Sylvia Andrew (27 page)

‘Really?’

‘Because of the connection with Bonaparte.’

‘Of course. Well, I went to her…house to find Maddy. I was completely unaware of its nature, though I realise that that will not help me in the world’s eyes. Marcus came there purely to rescue me, though I gather that a more sinister interpretation is now being put on his presence there. He has kept silent to save my good name.’

‘I see. I never thought for one moment that Marcus was capable of dishonorable conduct, but I had wondered why he…This explains it.’

Lord Denver came over to her. He spoke somewhat stiffly, but with obvious sincerity. ‘Marcus is right. Miss Beaudon, you have been good enough to release me without reproach from my commitment towards you. I owe you a great deal. I will naturally say nothing to anyone of what you have just told me. And, believe me, I am speaking as your good friend when I beg you not to let a hint of it reach the ears of anyone else at all. No one. If the world were to learn of your…unfortunate adventure, no excuse, no reason,
nothing
would be enough to save you from complete ostracism.’

‘And what about the man who risked everything for me?’

There was an appreciable pause. Then he said, ‘Marcus will come about. Things may not be quite the same, but the world will forget…eventually. I expect he will live at Carne for a while.’

‘But it’s so unjust!’ Francesca was getting angry again. ‘He’s a man of integrity, of honour. He enjoyed universal admiration and respect. And now they are accusing him of treachery, double dealing, hypocrisy and all the rest! How can he bear it?’

‘He’ll have to.’

‘This is Coker’s doing.’

‘I think it must be. Though the rumour has not been ascribed to any particular source.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Canfield will be wondering what has become of us. May I…?’

‘Take your leave? Of course. You have been honest with me, Lord Denver, and I appreciate it. I do not need to wish you luck, but I
will
wish you happy. May I make a suggestion?’

He looked as if he was wondering what further dreadful request she was about to make. ‘What is that?’

‘The decision is yours, of course,’ she said reassuringly. ‘But it might be a good idea to take Lydia and her mother to Kent on a short visit to your estates. They will be looking especially beautiful at this time of year.’

Relieved, he said, ‘I think it an excellent idea. But…why do you suggest it? I assume you wish them to be out of London. Why? What are you planning to do, Miss Beaudon? Nothing rash, I hope?’

‘That is my affair. But I will say that I cannot rest until justice has been done.’ She held up her hand. ‘No, do not argue. My mind is made up.’

Lord Denver regarded Francesca with a peculiar mixture of doubt and awe, as if she had suddenly grown two heads. Was this the stately, reserved Miss Beaudon, the woman of elegance and propriety whom he had admired for so long? He began to think he had had a lucky escape. A certain amount of liveliness could be very attractive, but Francesca Beaudon was suddenly revealing herself to be headstrong, imperious, passionate and foolishly scornful of convention—not qualities to be looked for, in his view, among the gentle sex.

But he softened towards her as she gave him one of her warm, enchanting smiles, and said, ‘But my friends would be better out of it. So take them to Kent as soon as you can.’

‘Are you quite sure I cannot persuade you to think again? I suspect that you are about to take a catastrophic step.’

‘Lord Denver, I have to tell you that there is only one man who could ever have the slightest influence on my actions. And in this instance, though I am now certain that he loves me more than I deserve, and believes he is acting in my best interests, I will not listen even to him. I
must
do what I can to re-establish him in the world’s eyes. Do not waste your time on me—you would do better to look after Lydia.’

‘I think I will. She would be safer out of London for the moment. I’ll see if she and her mother could possibly set off tomorrow!’

Mrs Canfield and Lydia were easily persuaded to leave London the next day. Lydia was over the moon with happiness—it simply did not occur to her to refuse Lord Denver’s sudden invitation. Maria was a little surprised, but saw some reason in Francesca’s argument that London would gossip less about the change in Lord Denver’s affections if the happy couple were already out of town.

Once the Canfields had departed, Francesca sent a note to Marcus, requesting him to visit her. He sent a reply back with her man. It was unfortunately impossible for him to come to Mount Street in the near future. This was a setback, but one which Francesca had foreseen.

Undeterred, she set about preparing for the last great event of the season—a rout ball at Northumberland House. She dressed with unusual care. This would probably be her last appearance in Society, and she intended to bow out looking as lovely, as elegant as she had always looked. Her dress of silver-threaded gauze over a white satin slip, the diamonds in her hair and round her arms, the silver dancing slippers—all combined to re-create the image with which she had first impressed London, and to give her the courage she felt she might need.

Her final task before setting out was to write another note
to Marcus to be delivered later in the evening. By the time he received it, she would already be at the ball.

At Northumberland House, she had a word with one of the footmen, who listened to her request impassively, received with lofty condescension the generous douceur she slipped into his hand, and only expressed his amazement much later to his particular crony in the back hall.

London was delighted to see Miss Beaudon in such looks, asked kindly after her father, and gave not the slightest indication that they knew anything of her sojourn in Paris. Everyone had assumed she had gone to Packards to prepare the place for her father. Francesca smiled, parried a few questions about the Canfields and Lord Denver, and danced a great deal.

The world had till now only seen the image Francesca had so carefully created for them—the image of an elegant, coolly disciplined cipher. But now, at long last free of the anxieties and fears of the past, as certain as she could be that Marcus loved her more than she had ever thought possible, she had decided to take the future into her own hands. She felt as truly rich, beautiful and powerful as she had ever wished to be—free to be more herself than ever before.

She glittered like a star, dazzling her partners with her wit and raillery, and seeming to float on the air, so graceful and carefree were her steps. Society was enchanted, and she was surrounded with eager admirers all competing for her favours. Francesca smiled at them, danced with them, bewitched them—and gave them not another thought.

As the hour advanced, all her attention was on the doors to the ballroom. A sigh of satisfaction escaped her as she heard sounds of slight altercation—Marcus had arrived, without, of course, an invitation. However, her footman friend soon intervened and within minutes Marcus was inside the
ballroom, regarding her with a baleful stare. It was a quarter past eleven.

No sooner had the set of dances finished than he claimed her and, ignoring the protests of her partner, swept her off to one side. He began without ceremony, forced to keep his voice low, but sounding fierce, nonetheless. ‘What the devil are you thinking of? I forbid you to do this!’

Francesca gave him a brilliant smile. ‘On the stroke of twelve, Marcus. A dramatic time for a dramatic revelation. Appropriate, don’t you think?’

‘But it won’t do any good. And it will do you irreparable harm! For God’s sake, don’t do it, Francesca, I beg of you!’

Francesca returned the nod of an acquaintance who was dancing by before she answered him. ‘You didn’t tell me everything, did you, Marcus? That you could be accused of betraying your trust, letting your country down, all for the sake of a night’s indulgence at a brothel. You didn’t tell me that.’

‘Don’t use that word in this company, for God’s sake!’

‘They can’t hear us—they think I’m flirting with you. Why didn’t you warn me what might happen?’

‘Sir Henry assumed from what Coker said that he would remain silent. He was mistaken. And I did warn you that there might be some disapproval.’

‘You didn’t mention ostracism, social disgrace.’

‘What does that matter? The important thing is that you should be saved from ruin.’

She put her head on one side and looked up at him. ‘You keep trying to save me from ruin, Marcus. Why, I wonder?’

He hesitated, then said, ‘We cannot possibly discuss such matters here in the middle of a ballroom. Let me take you home.’

‘Oh, no! I’ve taken a great deal of trouble to get you here tonight. Leaving before I’ve done what I set out to do is out of the question. But I will let you take me on to the balcony
here. For a minute or two.’ Oblivious once again to the curious glances being cast in their direction, they moved out on to the balcony overlooking the gardens.

‘Well, Marcus? Tell me why.’ After a pause during which he remained silent she went on, ‘Can it be that you love me? Really love me—enough to marry me? Or has my behaviour finally given you a disgust of me?’

‘I love you,’ he said wretchedly. ‘You must know that. I think I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you on the hillside at Shelwood. But…marry you? I’m not sure I can.’

She lowered her head to hide the amusement in her eyes. ‘I
have
given you a disgust of me,’ she said mournfully. ‘Impetuous, rash, foolhardy, found in…bawdy houses and the like, and worst of all…a wanton. I have never been able to behave as I ought when you kiss me.’

‘Francesca! If you only knew what it does to me when we kiss. How could anything so wonderful give me a disgust of you?’

He took a step forward, but she turned away, shaking her head. ‘You love me, you kiss me…but you won’t marry me. Why not, I wonder? Are you a rake, after all? Surely not!’

He set his jaw and was silent. The new Francesca was not to be put off. She had a very clear idea of the situation between them and the knowledge gave her confidence to continue. She gave a sad little sigh. ‘I see I shall have to abandon the last vestiges of maidenly behaviour. But after all, why shouldn’t I? It will be of little consequence tomorrow. I have nothing to lose.’

‘Don’t say that!’

‘Why ever not? It is true. And…though I cannot like it, Marcus, you have forced me into a most unconventional situation. I find myself having to ask
you
to marry
me
. You see, I’m giving up all pretence at behaving as Society expects. The Honourable Francesca Beaudon is about to disappear forever
tonight. I hope she will be replaced with a besottedly happy Lady Carne. But if you…if you refuse me, then Miss Shelwood-Beaudon of Shelwood, spinster and recluse, will appear in her place.’

‘Francesca, I love you. There is nothing I would desire more than to be able to marry you, but how can I? It is as you say—I am in disgrace. I cannot ask you to share that.’

‘At last!’ Francesca dropped her wistful air and said briskly, ‘Marcus, you are being ridiculous. If that is the only barrier to our marrying, then the sooner I am in disgrace, too, the better. Thank you, that is all I wanted to know.’ She started towards the ballroom.

He caught her arm. ‘I will not let you do this!’

‘You cannot stop me!’

‘Oh, yes, I can—by force if necessary!’

Francesca wrenched herself free and ran into the huge room full of people. It was five minutes before midnight. Marcus followed and made his way purposefully through the crowds towards her. He caught her arm again.

‘Carne!’

Francesca and Marcus, absorbed in their struggle, had not noticed the appearance of a number of personages in the double doorway. Foremost among them was the Prince Regent. At his side was Lord Coker.

‘Sir.’ Marcus released Francesca and bowed. The Prince’s face was thunderous.

‘What the deuce do you think you’re doing here? Are you all right, Miss Beaudon?’

Francesca curtsied. ‘Thank you, sir. Yes.’ She found it hard to hide her satisfaction at this turn of events. Marcus could hardly stop her now.

‘It seems that Carne finds it impossible to keep his hands off the ladies, sir,’ Lord Coker said, with a sneer. Francesca turned on him in a flame.

‘Lord Carne’s attentions, however forceful, are more welcome than yours were on a similar occasion, Lord Coker! If I remember correctly, I had to break a vase over your head before you would leave me alone.’

A moment of stunned silence was followed by unmis-takeable sounds of amusement among those present. Lord Coker turned sallower than ever, and said viciously, ‘I can hardly believe that the Prince Regent is interested in the antics of someone who prefers the advances of a man such as Carne, Miss Beaudon. I must assume that you do not know the truth about the gentleman…’

‘As it happens, I know the truth better than anyone here—’

‘Francesca, I forbid it,’ said Marcus urgently. ‘Sir, I beg you…Miss Beaudon is not herself…’

‘And whose fault is that, Carne?’ asked the Prince in a voice of ice. ‘The behaviour we observed as we came in was not the sort to reassure a lady. A few weeks ago, we would have sworn you were incapable of such disgraceful conduct. As it is…you would be well advised to make your apology and go. Indeed, I am not sure why you are here at all.’