shook his head. ‘My sweet, take my
word for it; there is no going back.’

Her lip trembled. ‘No? Don’t you want
to?’

‘Want to!’ He turned from her abruptly,
to stand once more by the window. ‘Of course, I want to! What do you think it
means to me to be here with you, alone? Knowing I could take you in my arms and
there is no one, this time, to stop me from—’ He bit his lip and said in a
calmer tone, ‘But it won’t do, my darling. I never was fit to be your husband;
I knew that. But then, all those years ago, if you had accepted my offer, I
could have changed. I
would
have changed. But now? I doubt if there is a
single folly in the canon I have not committed since you married Brookenby. I
gambled my fortune away long since; what was left of it after I kept a
succession of— Well, never mind that—’

Zanthe paid no heed at all to the last
part of this speech. She interrupted him now, saying, ‘Your offer?’

He shook his head as though to clear it,
frowning. ‘What?’

‘You said, “if you had accepted my
offer.” What offer? You never made me an offer.’