A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (5 page)

The
following morning, Zanthe, anxious to cleanse the miseries of Avon Street from
her recollection, had her pretty mare saddled and, properly escorted by her
groom, trotted across Pulteney Bridge, through Sydney Place, and was soon riding
along a neat and charming country lane. Before long, the sound of pounding
hooves behind informed her that she was not to continue long alone. As she had
received a note that morning from the Signora informing her that the Viscount would
be riding, as was his habit, along that very lane, she was not entirely surprised.
How lucky that she had chosen to wear her new habit of midnight-blue merino
trimmed and frogged with silver braid and a dashing plumed hat
á la Hussar
.
A slight smile curved her lips, but she did not turn her head until he had come
up beside her. She wished him a polite, ‘Good Morning.’

Lord Launceston wasted no time upon civility.
‘What the devil is this I’m hearing about you?’

She raised her eyebrows delicately. ‘I
am at a loss to understand you, my Lord.’

‘Don’t play games with me, my girl.
Fanny has told me—’

‘Fanny?’

‘Damn it, you didn’t think her name is
really Fiammetta, did you?’

‘I had not given the matter any
thought.’

‘Never mind that. Is it true that you
are going to take charge of Susanna for her?’

‘Yes, I am. Have you any objection?’

‘I have every objection.’

‘But she seems a charming child.’

‘She may be. I know nothing of her. Have
not ever seen her. Fanny takes care of that.’

Zanthe smiled. ‘I think she is wise. It
would never do if poor little Susanna were to get into bad company.’ Her mare
took sudden exception to a flock of low-flying ducks and tossed her head in
protest. Zanthe leant forward and patted the animal’s satiny, chestnut neck. ‘I
wonder that you are so put out, Jarvis. I had quite thought, since you sent me
that note, she had taken you into her confidence.’

He smiled grimly. ‘Fanny is too shrewd
to take any man into her confidence. She plays a lone hand.’

‘I fancy she has had to. One cannot help
admiring her.’

‘I do.’

Zanthe snorted, a most unladylike noise.
‘I’m sure you do.’

‘Don’t be silly. I mean apart from all
that.’ He looked down into her lovely face, half-shaded by her ridiculous hat.
‘I told you there had been women. Lots of ‘em. Fanny’s the best of the lot.’ He
laughed rather grimly. ‘I don’t keep her, you know. If anything, she keeps me.’

‘My poor Jarvis,’ she said gently, and
meant it.

‘But,’ said the Viscount, sticking to
his guns, ‘you cannot take that child under your wing. When it is known who her
mother is—’

‘But it will not be known. We have it
all worked out. I shall introduce her simply as Lord Fallowfield’s niece. Her
Papa died when she was a baby, which is quite true, and her mother, an Italian
lady, has consigned her to my care. No one will think it strange at all.’

‘And I suppose Fallowfield will have nothing
to say?’

‘Assuredly, he will say nothing. Why
should he create a scandal where none exists? He is not, after all, being asked
to pay a penny towards her debut, or even to give her his countenance. And he
never leaves his estate in Northumberland, so the Signora informs me. We have
every hope that she will be married before he is even aware of her existence.’

‘I see. And what of Susanna’s future
husband? Will he be introduced to his mama-in-law before the wedding—or after?’

Zanthe looked a little uncomfortable.
She was not entirely happy with this part of the scheme herself. ‘Well, if he
truly loves her, I don’t suppose he will be put off by—a little thing—like—’

‘Like being fed a parcel of lies told to
draw him in and trap him into a marriage?’

‘Oh, stuff! Would you have cared if I
had turned out to be the daughter of a—a—?’

‘Great artist? Of course not. Don’t you
see? It is not what Fanny is or has done. Indeed, she is far above any man’s censure.
But the lies, Zanthe, the trickery! Those are what he will find unforgivable.’

‘Well, we’ll worry about that when he
appears upon the scene. At the moment, there isn’t anyone, and I refuse to be
concerned with the probable emotions of some imaginary young man.’

‘This is all beside the point! A young
female of your birth and in your circumstances cannot be linked with a woman
like Fanny!’

Her mouth curved into a smile, and she
peeped at him from under the brim of her hat. ‘I do believe you’re worried that
she might confide in me—things—about you. Do not concern yourself, my love.
There is nothing she could tell me that I don’t know, or guess.’

He flung up a hand and said in a choking
voice, ‘Do not call me
my love
, Zanthe, you know—’

She lowered her eyes to her hands, which
had suddenly clenched tight upon the reins. ‘I beg your pardon, it just slipped
out.’

‘I thought we were agreed to let the
dead past remain dead.’

‘No.
You
said that we should. I
did not agree. Do you know, I am quite tired of being ordered about for my own good?
First Papa, then Brookenby, then my odious mother-in-law, and now you! I had
thought you would be different.’

He made a sudden movement as though to
touch her but then let his hand drop to his side. ‘I’m sorry you think I am ordering
you about. I merely want you to be happy and, by keeping us apart, I am doing my
best to ensure that you will be.’

‘Well, I want to be happy, too. And I am
doing
my
best to ensure that I will be.’

Ignoring the presence of the groom,
Launceston reined in his mount and drew her mare to a halt by the simple
expedient of grabbing her bridle. His eyes burned as though he had a fever. He
said in a harsh voice, ‘Let it go, Zanthe. Let
me
go!’

‘You do not love me? Is that it?’

He turned his head to gaze out,
unseeing, across the downs. ‘Yes, that’s it. I do not love you.’

She made a little sound, between a laugh
and a sob. ‘You used to be a much better liar, Jarvis, dear,’ she said and
touched the mare’s flanks with her heels, leaving the Viscount frowning after
her.

The following morning, as had been
agreed with the Signora, was to be the occasion of Susanna’s first appearance
in the Pump Room. She and Zanthe were to go alone, as Margery had refused to
accompany them, partly because she disapproved of the whole scheme and partly
because she was so transparently truthful she would be bound to betray them.

‘I do not know why you agreed to sponsor
the child, Zanthe but, since you have done so, I’m sure I hope you succeed in
getting her established. I should probably let the cat out of the bag if I were
to go with you.’

‘Dear Margery, I am not going to tell
any lies you know. Susanna is exactly who I say she is, after all.’

‘There is such a thing as lying by
omission, my dear.’

‘I do not see that I shall be doing so
at all. When I introduce you to someone, I don’t tell them who your mother is,
do I?’

‘Zanthe! How can you look me in the face
and say such—’ she broke off as Parry sauntered into the breakfast parlour.

‘Hello, what’s all the row about?’

‘There is no row. Margery does not
approve of Susanna, that is all.’

‘That is not fair. I think Susanna a
very sweet little thing. All I am saying is—’

‘Yes, I know; you don’t have to say it
again.’ She rose from the table and walked towards the door. She half-turned
and said over her shoulder, ‘Do you accompany us this morning, Parry?’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Susanna and I are going to the Pump
Room, and then we have some shopping to do.’

 ‘You go on, Zan; perhaps I’ll meet you
there, if you can manage without my escort.’

‘I can’t, of course, but we must just do
our best.’ She walked out of the room, and the two remaining at the breakfast
table heard her send John, the footman, to knock at Miss Fallowfield’s door, as
it was time they were leaving.

Margery shook her head as she poured
coffee into a large cup for Paris. ‘Do you know what has got into her, Parry?
For I do not.’

‘No, but I’ll tell you this: It’s
Lombard-street to a china orange that Launceston has something to do with it.’

The continuing good weather made the
walk from the Royal Crescent to the Pump Room very agreeable and provided
Zanthe and Susanna with a little time to become better acquainted. Zanthe had
already attempted, once or twice, to draw the girl out but had been unable to
break through the rather daunting reserve that seemed habitual to her.

‘Have you visited the Pump Room before?’
Zanthe asked as they walked down the hill in a fresh wind that made their
bonnet strings dance.

‘Yes; we were taken there from school
sometimes.’

‘And where was your school situated?’

‘In Queen’s Square, Ma’am.’

‘Not a very great distance, then.’

‘No.’

‘Are we likely to meet any acquaintance
of yours among the company?’

‘Oh no. I made only two friends at
school. One has married and gone to live in Exeter. The other is in London
making her come-out.’

‘You must have been lonely when they
went away.’

Susanna shrugged, the first spontaneous
gesture Zanthe had seen from her. ‘I am used to it.’

‘You missed your Mama?’

‘No, I did not know her well enough to
miss her. I missed my
bambinaia
, my nurse.’

‘We have something in common then. I,
too, have parents who travel a great deal. I was left very much in the charge
of my own dear nurse.’

‘Do they sing?’ This seemed to be the
only reason a parent might travel in Susanna’s estimation.

Zanthe laughed. ‘Very badly. No, they
are interested in antiquities. My Papa writes books, which my Mama illustrates.
She draws and paints beautifully.’

‘Where do they travel to?’

‘Greece mostly, and Turkey. That is why
Parry and I have such ridiculous names of course.’

‘I don’t think Zanthe is ridiculous. It
sounds like music.’

‘What a lovely thing to say!’

‘Is it? I just say what I think.’

Zanthe reflected that this was true.
They had not been acquainted for very long, but she had yet to hear Susanna
make any remark that was not very much to the point. She did not gossip; she
made no attempt to be amusing or to flatter. She simply
was
. It really made
her a very restful companion.

They
soon arrived at the Pump Room, where the fashionable throng was gratified by
the agreeable vision of young Lady Brookenby, charming in lavender taffeta,
accompanied by a very pretty and unknown damsel of about eighteen years, fresh
as the morning in white muslin and a leaf-green, velvet spencer. Zanthe made
the rounds, pausing to introduce Susanna to a number of notorious rumormongers,
who might reasonably be expected to spread the word about the new arrival with
embellishments. She contrived, subtly and without the least vulgarity, to
convey the information that Miss Fallowfield was the niece of Lord Fallowfield,
the heiress to a considerable fortune, and had been entrusted to Zanthe’s care
by relatives anxious to see her respectably established.

‘A very pretty-behaved child,’ was Mrs
Weatherspoon’s verdict, endorsed by several mothers of impecunious young
gentlemen.

Presently, Zanthe perceived her brother
standing by the door in conversation with a lady and gentleman. She frowned,
for Mrs Carter was not an acquaintance to win the approval of a careful sister,
while Sir Marmaduke Carlyle had not impressed her favourably; and his
reputation, she had subsequently discovered, was very unsavoury indeed. She
caught Parry’s eye and beckoned him to join them. He bowed to the lady, shook
hands with Sir Marmaduke, and sauntered over to join Zanthe and Susanna,
looking rather bored. ‘There you are, Sis. Ready to go yet?’

‘Not yet.’ There was a slight stir at
the doorway, a few persons loitering at the entrance moved back, and the
Signora appeared upon Launceston’s arm, dressed in the height of Parisian
fashion and talking volubly to him in rapid Italian. A hush fell upon the crowd,
followed by a swell of excited chatter. The crowd surged forward to gather
around the prima donna, eager to exchange a word with the celebrity. As she
absorbed the incense of crowd worship, she glanced just once towards Zanthe and
smiled a little ruefully. There was a tiny shrug of the expressive shoulders,
and then she turned back to her admirers.

‘I wonder why she came,’ Zanthe
murmured.

‘She could not bear the suspense, I
suppose.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think she was afraid I should do
something to spoil my chances.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Talk Italian, sing—’
For the first time in their acquaintance, a mischievous dimple appeared. ‘I
might do it yet.’

‘Now why should you do that?’ Zanthe’s
eyes narrowed, and she answered her own question. ‘You do not want this at all,
do you?’

‘No.’

‘What
do
you want?’

‘I want to sing.’

‘I see. Can you—sing, I mean?’

‘Yes, better than she.’

Zanthe was startled. ‘You are very sure
of yourself.’

Susanna shook her head. ‘You mean I am
conceited? No, I am not; but one must be realistic about one’s talent, you
know.’

‘Does your m—’ Zanthe lowered her voice
a tone—‘does she know this?’

There was a sigh and the suspicion of a
pout. ‘Oh yes, but she thinks I am too young to comprehend the life I should
lead. The endless travelling, the impropriety, the protectors—well she is
wrong. I do understand, and I should enjoy it excessively.’

‘My dear Susanna!’

‘Well but, Ma’am, she wants me to be
respectably married and to live quietly in some gloomy mansion in the country
when I might be fêted in Naples or Paris. I should be bored to death.’

‘Not if you loved your husband, my
dear.’ She saw a slightly conscious look in Susanna’s dark eyes, ‘Oh, Parry has
been talking, I suppose.’

‘A little. I should not have mentioned
it if you had not. But you do understand, don’t you?’

‘The cases are different. I married to
oblige my family, it is true, but that was because I thought that the gentleman
I cared for had—had—abandoned me. It was false, but I did not know it then. I
can imagine nothing more wonderful than to live in that way with a gentleman
one truly loved.’

‘Then I expect you will, some day. One
can always get what one wants in the end.’

Zanthe laughed. ‘I suspect we are both
destined to get what we want. But in the meantime, we will be very respectable,
very decorous, and
not
embarrass our families.’

‘Oh yes, I shall be good. Do not be
afraid I shall make you uncomfortable, dear Lady Brookenby.’

‘Oh pray, call me Zanthe.’

Susanna flushed with pleasure. ‘Thank you;
I should like that—Zanthe.’

Parry, who had been watching the crowd
around the Signora, turned back to them, saying, with disgust, ‘Pack of
toadies. Shall we go?’

Zanthe raised her delicate brows. ‘Is
there somewhere you have to be, brother dear?’

He coloured a little and said airily,
‘Just a little jollification with some very good fellows, Zan. You don’t know
‘em.’

Zanthe took his arm and pulled him a
little apart from the crowd. ‘Are they the same jolly good fellows that bring
you home every night in that revolting state?’

‘Not
every
night,’ he protested
feebly.

‘Yes, every night! And I know very well where
these jollifications take place. You are going into those squalid rookeries
around Avon Street and that horrid inn. Mr Cholmondeley has told me of the
dangers to be encountered there.’

‘Oh gammon! What does he know about it?’

‘A great deal. He and his sister are
there almost every day. Parry, please listen to me. You do not look well, you
know. Not at all your usual handsome self.’ She smiled and lifted a hand to
touch his cheek. ‘Could you not, to please me, spend the evening with us at the
Upper Rooms?’

His face softened, but he answered, ‘Not
tonight. But I promise I’ll go to the next ball with you. Will that do?’

She sighed. ‘I suppose it will have to.’
She reflected that Paris’ reluctance to accompany them to the ball at least did
away with the fear that he might dangle after Susanna. He seemed quite as
uninterested in her as she was in him.

The Brookenby ladies and Susanna arrived
at the Upper Rooms escorted by Mr Cholmondeley, who was accompanied by his
sister. It was still early in the Season, and the rooms, which in another month
or so would be congested beyond bearing, were perfectly comfortable. A murmur
of admiration followed the little party, which had, alas, little to do with
Margery or Miss Cholmondeley.

Zanthe had determined to wear a gown to
signify, once and for all, the end of her mourning period and which would have
drawn down severe censure from her mother-in-law could she have seen it. For
not only was it a very becoming shade of sapphire-blue gauze over white satin, but
it was cut extremely low to display far more of her bosom than the Dowager
would have approved. Indeed, she felt a little nervous about it but sternly
told herself she was no longer a schoolgirl and many ladies were wearing gowns
cut even lower. Her golden ringlets were confined by a filigree band studied
with blue topaz, and a chain of sapphires snugly encircled her neck. A Greek zephyr
scarf, as blue as the Aegean, sent to her by her Mama, was draped across her
elbows, and long white gloves completed her toilette.

She walked into the room with her hand
tucked in Susanna’s arm, conveying reassurance and sympathy. She soon realised
this was unnecessary. It was the child’s first ball, but she was perfectly calm
and collected. Dressed, as befitted an ingénue, in white muslin embroidered
with flower-garlands in chenille thread, Susanna walked with eyes modestly
lowered, displaying long sable eyelashes to advantage. A wreath of
lily-of-the-valley adorned her glossy locks, which had been coaxed into
fashionable ringlets, already falling a little due to the luxuriant weight of
her raven hair.

Almost as soon as they had settled
themselves upon the seats reserved for peeresses and their party, a lady of
Zanthe’s acquaintance appeared with a distinguished-looking gentleman of medium
height and rather sallow complexion at her side. ‘Dear Lady Brookenby, may I
present Mr Fallowfield, who very much wishes to be acquainted with you and,
more particularly, your young companion, whom he believes to be a relative.’

‘Oh? Good Heavens, we had no notion that
any of the Fallowfields were in Bath!’ exclaimed Zanthe, secretly appalled.
‘What a very strange coincidence.’

The gentleman bowed. ‘Is it not? I
should almost have said it was impossible.’

‘Impossible, Sir? But why?’

‘The Family was unaware that Cousin
Richard had married and— But, of course, as Miss Fallowfield is sponsored by
you, Lady Brookenby—’ He bowed again.

‘Well, Sir, I think the Fallowfield
family should be very pleased to find they have so unexpected and lovely an
addition.’

Susanna stood, lifted her eyes to
Fallowfield’s face, and dropped a curtsy. ‘It is a very great, and unexpected,
pleasure for me also, Cousin.’ She held out her hand, and he took it rather
stiffly. ‘Did you know my father? I did not, you see. He died soon after I was
born.’

He relaxed visibly. ‘I did, and I was
extremely fond of him.’ He took a seat beside her. ‘And your mother? Who is
she? Forgive me, but I know nothing of his life after— I have been abroad, you
see.’

‘Mama is an Italian lady. They met, I
believe, in Naples. But I do not really know. She never recovered from his
death, and I was very early placed in school, here in Bath.’

Zanthe and she both recoiled from an
outright lie but had decided that this tale, with its careful omissions, could
hardly be called so.

‘I see. My poor child, you must have had
a lonely childhood. If only your mother had consigned you to your uncle’s
care.’ He rose from his seat and bowed once more. ‘But I must not monopolise
you. You came here to dance, not to converse with prosy old relations. Lady
Brookenby, may I call upon you at home?’

Zanthe smiled and held out her hand. ‘Of
course, please do.’

They both watched him walk away and
heaved a simultaneous sigh. ‘Nothing could have been more fortunate!’ declared
Zanthe. ‘The whole of Bath will know by tomorrow morning that you have been
acknowledged by the Family. If there were any doubters, which I cannot believe,
they will be completely satisfied.’

‘I wonder if my father was like him,’
mused Susanna. ‘I thought him very agreeable, didn’t you?’

‘Very. Oh, here is Mr Whatshisname, the
Master of Ceremonies. I do believe he is bringing you a partner.’

Mr King, thus irreverently designated,
had indeed come to introduce a young man to Miss Fallowfield as a very
desirable partner. She went off on his arm, and Zanthe was able to relax a
little, with another hurdle successfully negotiated. She sat, clutching her
fan, scanning the crowd for the one face she hoped to see. But she did not
really expect it. Launceston was hardly the type of guest Mr King welcomed to
his assemblies. Nor would he be presented to any lady as a ‘very desirable partner.’
In fact, she reflected, he was not desirable at all by any rational standard
—
louche
, dissolute, unreliable,
harsh-featured. Why, oh why, did she love him so?

She was presently solicited to dance by
a gentleman the very opposite of the Viscount
—
handsome,
well-dressed, courteous. She went down two sets with him and remembered neither
his face nor his name a moment after he had left her. Presently, she saw
Margery, who had preferred to sit with her friends on the benches at the back
of the room, moving down the set with Mr Cholmondeley. A tender little smile
curved Zanthe’s lips. Whatever else might come of it, their sojourn in Bath had
been a most excellent thing for her sister-in-law. She was reliving the youth
she had never been permitted to enjoy. Handsomely dressed, courted by a
gentleman she liked and respected and, best of all, released from the tyranny
of a difficult and demanding parent, she was the happiest of creatures. At that
moment, Zanthe caught her eye and smiled. Margery’s answering smile gladdened
her heart. If ever anyone deserved to be happy, she did. Zanthe wondered when
Mr Cholmondeley would come to the point, and what in the world she would do
without the loving friend upon whom she had relied for so long.

She was solicited to dance several more
times before the music stopped promptly at eleven o’clock. Susanna, too, had
scarcely returned to her seat between sets. Yet, when they were handed into
their chairs at the end of the evening, she did not seem unduly elated by her
success. As the chair-men sped up the hill to the Crescent, Zanthe wondered how
she was to break it to the Signora that her lovely daughter had plans of her
own for the future, and the respectable marriage she envisaged played no part
in them.