Evelyn Richardson (25 page)

Left alone in the darkness, Lord Mainwaring suffered a thousand conflicting emotions, chiefly anger—anger at Frances for having forced him to behave like the most callow of overheated young bucks, anger at himself for having given way so completely to his emotions. But also there was desire—desire for her as she stood facing him, her eyes alight with anger, her whole body vibrant with passion and fury. And he, who had flirted with scores of beautiful, sophisticated women in all the capitals or Europe, felt sick with longing for her, for the suppleness of her body beneath his hands, the warmth and softness of her lips against his. Surely, for a moment, she had responded, her lips clinging to his with equal fervor before she ran off into the night?

You're a cad and an utter fool, he derided himself bitterly. And now you have ruined whatever chance you ever had of getting her back. In his despair, he realized now exactly how much he did want her back, not just as a friend, but because he needed her, desired her, wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted before. With his painful discovery, he too strode off to find his carriage and the dubious solace of a bottle of brandy in his own empty library.

Lady Frances, hardly knowing where she was headed, except away from Lord Mainwaring, stumbled through the garden in the vague direction of her carriage. Just when she was beginning to despair of finding a way out and wondering how she could possibly face returning to the ballroom and the curious eyes of the assembled multitude, she discovered a small door in the garden wall. Mercifully, it opened quietly and she found herself on the cobblestones of the stableyard. Somehow she found John Coachman, was helped tenderly into the carriage, and collapsed -thankfully against the squabs.

For a time she gave herself up to the motion of the vehicle, happy to enjoy the peace and darkness alone. But on alighting at Brook Street and entering her dressing room, she found that she had escaped the crush and Lord Mainwaring only to find herself prey to thoughts as unwelcome as any she had ever experienced. Her anger at being criticized so unfairly and handled so peremptorily, which had sustained her through the scene with Mainwaring, had now evaporated, and she was left with unsettling memories of the entire episode. Mainwaring had been entirely correct in his hope that she had yielded briefly to her feelings and returned his embrace. When he had first pulled her to him, she had been too angry to do anything other than resist, but as his lips pressed more insistently on hers, forcing them apart, and his arms tightened around her, molding her body against his, she became more and more aware of the warm lethargic feeling stealing over her and subduing her resistance. A quick glance stolen up at him revealed a strange intensity in his gaze that she had never seen before—almost a hunger—and for some reason she wanted desperately to deliver herself up to this hunger and to forget herself in the hardness of his body pressing on hers, the strength of his hand tilting her head to his kiss. She hadn't known whether she was glad or sorry for the small corner of her mind that had brought her to herself, to the realization of Lord Mainwaring's probable feelings for her at that moment. But, she sighed sadly as she recalled it all in vivid detail, she wished she had been able to wipe out everything, to delude herself into believing that he wanted her, Frances Cresswell, for herself and not out of anger. She wished desperately that she had been able to forget herself in one moment of passion. And that's what it was, my girl, she told herself severely. You did want him to desire you, to love you the way he loves Lady Welford. It's not respect or friendship you crave. It's love. You want him to love you because you love him that way.” For a long time after reaching this totally upsetting conclusion, she sat staring at her hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror, her only thought: Now whatever am I to do?

Eventually her characteristic energy and independent spirit reasserted themselves. I must get out of here, away from him, away from London, away from everyone. And she feverishly began planning and packing for her immediate return to Cress-well. It was not her customary, organized preparation, but by the time dawn broke, she had a valise ready, and instructions for the servants completed. She felt slightly guilty, slipping off without saying good-bye to Aunt Harriet and the children, but she couldn't bear to stay in London a moment longer than absolutely necessary. Besides, her hasty departure was in keeping with the note she had left, implying some pressing business at Cresswell that required her immediate attention. Such haste and deception were so totally unlike her that she was not at all sure she would be able to fool Aunt Harriet or Higgins for a minute. But then, such emotions had never before entered her life. True, she had mourned her parents deeply and she had loathed and detested her first London Season, but she had never before doubted herself or the rightness of her own feelings. It was certainly lowering to reflect that a pair of dark blue eyes set in a harsh-featured face and a sardonic smile could affect her so powerfully. Inexplicable as it was, that seemed to be the case, and she was not at all happy about it.

For the remainder of the journey she allowed herself the luxury of recalling the times they had shared, the special smile that seemed to lurk in his eyes just for her when he knew she would understand some fine point. The care and gentleness with which he handed her into a carriage or entered into her particular worries over the children and Cresswell, and last, the brief moment when he had seemed to want her as much as she now admitted to wanting him. But upon arriving at Cresswell, she resolutely put all thoughts of Lord Julian Mainwaring out of her mind to immerse herself in a flurry of activity.

By day she kept up a backbreaking regimen of riding over the estate checking crops, fences, tenants' cottages, and listening to complaints, problems, or just neighborly chatter. In the evening she pored over accounts or studied the authors and texts she wished to share with Freddie and Cassie, until she was exhausted. Despite her best efforts, the occasional memory of some shared moment with Mainwaring or speculation as to his whereabouts or the state of his emotions would intrude. At that, she would shake her head briskly, call to Wellington, who, much to his delight and pride, had been the one being allowed to accompany her in her flight, and head off for a vigorous walk, whatever the weather or the hour.

By degrees, she soon recovered her equanimity, but it was a peace without much joy or expectation. Odd to think that the very same life, the same daily round of activities that had seemed so full before she went to London, could now seem so flat, so empty. But she knew from experience that time would restore much, if not all, of her former sense of herself.

In the meanwhile, those she had left behind were reacting in their own particular ways to her escape. As she had suspected, neither Higgins nor Aunt Harriet believed for a single moment her pretext of pressing business at Cresswell. Both knew her to be far too good a manager and far too judicious in her choice of stewards to be caught unawares by some crisis. Contrary to her expectations, they both, without knowing precisely the true circumstances, immediately divined the cause of her departure. “Drat all men,” muttered Aunt Harriet, swiping viciously at a faded blossom. “Why must they be forever imposing themselves on women? They make 'em love 'em and then make ‘em miserable. There's not a one of them worthy of a good woman, especially one like Frances. With all the ladybirds in London dying for him, why did that Mainwaring have to go and upset my precious girl? Why, I'll give that arrogant, interfering so-and-so a piece of my mind if I get half the chance.”

Higgins was taking out his frustrations on his particular pride and joy—the family silver—and mumbling to himself. “Something certainly has overset Miss Frances. It isn't any emergency that has called her away.” Buff, buff. “And she is running away. That's certain. I've never known her to run away from anyone or anything before, so it must be his lordship that has upset her so. She has never known anyone like him before. Top-of-the-trees, a real out-and-outer, he is.” Buff, buff. “Or was,” he amended darkly. “If he's done anything to cut up Miss Frances' peace, we shall certainly see what will have to be done.” And setting down a sauceboat with an ominous thump, he marched off to set investigations in motion, beginning with Lady Frances' Daisy.

“Ooh, I don't know, sir. I didn't see her ladyship till this morning, but she didn't sleep a wink, that I'm sure. Her bed wasn't touched and she did a powerful amount of packing.”

In the breakfast room Frances' departure was being discussed with some dismay. “But, Aunt Harriet,” wailed Cassie, “she couldn't have gone! She promised to take Ned and me on another trip to the Tower and then to Gunters. “

Freddie's consternation was just as real, though premised on more complicated circumstances. With Frances went his only link to Lord Mainwaring, and he had dearly hoped that his lordship would remember his promise to take him, Nigel, and Ned to see a cricket match at the recently established Lord's.

“Well, Cassie, she has more important things to attend to than taking a pair of schoolchildren on outings and for ices,” her aunt responded tartly, covering up her own concern over the situation by appearing more brusque than usual. All of these various household members had their suspicions—Frances being one of the most organized, least impulsive of mistresses, sisters, or nieces, as the case was. They were all alike, however, in that each one struggled with his or her doubts in silence, not daring or deigning to confide in anyone else.

Freddie alone of the assorted interested parties engaged in unraveling the mystery. He had A plan. It had seemed to him that just as he had begun to recognize that Lord Mainwaring, though a real out-and-outer, was not at all toplofty where truly inspired young schoolboys were concerned, his lordship had become a noticeably less-frequent visitor in Brook Street. After nearly an hour spent scowling over a most boring passage that Fanny had assigned for translation, he began to see a PATTERN to the situation. It all dated back to that odd encounter in the park. It was after that that he had noticed his sister's unusual social gaiety. Really, she had almost completely ignored him and Cassie while she ran around buying clothes or going to parties. It must have been something to do with that episode that he didn't fully understand. For after that. Fanny, ordinarily so willing to discuss Lord Mainwaring's manifold accomplishments with him, had been positively put out every time he brought up the subject for conversation. Her usual response, “Really, Freddie, Lord Mainwaring is far too busy to be interested in any of us,” made him think that perhaps she was mad at his lordship. In that case, he, Freddie, who was out of favor with Lady Frances more than anyone else and knew exactly how unpleasant that could be, felt it his duty to apprise his lordship of the situation and perhaps suggest some remedies.

It was with this laudable goal in mind that he set out, not exactly stealthily, but with a good deal less commotion than ordinarily accompanied his comings and goings, for his lordship's mansion in Grosvenor Square.

Chapter Twenty-seven

As Lord Mainwaring's constant and sometimes only companion in his travels, from huts in the West Indies to palaces in Persia, from boats on the Nile to elephants in India, Kilson had encountered and protected his lordship from many strange people and many even odder requests, but he had never been more taken aback than when he opened the door to young Master Frederick. Events have taken a most interesting turn, he remarked to himself. Behind his impassive face, speculation ran wild. Not even the flicker of an eyelid betrayed that anxious-looking lads of eleven were not Lord Mainwaring's most frequent visitors.

“Master Frederick Cresswell to see you, sir,” he announced impressively, ushering Freddie into the library.

Lord Mainwaring was no less astounded than his butler, but detecting the unease that would flit momentarily across Freddie's face despite his valiant efforts to hide it, he said in a tone that implied these visits were a regular occurrence, “Hallo, Freddie. What brings you to this part of town?”

With an effort, Freddie, who had been gazing in awe at an imposing ancestor astride a horse over the mantelpiece, pulled his thoughts together and said in as offhand a manner as he could muster, “Well, sir, as we haven't seen you this age, I just thought I would pay you a call to see how you are doing.”

Mainwaring was amused. “That is most kind of you. I am doing very well, thank you.”

“I am glad of that, sir,” his young guest responded politely while he sought desperately for some conversational gambit to introduce the subject occupying his mind. No such phrase came to him, so, in characteristic fashion, he blurted, “Well, you see, sir, you used to come to see us all the time, and now you don't. And, well, the last time we saw you it seemed as though Fanny was not best pleased with you.” The quizzical lift of his host's eyebrow did nothing to encourage him, but he plunged bravely on. “Well, sir, you see, sir,” he began unhappily, “it seemed to me as though you and she were as thick as thieves. I mean . . .” He blushed guiltily at his cant phrase. “You seemed to be such good friends. And then you weren't, and …” He looked fleetingly, pleadingly, at Lord Mainwaring's impassive countenance. “I thought you might like to be friends again, sir.”

“Ah,” said his lordship.

“So I thought if I explained to you what a right 'un Fan is and how she never holds a grudge or keeps harping on it after she's let you have it, I thought you might feel brave enough to go tell her you're sorry she got mad and you'd like to be friends with her again.” He looked up appealingly, adding ingenuously, “And then you wouldn't feel at all odd about coming to call or taking Ned and me to a cricket match at Lord's, or whatever.”

With a supreme effort Lord Mainwaring was able to keep his lips from twitching at this clincher to Freddie's argument, but for a moment his eyes twinkled with barely suppressed amusement. This was quickly replaced by the strained hollow look that had been worrying Kilson all week. He smiled and laid his hand on Freddie's shoulder, saying, “I appreciate your coming, old man, but it is more serious than that. It's not that I have made your sister angry. It's that I have given her a disgust of me and my life that could hardly be remedied with an apology. She's not mad at me. She simply does not like me.” In this simply put speech to a boy who could not possibly understand all the bitter thoughts with which he had been torturing himself, Mainwaring revealed more of his feelings than he had ever let slip to another human being.