Elisabeth Kidd (17 page)

“What you mean to say,” Antonia said as she took the lilies from him and concealed her blush in their sweet scent until it had faded somewhat,
“is that you have just been overwhelmed by a Miss Beecham. Fortunately,
she is the only Miss Beecham of our acquaintance, and when you once
come to know her, I daresay you will find her perfectly amiable—or at
least, diverting!”

“I must bow to your superior knowledge, my dear, but
...
are you quite
sure she is an appropriate companion for Isabel?”

“Oh, she is precisely what Isabel needs! Cloris may scarcely be called shy herself, but she has a generous nature and a supremely practical turn
of mind which leads her directly to the most appropriate remedy for any
affliction—including Isabel’s shyness. I must confess, however, that her
liveliness frequently makes me feel like a grandmother!”

Charles rose readily to the occasion. “Then you cannot have looked
into your glass recently, my dear, for you do not look in the least like a
grandmother. Indeed, you are more lovely than I remember—no, that is a
churlish thing to say! I only meant that I would not have supposed you could become lovelier!”

“You have always been very kind, Charles.”

“No, no! Nonsense. What I have always been is singularly inept at
making pretty speeches. You see, I have even brought you those flowers to speak for me. But it requires no talent for flattery to say that you are
beautiful, for it is the simple truth.”

Antonia was both surprised and touched by this unexpected but
obviously sincere tribute, and she fell silent, bereft for the moment of her powers of speech. He raised her hand to his lips, and she felt her
fingers tremble involuntarily in his. She tried to withdraw them, but he
pressed them tighter for a moment, smiling in a rather abstracted way as he searched her eyes intently.

She lowered her own eyes and, to turn the subject, said, “Would you
care for a little refreshment, Charles?”

“I beg you, do not trouble yourself.”

“Oh, it is no trouble to
me
!” she replied, quizzing him, and reached for the bell cord behind her. “I have merely to pull the cord—thusly—for my
every whim to be granted me. Also, you must give me your opinion of
Imogen’s latest blend.”

He smiled. “I am not a connoisseur, and I cannot imagine that Mrs
Curtiz cares a jot for my opinion of her teas, although I will certainly be honoured to sample her new blend. But, come, tell me, Antonia—how is
it that you are alone here? Never tell me you have no suitors beating a
path to your door, no offers of marriage?”

“Oh, in fact, I have had several!” she replied unsteadily, unable to keep
the laughter out of her voice at the memory of Lord Kedrington’s experimental offers. Charles, scarcely expecting a literal reply to his
plaisanterie
, raised his brows enquiringly, but Antonia was saved from having to explain the joke to him by Belding’s entrance in response to her
ring.

During the brief pause while she conveyed their pressing need for a pot of tea to her butler, she contrived to pull herself together, so that
when she turned back to Charles, her smile was easy and she felt more in
command of herself.

“Well, Charles, you are become quite the successful man of business,”
she said, as she motioned him to be seated.

“Why, yes,” he confessed, with a modest pride. “In my small way, I
have done quite well. I have just moved the firm’s offices to a new
building in Long Acre, in fact.”

“As well as that?” Antonia exclaimed, then bit her tongue at the
unbecoming surprise in her voice. “Uncle Philip tells us you have to do
with the continental trade—I take him to mean luxuries such as wines
and laces and the like. Now the peace is signed, you must become very
prosperous indeed, for all those things which have been in short supply for so many years must now be in great demand. But it is a pity that the
supplying
of such niceties has
demanded
that you spend so much time
away from Leicestershire!”

Charles Kenyon had a wide acquaintance among the prominent mer
chant families of the city of London and was not unknown in the drawing
rooms of Mayfair. But while many a shy young lady had hung on his
words and gazed worshipfully up at him while he explained the various
enterprises which he had built up from a carrier business that had been
on its last legs when he bought it, his pride had never been so great that
he could deceive himself into believing the interest of these damsels to be
in his achievements rather than in the fruits of his success.

Any sign of
ostentation was foreign to Charles Kenyon’s temperament, but he dressed
like a gentleman, belonged to the best clubs, and kept only the finest
horses in his stables. At thirty-two, he had the demeanour of a much
more mature man and an air of having been out in the world long
enough to know what was what. He was undeniably, as the mothers of
the Lizzies and Jennies and Bellas of Bloomsbury and Islington daily reminded their giddy offspring, as good a catch as any lord.

It had been some time, however, since Charles had encountered the
kind of intelligent curiosity that Antonia Fairfax took in all subjects, and especially in those which concerned people she was fond of. But then he
recalled that she had always been somewhat precocious, asking questions
about matters that most girls took no interest in. He had admired her for that—indeed, for many things. The ignominious end of their brief,
long-ago engagement temporarily forgotten, Charles could not now think
why he had let so much time pass since their last meeting.

“Yes, I have been fortunate,” he told her. “My only regret is that my affairs have kept me so much in London—not that things would have
collapsed without me had I taken a short holiday, but... well, tell me, Antonia, is your sister—that is, how are they all at Wyckham? Do you
hear from Carey? It must have been very trying for you, to be obliged to
undertake the affairs of the estate yourself.”

“Not at all,” Antonia replied, disregarding Charles’s reluctance to mention Maria. “Naturally, we have greatly missed having Carey with us, but as for Wyckham—why, you would be amazed, Charles, at how proficient
I have become at figures and accounts. Indeed, when Carey returns, I may
need to seek a position as clerk with you to keep myself occupied! What
would be very trying for me would be to have nothing to do all day.”

“Nothing but parties and pretty gowns and the latest mode in hairstyles.”

She smiled. “You must think me a sadly frivolous creature, Charles!
But I would not deprive Isabel of the pleasures a pretty young girl finds in
such fripperies, even at the risk of my becoming one of those managing
females everyone despises. It is very difficult, when one has been her own mistress for years and years—”

“Not so many years as that!”

She gave a watery chuckle and spread her hands helplessly. “My dear
Charles, you must know that my last birthday was my twenty-fifth!”

“Which is still far too young to be speaking of yourself in terms of
years and years.”

And indeed, she did feel very young and helpless beside Charles,
whose living presence was so much more vital than mere memories. They, having brought her girlhood so quickly back to her, now receded,
leaving it in the hands of this strong, familiar stranger. It was not an
unpleasant sensation, but it was a new one, and she was not yet certain how to deal with it.

Fortunately, since Charles seemed inclined to pursue the subject, Mrs Curtiz, having decided not to join the shopping expedition after all, had
relieved Belding of the tea tray and entered just at that moment with it in
hand. Antonia could not help admiring Imogen’s sense of timing, but
Charles seemed to see no calculation in it and rose to his feet to take the tray from her.

“My dear ma’am! You must not be allowed to—”

“My dear Charles! I am perfectly capable of this little exertion. Do
allow me to indulge myself.”

She shot a speaking look at Antonia as she set the tray on an inlaid mahogany table. “Not,” she went on, “that this represents much of an
indulgence. I declare, I have never seen such a meagre repast in this house. Can Cloris have eaten everything? I have sent Belding after some
of those macaroons Mrs Driscoll made yesterday. How are you, Charles?
How is your father? More to the point,
where
is your father? Do sit
down, dear boy.”

Looking not unlike a large dog being kept at bay by a very vocal terrier,
Charles meekly obeyed. He took a cup of tea, together with instructions
on how to sip it so as to savour its flavour to the fullest, and ventured the
information that he expected his father within the week.

“That is, I have not had a letter recently, but such was his last
intention. I presume he means to abide by it.”

“There is no telling,” Mrs Curtiz said, implying darkly that Philip
Kenyon’s intentions were not to be trusted. “Oh, here are the macaroons.”

Here was, in fact, Belding with a plate of macaroons, which Imogen
rose to relieve him of and Charles, determinedly gallant, leapt to take
from her. Antonia promptly joined in the game, admonishing them both
to sit down so that she might play her proper role as hostess.

“For I must impress on you, Charles,” she said as she offered the
macaroons to each of them in turn, “how adept I am becoming at
entertaining visitors. We have already had a great many, you know, in
addition to which I am obliged to devote myself to such matters as hiring
another kitchen maid to assist Mrs Driscoll in her macaroon-making.”

“You still have Mrs Driscoll with you, then?” Charles enquired,
displaying—or pretending to display—a gratifying memory of life at
Wyckham, despite his having had no part of it for so long. Mrs Curtiz
raised her eyebrows, but did not voice her enquiry; instead, she sat back
with the air of one about to be granted the answer to a long-standing
riddle. Antonia shot her a warning look, and then, reassured by Imogen’s
discreet silence, returned her attention to Charles.

“Indeed, yes. And now that she has escaped the influence of our
formidable Mrs Medwin—you remember our housekeeper, of course,
Charles? —she has waxed positively jovial and makes nothing of daily
expeditions to.Covent Garden market for fresh vegetables. She has even been induced—by the neighbours’ superior chefs, I daresay—to experiment with dishes
à la française
and exotic sauces that her country-bred
soul has heretofore scorned. Even Belding has revealed an unexpectedly
intimate knowledge of such corners of London as I had not known to
exist but which seem a veritable treasure house of fine wines and cheap
candles.”

Charles declared himself pleased that matters were so well in train toward making their season a great success. He offered once again to
assist in any way he could and enquired if Belding was aware of a certain
source for the champagne they would need to lay in for Isabel’s ball, and if Mrs Driscoll’s foodstuffs could not be acquired at an even better price at such-and-such a vendor’s, until presently Charles and Antonia fell into
a discussion of the minutiae of household management which cast Mrs
Curtiz into the role of silent observer, rather like a witness to a contest
between two Billingsgate fishmongers over which of them was the more
knowledgeable and resourceful in the pursuit of his trade.

“There was a note from Lady Sefton in this morning’s post as well,”
she interposed suddenly, as if continuing rather than interrupting the flow of conversation. “I daresay that means she and her vouchers for
Almack’s will be upon us shortly.”

“Almack’s!” Charles exclaimed, apparently oblivious to any ulterior
motive that might lurk behind Imogen’s pointed turn of the subject.
“That is splendid. I did not know you were acquainted with any of the
patronesses.”

“We are not, as yet,” Antonia was obliged to concede. “We are, rather,
fortunate to be acquainted with someone who is and interceded most
kindly on our behalf. I do hope you will accompany us when we attend
the assembly, Charles.”

“Alas, I wish I were able to do so,” Charles replied, causing Mrs Curtiz
to give him an admiring look for his honesty. “But I understand that
persons engaged in commerce have no hope of gaining an entree to the
famous assemblies. I have not cared to humiliate myself by seeking one.”