Evelyn Richardson (13 page)

Somerset House was a sad crush, so they had very little opportunity to study anything at great length. The portrait of Georgiana was seen and admired, though Frances thought privately that it could have been any face atop the magnificent gown and jewels, so little did the painting reveal of the sitter's character. However, she kept this particular opinion to herself. She did not hesitate to voice her annoyance that most of the paintings with true artistic merit had been “skied” high above the portraits that would capture the attention and commissions of the fashionable viewers, so that it was only with great difficulty that one could see them. “The way to recognize a person with true aesthetic sense,” she confided to Lady Elizabeth as they left, “is to identify those with severe eyestrain and a crick in their necks.'' Still, she had enjoyed herself very much and was glad to have a sensible companion to view them with her.

Such had been her entertainment in London that Lady Frances  began to feel quite guilty for having ignored her responsibilities. It seemed an age since she had given any serious thought to the affairs at Cresswell, and she had not even executed the business for which ostensibly she had come to London in the first place. She kept meaning to send a note around to Mr. Murray, once her father's publisher and now hers, but somehow each succeeding day brought with it a new amusement of some kind. One day she and Lady Streatham had taken the children to a balloon ascension at Vauxhall Gardens. Then, remembering her promise to Aunt Harriet, she arranged for a picnic party, consisting of the same group, at Kew Gardens, as well as another trip to the hothouses of the Botanic Society. These excursions were followed by a trip to Sadler's Wells, where the famous Grimaldi amazed them with his acrobatic feats, the absurd expressions on his mobile face, and his skill in juggling a seemingly incredible number of objects. Last, there was a visit to the British Museum to see two helmets. One had been dug up from the ground where the Battle of Cannae had been fought in 216 B.C. The other was completely covered with feathers and had been brought back from the South Seas by Captain Cook. Cassie was interested in these curiosities, but her twin was entranced. Freddie could talk of nothing else for days, and immediately discarded the prospect of a promising career at Astley's in favor of exploring the world with Cook. Even Cassie's “He's been dead these past thirty-six years, you gudgeon!” could not dampen his enthusiasm, and be resolved to consult Lord Mainwaring on a captain who could be considered a suitable successor to the immortal Cook.

In addition to these various expeditions, Frances spent a great deal of time conferring with Kitty and Lady Streatham about the ball to be given for Kitty at Mainwaring House. In reality, there was little conferring to be done. Lady Frances simply provided an appreciative audience as Kitty, alive with enthusiasm, rapturously described the masses of flowers ordered to transform the ballroom into a fairy garden; debated the rival merits of lobster patties, jellied eel, iced champagne and ratafia, gateaux, and marrons glaces; and boasted of the quantities of red carpet that had been ordered and the enormous troop of linkboys pressed into service for the gala occasion. “Truly, Frances, I believe it will be the most elegant event of the Season,” breathed Kitty. “At first I didn't care for Mainwaring House in the least. It was so formal and grand that it seemed cold after dear old Camberly, but I do admit it is a most impressive edifice, and the ballroom is magnificent. Lady Elizabeth and Kilson seem to know just how to go on, and Lord Mainwaring”—Kitty still could not feel comfortable referring to anyone as imposing as the marquess as “Uncle Julian”— “is sparing no expense.”

Lady Frances had attended enough balls to feel that one was very much like another, differing only in scale of grandeur and expense, but she was happy to see Kitty so excited and pleased.

It was thus some time before she was able to visit Mr. Murray at his establishment in Albemarle Street. His enthusiasm for her new idea of a history written with more emphasis on biography and a livelier narrative style, which would lend vitality to important episodes instead of turning them into a dry series of dates and names to be memorized, was most encouraging. He advanced several suggestions of his own, which caught her imagination and made her eager to try them out on her own. “It is a revolutionary approach. Lady Frances, but it just might appeal,” he remarked thoughtfully.

“Oh, I feel certain it would, Mr. Murray. I would never dream of suggesting it if I had not found this storytelling method to be most effective with Cassie and Freddie. They are both bright enough but would far prefer to be out-of-doors in search of adventure instead of trapped in a schoolroom. And, being only their sister, I find it more difficult than an ordinary tutor would to capture and hold their attention. I must say that I have met with remarkable success,” she admitted candidly.

“Very well then, continue with your project. I look forward to seeing the final product,” he encouraged her as he escorted her to her carriage.

That task accomplished, Lady Frances felt exonerated from her guilty feelings of frivolity and at liberty to give herself up to the pleasures of the metropolis without further interference from an overactive conscience.

Chapter Fifteen

The marquess, having recovered from a bout of cynicism precipitated by the shallowness of the evening with his mistress, decided that a further restorative would be the encouragement of someone who was worthy of society's notice. If he had stopped to consider, he would have been amazed at how far he had come in so short a time from condemning the lady in question as a prude and a bluestocking to wishing to introduce her to the ton as someone worthy of its admiration. With this plan in mind, he drove around to Brook Street one afternoon to hold Lady Frances to the promise he had exacted from her on their visit to the Lord Elgin's marbles. Arriving at Brook Street, he discovered Freddie and Nigel intent upon cricket and witnessed the narrow escape of the drawing-room window from a misdirected hit. Assuring himself that he was merely looking after Frances' peace of mind, the marquess strolled over to where the two boys were arguing over the most effective method of improving one's aim. The truth of the matter was that Mainwaring was more interested in sharing his own cricketing skill than in the continued serenity of Frances. “A capital hit, Freddie, but rather glaringly abroad,” he remarked, sauntering up.

“Oh, sir, how famous that you should come along just now! Could you settle a question, do you think?” Freddie inquired, outlining the basis of their disagreement.

“By all means, but here, give me the bat. It is easier to demonstrate than explain. You must grip it more this way and pay closer attention to the ball, marking with your eye exactly the direction you wish to send it—thus.'' The bat connected with a resounding thwack, sending the ball precisely to the spot indicated. If he had been concerned at all over the possible deterioration of his prowess on the cricket field, the marquess's notion was swiftly dispelled by the blatant admiration in the boys' eyes.

“Thank you ever so much! You are very good, sir, aren't you?” Freddie said, looking worshipfully up at him. Mainwaring was not a little touched by the lad's appreciation, and wondered at this unusual rush of feeling himself. I know I'm approaching my dotage, he concluded as he nodded to Higgins and allowed himself to be ushered into the drawing room, where a most unusual sight assailed his disbelieving eyes. Lady Frances was precariously balanced on a footstool by the window, engaged in earnest conversation with ... a tree! For one dumbfounded moment Lord Mainwaring thought Frances had succumbed to her aunt's horticultural passion, until Nelson appeared inching his way cautiously along a branch, meowing pitifully.

Nelson had been blissfully sunning himself on the steps when the nasty overfed pug from the adjoining house had stumbled out for his morning shuffle. Being a city dog of impeccable pedigree, he had been highly insulted at the sight of a moth-eaten cat who had the colossal nerve to sit in the sun in this exclusive neighborhood. He had voiced his disapproval immediately and vociferously. Nelson was more startled than frightened by the vehement yipping, but he had not stopped to consider this as he scrambled up the nearest available tree. When he reached the first branch, he stopped to look down and was immediately disgusted with himself for having fled from a canine that would have made a there mouthful for Wellington. In fact, the pug was so fat he wouldn't have been able to move fast enough to pose any real threat to Nelson. Staring at the ground that was beginning to sway under his horrified gaze, the cat bitterly regretted his flight. Before he was completely overcome with vertigo, something grabbed his tail and he leapt up scratching and spitting, his fear of heights forgotten. The thing that had caught at his tail withdrew, and then, to his intense relief, he heard the comforting tones of Lady Frances reassuring him, and he inched carefully toward her.

Mainwaring strode across the room to help lady Frances and her burden off their perch. His eyes, brimming with amusement, laughed down into hers. She smiled mischievously up at him. “No doubt you thought my wits had gone begging when you came in, but Nelson has one bad eye, which makes him very upset at heights. He already scratched James, the footman, so I was summoned to reassure him.”

“I understand perfectly, ma'am,” he assured her gravely, but his lips twitched suspiciously. “After this heroic rescue, are you in fit condition to go for a drive in the park with me?”

She laughed. “What a poor creature you think me. I should like it of all things,” she thanked him. “But I must fetch my bonnet and pelisse. I shan't be a moment.”

Julian, well-versed in the ways of women, was surprised when it was just a moment later that she reappeared in her white satin pelisse, tying the bow of a matching twilled sarcenet hat.

It was a fine day and Frances was content after a morning of tending to estate business and the rescue of Nelson to sit and watch the passing scene as the marquess skillfully maneuvered his powerful grays through the traffic on the streets. In fact, there was no less traffic when they arrived in the park, but it was traffic of a more modish kind than the carts and mail coaches they had been forced to dodge en route. It was the fashionable hour of five o'clock and the park was crowded with beautiful thoroughbreds and elegant ladies taking the air in carriages of every hue and description, attended by gorgeously liveried footmen and coachmen. They saw the “diamonds” of the day: Lady Cowper, the Duchess of Argyll, and Lady Louisa, holding court among the gentlemen who clustered thick about them. The Marquess of Anglesea, accompanied by his lovely daughters, all superbly mounted, trotted sedately by. Lady Frances even caught a glimpse of the Prince Regent and Sir Benjamin Bloomfield. All in all, it was an animated and colorful scene that she surveyed, deciding as she did so that the fresh air and magnificent horses made this fashionable promenade infinitely preferable to the ballroom.

Having negotiated the streets and worn off some of the restiveness of his horses, the marquess was at leisure to study his companion who was looking quite lovely in the new white pelisse which accentuated the delicate flesh on her cheeks and the opalescent clearness other complexion. The starched lace collarette and plume of feathers on her bonnet framed her face charmingly and enhanced the delicately molded features. However, her face wore a slightly abstracted expression that puzzled him. When she did not reply to his question as to whether or not she planned to attend Lady Harrowby's Venetian breakfast, which Kitty was anticipating with enthusiasm, he became concerned. “Lady Frances . . .” he began.

She started, and turned to him with an apologetic look in her expressive eyes. “I do beg your pardon. Lord Mainwaring. I was not attending.”

“I am well aware of that,” he responded dryly. “What serious concern was exercising your thoughts so thoroughly?”

A conscious look spread over her face as she admitted rather shamefacedly that she had been deliberating over a letter she had received that morning from Dawson, down at Cresswell. “You see,” she confided, wrinkling her brow thoughtfully, “Squire Tilden is selling his prize bull and approached Dawson about it.” She saw amusement creep into his eyes, and one corner of his mouth twitched, but having given herself away, she continued determinedly. “Our bull is very old. I am surprised he made it through the winter. We must think about procuring a new one. Squire Tilden's is certainly a fine specimen, but I am sure he comes very dear, and I do not anticipate a good harvest this year, so I wonder if it is wise to purchase it.” Turning to him, she added contritely, “I don't know why you are so kind as to take me driving with you. Well, I mean, I do know why you do it. You do it because you are helping me become more fashionable and more sought-after in the ton, but I don't know what motivates you to do that. Whatever does, I am excessively grateful for it, but I don't like you to put yourself out from such a hopeless case. I am ever so sorry to be prosing on about country matters, but you did ask.”

He interrupted this tangled speech. “My dear girl, don't refine upon it. Where else would I encounter a lady who would discuss prize bulls with me?” This won a chuckle and almost erased the wrinkle between her brows. Seeing that it remained to some degree, he became more serious. “Besides, I am glad you mentioned it. If the price of the bull turns out to be a burden to Cresswell, you may sell him to me. Camberly does not have one and my income is from such a variety of sources that a poor harvest will not affect it to the degree it does yours.”

She was silent for a moment, considering the proposition, trying to decide whether it was motivated by a true need or some unfathomable wish to help her. “Very well, but I am convinced you are doing this to be kind, and I do not want to be given any special favors, for that will make it more difficult for me to judge the true consequences, and therefore the real wisdom of my decisions.” He thought wryly that most of the women with whom he was acquainted cultivated favors to the top of their bent, and these favors were ordinarily in the form of jewelry or other extravagances. Here, on the other hand, was a woman who worried about being obliged to someone over livestock! Truly, he did not know as much about women, or this particular woman, as he had imagined. And somehow, her determined self-reliance made him wish more than ever to ease any burdens she might have. But he had driven her to the park with the express purpose of erasing such cares from her mind, not discussing them. Trying for a lighter tone, he pointed to a high-perch phaeton whose driver and canine companion closely resembled each other in their tightly curled locks and disdainful surveillance of the assemblage.