Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (16 page)

Max suspected Fanny knew of his interest in her niece, and hoped she would keep the party small enough to allow him ample opportunity to get Rosalind alone. When word got out, however, that a Vauxhall party was in the works, all of Rosalind's beaux began hanging out for an invitation. The minx obliged most of them. To even out the numbers, she invited several ladies as well, so the box was filled to bursting soon after they arrived.

When Max had secured his waltz, he lost no time in leading her away from the dancing and toward the Dark Walk.

"Have you become bored with our waltzes, Max?" she asked as he took her arm and guided her deeper into the gardens. She wore a pale pink dress with a bodice of burgundy velvet, and an amusing little cap in matching velvet, ornamented with a silver bandeau and beads. She looked good enough to eat. "I take leave to tell you that I have not," she said. "No one dances as well as you do, you know. I so look forward to our waltzes."

"As do I, minx. But tonight, I look forward to other things."

"Yes, there is so much to be seen here, is there not? The charming orchestra pavilion, the music, the rope dancers, the jugglers, the Turkish alcoves, the transparencies, the Grand Salon, the lights—Oh, Max, the lights! So many lanterns glittering through the trees. It is like a fairyland, is it not? And there are—"

"Come here, minx." He pulled her into a dark, wooded alcove and took her in his arms. "This is what I have looked forward to."

He kissed her hungrily and she responded in kind, molding herself to him like a second skin. He wanted her so badly, he would have taken her then and there, but it was not his style. He would do it properly or not at all. Instead, he kissed her deeply and was just about to caress her more intimately when a loud explosion was followed by flash of light in the sky.

She pulled away and looked up. "Oh, Max! It's the fireworks! Let us go watch them." She took his hand and tugged him along, back to the main walk and toward the supper pavilions where the view was best. Soon, she was lost to him in the excitement of the spectacle, and he cursed himself for not watching the time. He ought to have known she would not want to miss the fireworks. He was unable to manage another private moment with her the rest of the evening.

Like a lovesick puppy, Max continued to dog her movements, making an appearance at every event he knew she would attend, becoming as much a fixture as her devoted coterie of swains. Good Lord, he supposed he was actually one of them. A devoted swain. Ha! What a fool he must look. His interest was noticed, and his friends began to taunt him.

"Thought you were out of the game," Lord Vaughn had complained. "No sense competing if you're in."

"Unfair advantage," Hugh Jeffries grumbled. "Thought I might catch her eye. Don't stand a chance now. Dammit, Davenant, you might have said something."

He ignored their jibes and continued his pursuit. And each time he saw her smile, each time he joined in her laughter, each time he touched her, each time he held her in his arms during a waltz, each time he listened to her bright-eyed, exuberant, joyful account of some new wonder, she stole another little piece of his heart.

It had been a dozen years and more since it last happened, but he recognized all the signs. He was falling in love with her.

Max had avoided being a party to Rosalind's afternoon excursions when, guidebook in hand, she explored every corner of the Metropolis. He had, however, developed a fond anticipation of her animated, and frank, descriptions of each outing. She adored the Tower, but hated its menagerie, preferring Polito's at Exeter Change. She was disappointed in Bullock's Museum on Picadilly, but had been thrilled to see Napoleon's carriage on display. The British Museum had been a dead bore, but the Elgin Marbles sent her into raptures.

Max had, for once, beat out the competition and obtained the privilege of driving her through the park one afternoon shortly after the Vauxhall party. Beguiled by her rhapsodic recital of the beautiful works to be seen at the latest exhibition of the Society of Painters in Water-Colours in Lower Brook Street, he was unprepared for the clever trap she set and fell straight into it like the greenest gull.

"Have you seen the current exhibition?" she asked.

"No, I haven't had the pleasure."

"You must take the time to do so, Max. You do not know how fortunate you are here in London to be able to see the best and brightest in every field. Do you enjoy painting? Oh, but of course you do. Aunt Fanny told me of your collection of modern works. I find myself most intrigued by Mr. Turner. Are you fond of his work?"

"Very much so. I own two of his paintings."

"Do you? Then you must of course be anxious to see the new ones on view at the Royal Academy exhibition. I had planned to visit Somerset House tomorrow. I should be pleased to have your escort, Max. You may explain to me Mr. Turner's vision and technique."

And so Max found himself ushering Rosalind through the crowded rooms, catalog at the ready, examining new works by Academy artists. Max always made a point of viewing all new Academy exhibitions, but usually by private arrangement and with an eye toward purchase. This time, with Rosalind at his side and the crowd of spectators jostling them about, he found more enjoyment than he would have imagined. It was gratifying and stimulating to share reactions with another. She had a definite eye for color and light, and was brutally frank in the expression of her opinions.

There were new works to be seen by Lawrence ("glossy bravura"), Wilkie ("exquisite sentiment"), Chantrey ("tender pathos"), Samuel ("a dabbler"), Fuseli ("horrifically sublime"), Martin ("portentous"), Ward ("I detest equine portraits"), and Mulready ("derivative"), as well as a massive work by Turner representing the
Decline of the Carthaginian Empire
. Rosalind read aloud from the catalog that it was a companion piece to
Dido Building Carthage
exhibited two years before.

"I recollect that one," Max said. "I believe this to be more successful in the subtlety of lighting."

"It is glorious, but—"

"The man's work is an outrage," a voice behind them boomed. "It is an offense to the eye and ought not be displayed in public."

Rosalind's lips pursed in anger and she spun around to face the harsh critic. "I beg your pardon, sir, but— Uncle Talmadge!"

Lord Talmadge, a stout, florid gentleman nearly bald as an egg, puffed out his chest and glared at Rosalind over the edge of gold spectacles perched precariously on a bulbous nose. "And who might you be, madam?"

"Do you not recognize your own niece? I am Rosalind Lacey."

He reared back and squinted through the spectacles. "Lacey? One of that brood, eh? How should I be expected to recognize one of—how many? Dozens?"

"There are six of us, as you well know. Or would, if you took the least interest in your sister's family."

"Impertinent hussy!" The man's face turned a deep red and he looked near to apoplexy. "As though I cared a fig for any brats sired by that fool Louisa married. Never approved of the man or his loathsome family. That sister of his racketing about town, setting herself up as some sort of courtesan to the Prince of Wales. Spawn of the devil, she and all her kin. Want nothing to do with any of you. Be off now, girl."

"How dare you speak like that of my family, you hateful old man." Her voice had grown loud and Max was dismayed to see a crowd begin to gather. "Your own sister's family! Allow me to tell you to your head that we want none of you, either, my lord. Is this gentleman a friend of yours?" she asked, nodding to the gaunt, elderly man standing next to Lord Talmadge. "Did you know, sir, that his fine lordship refused even to acknowledge any of his own sister's children? That he never answered his sister's plea for help the year my father's crops failed and we had barely more than two shillings to rub together? That the only time he was persuaded to darken the doors of our home was when he came to demand return of a family bible my mother cherished? That he never bothered to attend her funeral, or even to acknowledge her death? Christian charity, indeed."

"Impudent girl! I knew no good would come of marriage with a Lacey. Come along, Abernathy. I've had enough of this sharp-tongued baggage, as well as these monstrous splatters of paint. Let us leave this godless den of wickedness!"

The gaunt man was pulled roughly along by Lord Talmadge, but continued to stare over his shoulder in open-mouthed astonishment until he had disappeared into the crowd. The confrontation had drawn a large group of bystanders who began to whisper and snigger as they stared at Rosalind.

Max had kept hold of Rosalind's arm the whole time, and now guided her away from the crowd. "Perhaps we should leave," he said. "You cannot enjoy the pictures now. Come along, minx."

She walked stiffly at his side, head held high on her long, elegant neck, chin lifted at a defiant angle. She looked as imperious and proud as any duchess and drew many an appreciative glance as they made their way to the exit.

Max settled her in his carriage and gave the driver instructions before joining her. He took her chin in his hand and turned her face toward him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and yet a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I have always wanted to do that," she said, "to tell him exactly what I thought of him."

"You made an excellent job of it, my girl. He deserved every blow you landed."

"Yes, he did. It is just so frustrating!" She pounded the bench with a fist. "There was never any need for him to be estranged from Mama, though God knows she was probably better off without him. But she was his sister! And the irony of it is that Papa felt the same way about his own family. He has always been ashamed of Fanny and her notoriety. My uncle ought to have approved of him. Papa is a quiet, reserved country gentleman who finds more pleasure in his books than in his family. Though not as sanctimonious as Uncle Talmadge, he is very much steeped in propriety."

Max guessed that Rosalind's gregarious, lively personality was a reaction against such a parent. "How the devil did you get him to agree to let you stay with Fanny?"

"I am well above the age where I need his consent," she said, "but even so, he was quite accommodating. He was not thrilled, to be sure. He would rather I had gone with starchy old Lady Hartwell, who chaperoned both my sisters during their Seasons. But Fanny intrigued me. When I boldly wrote to ask if I might visit her, she obliged by writing Papa and inviting me."

"Capital woman, Fanny."

"She is. And it saddens me that so many of my family think otherwise. I am so glad I have got to know her. Uncle Talmadge can be damned. Aunt Fanny is worth a hundred of him."

"And so are you, minx." Max kissed her gently on the mouth, without passion, and knew in that moment that he was completely, foolishly, deliriously in love with her.

She smiled up at him, then rested her head on his shoulder. "Do you have any loose screws in your family, Max?"

"Had a great uncle who lost his wits and had to be locked up in an attic for years."

"Oh!"

"But I am sorry to report that most of my relations are frightfully upstanding. My eldest brother, Ethan— he's the current Earl of Blythe—minds the family estates with great care. Married well, and his wife has dutifully presented him with three sons and a daughter. Old Ethan is a pillar of the community. Then there's my sister Adelaide, Lady Gresham. Married a marquess with buckets of money, and spends it all on various charitable causes. Always doing good works, is Adelaide. Funding some school or hospital. And finally we have my younger brother, Trevor, Colonel Davenant of the 16th Light Dragoons. Made a name for himself with Wellington, listed in any number of dispatches. A hero at Waterloo. Now on Castlereagh's staff."

"What a remarkable family you have," Rosalind said. "You must be quite proud."

"Quite." The achievements of his siblings were indeed a source of pride for Max, but also a burden. He had never been able to match their productive lives, and ceased trying at an early age. Instead, he decided to dedicate his life to pleasure, and could boast that he had succeeded, reaching the top of his "profession."

"Speaking of siblings," he said, "whatever became of that brother of yours who stalked us at the Opera House?"

Rosalind lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled. "He came around to Fanny's the next day. Believe it or not, he didn't rip up at me at all. Thought it was grand lark."

"Not everyone in your family, then, is a stuffed shirt."

"No, but my sister Ursula makes up for the rest. You will never meet anyone higher in the instep than Ursula."

"I shall do my best to avoid her."

"Where are we going, Max?"

"To Gunter's. I thought you might need a lemon ice to cool you down after that fiery outburst."

A smile broke across her face, bright and fresh as a sunrise. "Excellent!"

*          *          *

"You told him he was a hateful old man?"

Rosie giggled at her brother's look of astonishment. "I did, and it felt wonderful. Hurry up with my cravat, Tommy. I am all agog to be off."

"Can't believe how you've changed, Rosie. Telling off old Talmadge. Curricle racing."

"I won!"

"Yes, I know. The whole world knows. And now this. Don't know how you managed to talk me into this caper."