A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (9 page)

‘Aye, that is how you met the impudent
jackanapes who dared—will he be at this gala tonight?’

‘No, Mr Cholmondeley has had to go back
to Lancashire for a few days. He will, naturally, return soon, for his guiding
hand is needed upon our little company,’ interposed Zanthe, seeing that Margery
was unable to answer. ‘We miss him sadly.’

The Dowager grunted. ‘I am an old woman,
and I am tired to death, but I suppose I must go if you insist upon it.’

‘If you do not care to go, Mama, I shall
be happy to stay at—’ Margery stopped abruptly as Zanthe trod on her foot.

‘Nonsense,’ she said breezily. ‘Of
course, you will come, Mama. Why else come to Bath if not to enjoy all its
frivolous pursuits?’

And, since Lady Brookenby really did
wish to go and had protested only as a matter of form, it was agreed that she
should.

The
Gala began at five-o-clock, but it was a little after six when the Brookenby
party arrived at the Sydney Gardens Hotel. They had eaten only a light dinner
for
refreshments would be served in the Banqueting Room or, if the weather proved
favourable, in the many booths which bordered the gardens.

The Dowager had changed from her
bombazine into an equally funereal gown of heavy black silk trimmed with a
great deal of silver lace. She wore a turban of black velvet twisted with
silver brocade and a depressing mourning brooch containing the hair of her
husband and all her deceased progeny. She was, however, in unusually good
spirits as the lights, music, and lighthearted crowds worked their magic upon
her. She was pleased with the introductions Zanthe made and gratified by the
attentions she received.

‘What is it, dearest?’ asked Zanthe,
seeing how wistfully Margery scanned the crowds.

‘Oh, nothing. That is—I was just
wondering if the Cholmondeleys would be here.’

Zanthe joined her in searching for the
familiar faces but stiffened when she encountered in their stead Lord
Launceston sauntering about the gardens with Signora Villella upon his arm. But,
as she watched them, she became comfortable at once. They conversed together easily
as old friends, but she could perceive nothing amorous in Launceston’s demeanor.
It was true that he smiled charmingly at her whenever she spoke to him, but it
was not the smile he kept for Zanthe. As though he felt her eyes upon him, he
turned his head and stared at her. She held the level gaze with her own and,
for a moment, the lights, noise, and scents of the gardens disappeared and it
was as though she and Launceston were alone, isolated upon some peak far above
the multitude. Then the orchestra started up, and the spell was broken. He
turned back to his companion, and Zanthe found that her mother-in-law was
regarding her with deep suspicion.

‘Who is that man?’

‘What? What man? Whom do you mean,
Ma’am?’

‘You know very well whom I mean, Madam.’
She pointed with her fan. ‘The tall man who has that bold-faced creature
hanging upon his arm.’

Zanthe glanced uneasily at Susanna, but
she was, as always, serene and composed. The insult to her mother might not
have reached her ears. It was Margery who rushed into speech.

‘Oh, that is Signora Villella. Is she
not lovely? Such a glorious voice!’

‘And the gentleman?’

She swallowed. ‘Lord Launceston, Mama.’

‘Launceston!’ Her tone left Zanthe in no
doubt that she knew all about that ill-fated romance eight years earlier.
‘Launceston,’ she repeated more thoughtfully. ‘How long has he been in Bath?’

‘I really could not—I do not—not long, I
believe,’ stammered Margery, her cheeks flaming with colour as they always did
when she was distressed.

‘He arrived a few days before we did.’ Zanthe
glanced at her sister-in-law and gave her a tight little smile. ‘Do not be
distressed, dearest. Launceston is over one-and-twenty, and he may come to Bath
if he so desires.’

‘So that is why you wished to leave
Baguely. You had arranged to meet that man! How long have you been in
communication with him? Was this going on when my son was alive?’ As Zanthe
made no reply, she reached out a claw-like hand to grip Zanthe’s bare wrist.
‘Answer me!’

‘Pray, stop calling him “that man,”
Ma’am.’ She pulled her arm away and rubbed her bruised wrist with her other
hand. ‘I had not had the slightest contact with him before we arrived in Bath,
and I assure you I had no notion he was staying here. Indeed, from what I knew
of him, this is the last place I should have expected to meet him.’

‘Liar!’

People were beginning to stare. Zanthe
felt her eyes fill with tears as the old lady’s familiar, deadening, influence stole
over her. She had thought she could escape it, but the spirit that had buoyed
her until now had dissipated. She was not as strong as she had supposed.

‘You are looking very beautiful
tonight.’ It was his voice, low, amused, faintly mocking. She half-turned to
find him standing a little behind and to the side of her. The courage she had
thought lost returned to her. She turned and held out her hand, warmly
welcoming, to lead him forward.

‘Jarvis, I do not think you have met my
mother-in-law, Lady Brookenby.’

‘I have not had that honour,’ he said,
bowing. ‘Allow me to welcome you to Bath, Ma’am.’

The old lady’s mouth worked for a few moments
as she bit back the words that rose to her lips. She presently recovered
herself enough to nod and say, ‘Obliged to you.’

‘Not at all. But you cannot be
comfortable standing on this windy path, Ma’am. Will you not permit me to
escort you to one of the booths where you may be seated and take some
refreshment?’

Without awaiting an answer, he took one
of her clawed hands and placed it upon his arm. With a charming air of
gallantry, he steered her towards a booth, seated her, arranged a cushion at
her back, called a waiter to bring wine and ratafia biscuits, and sat beside
her, talking agreeably.

Zanthe and Margery could only stare in
disbelief. ‘Why, he has her eating out of his hand,’ said Zanthe in an awed
voice. ‘Look, she tapped him with her fan. She’s
flirting
with him!’

‘Pinch me, Zanthe, I must be dreaming,’
answered her sister-in-law in a bemused voice. ‘Is she really
laughing
?’

‘If you are dreaming, we are having the
same dream. How in the world did he do it?’

Margery considered. ‘I suppose it is a
very long time since a handsome man paid any attention to her. In fact, I doubt
if any handsome man has
ever
paid any attention to her. My father was
not exactly—’

‘No, indeed, I have seen his portrait.’

Launceston rose from his seat and made
his way to the path where the two ladies still lingered. Susanna had accepted
Mr Templeton’s arm and was strolling with him along the illuminated pathways.

‘Your Mama would like you to partake of
refreshments with her, Miss Brookenby.’ He bowed, ‘May I take you to her?’

She shook her head and said a little
gruffly, ‘No, my Lord, you must want to talk to Zanthe. I will go and keep Mama
occupied.’

‘Thank you.’ He stood back and watched
her as she walked away. ‘I like that woman,’ he said. ‘She has quality.’ He
turned back to Zanthe. ‘Now, my fair one, what did that old harridan say to
bring you to tears?’

‘Old harridan? I thought you were
getting along with her famously.’

He grinned. ‘Captivating lonely old
ladies is not difficult, my sweet. You may say it is my stock in trade, in
fact.’

‘And lonely young ladies, as well?’

‘Oh, that is far more dangerous. For, while
I am busy beguiling her, she may slip under my guard and steal my heart.’

‘Really?’

‘It has been known to happen—once.’ He
stood looking down into the lovely face raised to his. ‘You still have not told
me what she said to you. You seemed so distressed. I do not like to see that
look.’

She lowered her eyes and twisted her fan
between her hands. ‘She accused me of coming to Bath to meet you—as though we
had some sordid assignation—and she asked how long I had been in touch with you—and—whether
it was before Brookenby died.’ She swallowed and dashed a hand across her eyes.
‘I felt
sullied
, Jarvis.’

‘I can imagine. But it is not like you
to take this so seriously. What does it matter what she says?’

‘Oh, you are a man! You cannot
understand what it is to live with someone who constantly undermines your
confidence, chips away at your self-respect, teases the life out of you over
every little thing until you are ready to scream.’

 ‘But she has no control over you,
surely? You are not dependent upon her? How are you situated?’

‘Financially, you mean?’

‘Do not think me impertinent. I cannot
advise you if I do not know the full circumstances.’ He took her hand and led
her to a nearby bench. ‘Tell me.’

Zanthe searched in her reticule for her
handkerchief, blew her nose, sniffed, and prepared to be businesslike. ‘Well, I
have my jointure, which comes from the funds and brings me an income of three
thousand a year.’

He looked very much taken aback. ‘Three
thousand! Good God!’

‘Yes, about that, I believe. I had
thought that Margery and I could set up home together. We could live very
comfortably upon my income. That is partly why I suggested coming to Bath—to
see if it would answer; but then Mr Cholmondeley came upon the scene, and I could
soon see that scheme would come to nothing. I can conceive of no alternative
but to return to Baguely with Mama-in-Law once Margery is married.’

He smiled grimly. ‘What nonsense is
this? Do you seriously believe that, if your sister-in-law marries, you will
remain unwed for any longer than you choose to be so?’

She bit her lip. ‘I shall not marry
again. I swore if I did, then this time it should be for love. I see no
possibility of being able to do so.’

A groan burst from him then. ‘Zanthe—Zanthe—forget
me! You will be sought in marriage by many decent, honourable men. One of them
will win your heart eventually.’

That made her laugh, a little sadly.
‘But I don’t want a decent, honourable man. I want you.’

He grinned. ‘Thank you.’ His gaze
wandered to where the Dowager sat. He watched her dip a ratafia biscuit into
her wine and suck out the sweetened liquid with a slurp. He shuddered.

‘No, you cannot go back to Lincolnshire.
What about your parents?’

She shook her head. ‘They are fixed in Constantinople.
They have a very pretty villa on the Bosphorus, but I do not think it would
suit me. I have no interest in their crumbling antiquities.’ She brightened,
‘Perhaps I could set up home with Parry in London? What would you say to that?’

‘Good God, when I think of the kind of
trouble the two of you would get into, preyed upon by every ding-boy and
beau-trap in Town—’

She opened her eyes very wide and said
innocently, ‘Then what do you propose I should do? You say I cannot return to
Lincolnshire, I will not go to Constantinople, I may not live with Parry in
London, and I must leave Bath when Margery marries. It is a problem, isn’t it?’
She stood up and laid her hand upon his arm. ‘Never mind. Perhaps you are right,
and some handsome, honourable and wealthy suitor will appear in Bath to sweep
me off my feet. That is what you hope for—isn’t it, Jarvis?’

‘Yes,’ he answered through his teeth.
‘Yes, that is what I hope for.’

In
the following two weeks, there were several developments that gave Zanthe considerable
disquiet. Firstly, while Viscount Launceston scowled direfully whenever he
caught sight of Zanthe driving, dancing, or flirting with Sir Marmaduke, he
made no effort to intervene in this promising relationship. Secondly, Mr
Cholmondeley did not return to Bath when he was expected to do so. Thirdly,
rehearsals for the concert were riven by discord, mostly due to the Misses
Weatherspoon, who resented being put in the shade by a young female no one had
ever heard of who was much better-looking and by far more talented than they.
Moreover, they were by no means pleased by the behavior of young Mr Templeton,
who had, as anticipated, fallen wildly in love with Susanna at first sight.

Of these, it was Mr Cholmondeley’s
strange behavior that concerned Zanthe the most. She had already waited eight
years for Launceston, a few more weeks made no difference to her eventual
happiness one way or another; and she had every confidence in Susanna’s ability
to conduct her own affairs. But, having watched her sister-in-law blossom into,
if not a beauty, a warm and loving woman, she was dismayed to see, without the
Reverend’s counteracting influence, the old Margery reappear: shy, taciturn,
and desolate.

‘When do you expect your brother to come
back to Bath?’ she asked Miss Cholmondeley one morning as they strolled
together towards the White Hart Inn in Stall Street, where rehearsals took
place in an upper room. ‘Surely, he will return in time for the concert?’

‘Oh, Lady Brookenby, if only I could be
certain of that. I do not know what made him leave so suddenly. He said he had
received a letter calling him home
—
but I am sure I
do not know how that could be, for there were no letters for him from
Lancashire that morning, I know. And he had seemed so cheerful when he returned
from escorting you and dear Miss Brookenby to the play. We had such a
comfortable talk.’

‘Oh?’ Zanthe found it difficult to fain
an interest she was far from feeling.

‘Yes, indeed. He admires your
sister-in-law so much, you know. I was telling him how I had heard from—my Goodness!
I shall forget my own name next—all about Baguely Hall and what a magnificent
old house it is, and how very grand. And the huge fortune that Miss Brookenby
will inherit—’

‘I beg your pardon, Ma’am?’ Zanthe rounded
upon the poor little lady so suddenly that she seemed quite frightened.

‘What—is anything the matter—have I said
something—?’

‘What is this nonsense about Margery’s
fortune?’

‘Oh, I cannot at all remember—only that—Doctor
Thatcher—’

‘I find it hard to believe that Doctor
Thatcher has told you any such thing. He must know that Margery is not an
heiress. She has her daughter’s portion, which she will receive upon her
marriage. The estate is entailed.’

‘Oh? I fear I must have misconstrued. I
have no head for business—’

‘Now I understand,’ murmured Zanthe. ‘Poor
Mr Cholmondeley
—
frightened off by a grand house and a
non-existent fortune.’

‘What was that you said, dear Lady
Brookenby?’

‘Nothing. But, do, pray, listen to me,
Miss Cholmondeley. It is of the greatest importance that your brother should
return for the concert. Please write and tell him that he
must
return.
It is vital.’

‘But why? What shall I say?’

‘Oh, I don’t know—yes I do—tell him it
is his Christian duty, that he cannot desert his post like this. And, indeed,
it is quite true that the affair is falling apart since he left. There is
considerably more squabbling than rehearsing going on.’

‘Very well, if you think I should,’
quavered Miss Cholmondeley, anxious to please.

‘I do think it.’ She smiled
encouragingly and gave the little woman a friendly pat upon the shoulder. Then
she caught sight of a familiar figure lounging along the street towards her.
‘Oh, should you mind going on alone? I must just have a word with Lord
Launceston about—about—a—horse—yes, a horse.’

‘Oh, certainly.’ Miss Cholmondeley bowed
to Lord Launceston, who had come up with them by this time and would have
walked past with a curt nod if Zanthe had not stopped him by the simple
expedient of clutching his arm as he went by.

They watched as Miss Cholmondeley
crossed the street, narrowly avoided being run down by a modish curricle and
pair, and bumped into an irritable pedestrian just about to cross in the
opposite direction.

‘She really should wear her spectacles,’
remarked Zanthe. ‘One would have thought that, at her age, she would not be so
vain.’

‘Never mind her. What do you want?’

‘Must you be so abominably rude?’

‘Yes, I must. Do you believe your credit
is so well-established that you can be seen in conversation with me in the open
street? You are wrong.’

‘Well, if you will not visit me, or come
up to me in the Pump Room, or dance with me at the Rooms, how else am I to talk
to you?’

‘You are not to talk to me.’

‘How you do harp on that.’ She tucked
her hand in the crook of his arm, confident that he could hardly shake her off.
‘Escort me to the White Hart.’

He looked down at her, his eyes
narrowing. ‘You are mighty free with your orders, Ma’am.’

‘Oh, with such an old friend, I feel
there is no need to stand on ceremony.’ She walked forward and, as she was
still clinging to his arm, he had no alternative but to walk on with her.
‘Since we last talked, I have been improving my acquaintance with Sir Marmaduke.’

‘Have you?’ his voice was grim. ‘What game
are you playing, Zanthe?’

‘I am sure I have not the slightest idea
what you mean.’

‘Did you think for a moment that I would
believe you were encouraging Carlyle’s attentions because you liked him? I know
you too well.’

‘Perhaps you don’t know me as well as
you think. Are you jealous, Jarvis? Is that what makes you so cross?’

He laughed out at that. ‘Jealous—of that
fellow? Don’t be insulting.’

She shrugged, a gleam in her eyes as she
joined in his laughter. ‘Well, if you must know the truth, I am protecting
Parry.’

‘Protecting Parry?’

‘Yes, for really I cannot expect you to be
there to watch over him all the time. You told me Sir Marmaduke’s plan was to
bleed me dry, through Parry. Well, I have given him a much better alternative.
Instead of ruining Parry, he is attempting to win me
and
my fortune
quite honourably.’

‘Honourably? Don’t be such a
ninnyhammer. The man does not know what the word means.’

‘Well, there you are wrong, for if he
did not know what it meant, he would not be able to counterfeit it so well as
he does. He is really very gallant, very charming. Much more than you are, I
must say.’ She thought she heard him grind his teeth and smothered a smile.

‘Have you thought what will happen when
this gallant and charming gentleman realises you have no intention of marrying
him?’

As it happened, she had given the matter
considerable thought, but she had no intention of admitting this to the
Viscount. She laughed lightly, ‘Well, what can he do, after all?’

He stopped and turned to face her,
holding her by the shoulders, quite forgetful of their public situation. ‘Don’t
make any mistake about Carlyle, Zanthe. He is not a comic villain in some silly
melodrama. He is a brutal, ruthless bully, and he will not take kindly to being
gulled by a chit of a girl like you.’

‘Oh, pooh!’

‘Zanthe—for God’s sake—listen to me!’

‘Why should I, Jarvis? You are not my
father or my brother or my lover—or indeed my
anything
. Remember? You
have no right to tell me what to do.’

A look of understanding dawned in his
eyes. ‘I see. Very clever. So I am to be blackmailed into marriage, am I?’

She opened her blue eyes in a wide,
innocent stare. ‘I do not know what you are talking about. I simply pointed out
that you have no responsibility for me or my actions. I thought that was what
you wanted.’

They had arrived at the Inn all too soon
for Zanthe’s taste. Susanna’s voice could be heard caroling through the open
windows of the upper storey, accompanied by a badly played pianoforte. As they
entered the hallway, he drew her into the shelter of an inglenook beside the
empty fireplace. She went willingly enough, lifting her face in invitation.

‘Stop that! Now listen to me. I will not
marry you. Get that through your silly, little head. But neither will I allow
that blackguard to harm you or Parry. Do you understand?’

She smiled up into his face. ‘I
understand, darling Jarvis. And you said you didn’t love me.’

‘God forgive me,’ he muttered under his
breath, and then she was crushed in his arms and his mouth covered hers in hot,
hungry kisses. Presently, he lifted his head and gazed down into the face that
was still raised to his. Her eyes were closed, her reddened lips parted, her
cheeks radiantly flushed. ‘I swore this would not happen!’

She opened her eyes then and drew his
head back down to hers, ‘And I swore that it would.’