Sylvia Andrew (16 page)

It was not long before Francesca realised that avoiding Marcus was impossible. His close friendship with Mrs Canfield and Lydia made meetings between them inevitable; to her annoyance, she soon saw that Marcus was making no attempt to avoid her—on the contrary, he seemed to regard her as part of the Canfield family, to extend to her his patronage and protection. He did nothing to single her out, made no special effort to engage her in other than general conversation, but she was conscious all the time of his presence, and frequently of his eye on her.

The Canfields were delighted when he accompanied them to balls and concerts. They accepted with pleasure his invitations to rides in the Park, excursions into the country, expeditions to places of interest, and Francesca was always included. However reluctant she was, she found herself forced to accept more often than she wished.

‘But why will you not come, Francesca?’ cried Lydia on one occasion. ‘Hampton Court is delightful. You will enjoy it much more than staying in town!’

‘Lydia, do not press Miss Beaudon. Perhaps she has the headache and wishes for a little peace and quiet. Your chatter can be very tiring.’ Mrs Canfield’s voice was calm, but she was looking anxiously at Francesca.

‘Oh, no, ma’am. I like to hear Lydia talking.’

‘Then do come!’ Lydia put a pleading hand on Francesca’s arm. ‘Lord Carne’s carriage is extremely well sprung, and I shall see to it that you have all the cushions and parasols necessary to keep you comfortable. And I shall not say a word more than you wish to hear, I promise. Please, Francesca! It isn’t the same without you.’

‘But Lord Carne is an old friend of yours. He cannot wish to see me making a fourth on every excursion you make!’

‘Nonsense! He likes you.’

‘Lydia!’ Mrs Canfield’s voice held a warning and Lydia said no more.

But later, when they were alone, Mrs Canfield said quietly, ‘Francesca, forgive me for what I am about to say. I only wish to spare you difficulty or embarrassment. Though you have not acknowledged it, I…I have the impression that you and Lord Carne knew each other in the past. Am I right?’

Francesca hesitated. She owed her friend the truth, but was reluctant to reveal the extent of her previous acquaintance with Marcus.

‘Believe me, I do not wish to pry, but if it distresses you to be in his company, you have only to mention it. I shall perform the impossible and find a way of silencing Lydia.’

Francesca smiled. ‘You are very kind, ma’am, but I truly enjoy Lydia’s conversation. She is so…so artless, and so loving. How could I not enjoy her company? But you are right—I have met Lord Carne before. Briefly. In Buckinghamshire.’ She paused. ‘It was many years ago, before he succeeded to the title, so his name meant nothing to me when Lydia spoke of him. I only recognised him when he came back from Paris. I hope you don’t think that I deliberately deceived you?’

‘Of course not! And you are not disturbed to meet him now? I sometimes have the impression…’

Francesca had confided as much as she was prepared to. ‘It is kind of you to be concerned. But I was a mere child when we first met, so our acquaintance was…was not important.’ Her tone was so casual that Mrs Canfield was satisfied. No one could have guessed from Francesca’s demeanor then or later how much she resented Lord Carne’s constant attendance.

His presence agitated her, roused feelings which she preferred to forget—how could she conquer this stupid weakness
for him, when he was always there, his dark blue eyes watching her, his voice a constant reminder of those hours on the hill? But once again, she had cause to be grateful to the hard school of her earlier life, which enabled her now to reveal nothing of this as she walked and talked, listened and smiled with every appearance of serene enjoyment, though her famous reserve was a trifle more apparent.

The presence of Marcus was not the only cause for unease. Francesca was becoming increasingly concerned about her father. His decision to support her during her London Season had delighted her and, since the news of her wealth had spread, she had been grateful for his protection from the worst of the fortune hunters. But he was not robust, and his exertions were having an effect on his health.

However, he dismissed her concern with a laugh. ‘Nonsense, child! Watching your success has taken years off me! And though there are not as many old friends left in London as I would have wished, I manage to have a very pleasant time of it. I like that fellow Carne, by the way. Not at all the dull sort of stick I expected from Maria Canfield’s eulogies. You could do a lot worse for a husband.’

It said much for Francesca’s control that though the rose in her cheeks increased a fraction, she reminded her father calmly that, as he himself had once said, Lord Carne was out of her reach.

‘I’m no longer so sure of that. He’s forever in your company.’

‘He is a close friend of the Canfields, as you very well know, Papa.’

‘But it’s my impression that his eyes are on you a good deal of the time, not the Canfields. Perhaps you’ve caught his fancy—should I sound him out, d’you think?’

‘No, Papa! Believe me, that is the last thing I want you to do.’ The vehemence in her voice caused Lord Beaudon to raise an eyebrow.

‘Protesting too much, Francesca?’

Francesca pulled herself together. ‘The truth is, Papa, that Lord Carne and I do not…are not…The fact is, we have little in common. I have too much regard for Mrs Canfield to express this openly. It would hurt her, I know. And I am also aware that his…patronage is valuable to all of us. But I have to confess that my feeling towards him is best described as indifferent.’

Lord Beaudon regarded her in silence for a moment. There was more to this than met the eye. Once he would have taken her words at face value, as deceived by her cool control as the rest of the world had been. But now his instinct told him that, whatever she felt for Lord Carne, it was not indifference. Could Carne possibly be the man she had been in love with? Surely not! Carne was no rake, and he was a most unlikely crony of Charlie Witham. But there was something…Lord Beaudon resolved not to pursue the matter with Francesca, but to wait and observe.

‘Is Carne to be at Lady Huntingdon’s tonight?’ he asked.

‘I believe so. Why do you ask?’

‘She usually sets up some card tables for those who don’t wish to dance—I thought I’d invite him to a game, that’s all. Nothing like a hand of cards to get to know a man.’

‘Papa—’

‘Oh, I won’t mention your name, girl. Why should I, if, as you say, you have no particular interest in him? No, Carne seems to me to be a sound fellow—I’d enjoy making his better acquaintance. You surely don’t wish for my company in the ballroom, do you? You’ll be safe enough at Bella Huntingdon’s—and Maria will be with you.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to rest this evening? I have no particular wish to go out—we could have a peaceful time together…’

‘Francesca, it is my dearest wish to see you happily settled
with a man you can respect. You won’t find a husband if you sit at home keeping company with your papa!’

‘I’m no longer so sure that…that I want to marry anyone. I seem to have met most of the eligible men in London, and there isn’t one with whom I could spend the rest of my life…except you, Papa,’ she added with a twinkle.

‘Nonsense, girl. You must just keep on trying! Now off you go—put on the new dress I saw arriving today. Another from Fanchon, wasn’t it? What colour is it this time?’

‘White and green—I think you’ll like it. Lydia was in raptures over it. Papa, I cannot begin to tell you how well your choice of sponsor has suited me. Maria is so very kind, she and I seem to agree on practically everything. And Lydia is a darling. It is
my
dearest wish to see
her
safely established!’

‘Young Tom Endcombe seems very attentive.’

‘He does!’ She paused. ‘He’s pleasant enough, I suppose…though…in my opinion, Lydia needs someone more mature, someone who would look after her. Still, Maria seems to approve of him. If I could see Lydia happily settled, Iwouldn’t care about the rest of the Season. You and I could return to Packards and enjoy some country air—and some country hours. You may not need a rest, but I’m certain that I do!’

‘Rubbish, Francesca! In any case, I must return to Paris some time soon.’

‘To Paris? I had rather forgotten Paris. You…have responsibilities there?’

‘I must talk to you about Paris. We’ll have a chat tomorrow—there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.’

‘What is it?’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Lord Beaudon firmly. ‘Tonight we both have to change for Lady Huntingdon’s ball. I am expecting to be stunned along with the rest of London by my daughter’s new dress.’

Francesca’s appearance in the doors to Lady Huntingdon’s reception room caused many a man’s heart to beat faster. Tall and slender in a simple slip of white silk, with an overdress of delicate green gauze draped with all the cunning of London’s foremost dressmaker, she was a vision to take one’s breath away. Her hair was wound with pearls and pale green ribbon, its dark gilt coils echoing the gold and pearl embroidery of her dress. Her eyes were silver-green in the candlelight, and she was smiling at Lydia as they entered the room a little way behind Lord Beaudon and Mrs Canfield.

She was quite unconscious of the impression she was making. Her attention was on Lydia, and her smile was full of affectionate warmth, very different from the polite mask with which she fended off her suitors. And at least one man found himself suddenly, disconcertingly, so stunned that he forgot everything else—much to the irritation of his companion.

‘I say, Carne, old fellow—you might answer when a friend asks a perfectly civil question!’

‘What was it, Monty?’

‘I asked you if you was thinkin’ of dancin’ tonight. Lady Huntingdon usually sets up a damn good card room. Care for a game later?’

‘I…don’t know. Ask me later. I have to give the Canfields some of my time tonight. I promised Lydia a dance.’

‘Nice little girl. A bit young for you, though.’

‘There’s nothing to it. You know that, Monty. Her father was a friend of mine, and I like to please Lydia and her mother for his sake.’

‘He was a friend of mine, too, but that don’t mean I have to dance attendance on his widow. Not at a ball! Anyway, Beaudon was asking if you’d be in the card room tonight. He wants a game.’

He had his friend’s full attention. ‘Beaudon? I wonder why?’

‘I expect he likes picquet. I see the divine Miss Beaudon has arrived. By Jove, she’s in looks tonight—it’s almost enough to make me change my mind about blondes. I’ve always thought her a touch insipid.’

‘Insipid!’

‘Yes—Lydia Canfield is usually far better looking than the Beaudon girl. But tonight…Let me know about the cards, won’t you?’

‘Yes, yes. Excuse me, Monty.’

Not without difficulty, Marcus made his way over to the Canfields, who were surrounded by a crowd of admirers.

‘Lord Carne! There you are! You remember your promise?’

‘Lydia!’ Mrs Canfield shook her head as she greeted him. ‘You must forgive her, Marcus. She is a little excited tonight.’

‘Her high spirits do her no harm in my eyes, Maria. She looks delightful. A new dress?’

‘Yes! And I think it is the prettiest I have ever possessed. Francesca helped me to choose it.’

Marcus looked at the white dress with its coquelicot ribbons. ‘Miss Beaudon chose well.’ Then he turned to Francesca and bowed. ‘Miss Beaudon.’

The smile which had so enchanted him from across the other side of the room had disappeared. Francesca’s face expressed polite interest, nothing more. She looked beautiful, but remote. Marcus felt a sudden surge of impatience. He wanted to pick up the woman and shake her until her eyes sparkled with feeling again, until she smiled at him with the same affectionate warmth, until her lips parted to laugh with him, talk to him, revile him even, with her old passionate involvement…

Damn it, he wanted her to show some feeling towards him, some acknowledgment of their old bonds! This…statue was
not the real Francesca. What had happened to her? But his own face revealed none of these thoughts.

He said calmly enough, ‘Lydia, I have been looking forward all week to the dance you promised me. May I?’

He possessed himself of all three ladies’ cards and filled in his name. Lydia was delighted, Mrs Canfield protested but was overridden, and Francesca found herself unable to object without appearing rude. That would show her—she couldn’t escape waltzing with him tonight! And he’d written his name down twice. Satisfied, he offered Lydia his arm and took her in the direction of the music. As they went along, he noticed that Francesca was already surrounded with eager partners.

‘Do you really like my dress, Lord Carne? It’s from Fanchon.’

Marcus suppressed a smile at the awe in Lydia’s voice, and assured her that he thought it very charming.

‘It’s a present from Francesca. She is so good. I love her dearly. People often say she’s cold, you know. But I have never found her so, and nor has Mama. You don’t find her cold, do you?’

‘I think Miss Beaudon is very fond of you, Lydia. And who would not be?’