The Famous Heroine/The Plumed Bonnet (16 page)

“By no means,” his grace said with a sigh. “I will spend my day wandering from drawing room to drawing room. I shall call on my mother first and make sure that she does the same. We will both be amused by the terror with which our sweet, innocent heroine greeted her moment of fame with Prinny. And amused too by the way she took to her heels afterward and clung to you in fear and trembling when you went after her to console her and bring her back. No one will dare contradict me, and no one will even think of disbelieving my mother when she is at her most gracious.”

“And the story would be almost entirely true,” Lord Francis said. “Except that we were
laughing
. Relief on her part that it was all over, I suppose, and genuine amusement on my part. She has a way of amusing me.” He spoke rather sadly. He would not be able to allow himself to be amused by her ever again.

“Yes, well, it will be done,” his grace said, reaching for his snuffbox even though he had not quite finished his breakfast. “And no more nonsense about offering for her, Kneller.”

Lord Francis got to his feet again, pushed his chair under the table, and grasped the back of it. “I am much obliged to you, Bridge,” he said, “for her sake. If there is any scandal, it is entirely my fault. She is far more innocent than her years would lead one to expect. I believe she had no notion at the time that there was anything worse in the situation than a measure of embarrassment. If there is no way of smoothing all over, you will make sure that I know?”

“Indeed,” his grace said, his snuff-bedecked hand poised before his face. “But if that happens, Kneller, we will send her quietly home. Scandal would not follow her there into her own world, you know.”

Lord Francis drummed the fingers of one hand against the chair for a moment before nodding curtly and taking his leave.

He felt considerably better, he thought as he hurried away down the street on foot. He had been very much afraid that Bridgwater would have a marriage contract all drawn up to wave beneath his nose as soon as they met. Not that Bridgwater had any authority to draw up any such document, of course. But even so …

Perhaps he had escaped. Perhaps she had escaped.

But one thing was sure. He was not going to be seen within half a mile of Miss Cora Downes for what remained of the Season.

The thought was strangely depressing.

For the first time in several weeks Lord Francis quite deliberately conjured up a mental image of Samantha Newman, now Samantha Wade, Marchioness of Carew. Quite deliberately he tortured himself with images of her walking hand in hand with Carew about Highmoor Park in Yorkshire. Quite deliberately he reminded himself that she was increasing.

Quite deliberately he forced himself into an agony of loneliness and self-pity.

His heart no longer felt as if it were in the soles of his boots. It felt as if it were six feet beneath the ground.

Damnation, but life was an unpleasant business these days.

HERE WAS, OF COURSE, NO SCANDAL
. C
ORA HAD NOT
expected there would be. How foolish! All that had happened was that she had been seen laughing helplessly in Lord Francis Kneller’s arms—Lord Francis of all people. It had been embarrassing to be so caught, but nothing else. No one with any sense would have suspected anything else. And apparently no one did.

For the next week she was besieged by admirers, both old and new. She had two marriage offers and declined them both. None of her gentlemen admirers referred to the incident at the Fuller ball—at least not to
that
incident. A few were dazzled by the fact that the Prince of Wales had actually spoken with her.

A few of her lady acquaintances made oblique reference to
the
incident, it was true. One of them told her she was fortunate indeed to have Lord Francis Kneller as part of her court. Apparently he added something called
tone
to it. With Lord Francis as a member of one’s court, it seemed, one was assured of attracting many more members. If that was true, Cora thought, then he had been extraordinarily successful. Of course he was not really paying court to her, but perhaps he had intended to bring her to the attention of other gentlemen. She must remember to ask him about it the next time she saw him. They would have a laugh over it.

The Honorable Miss Pamela Fletcher—who had not taken well at all this year, largely because of a nasty disposition, in Cora’s estimation—was a little less kind.

“Lord Francis Kneller has attached himself to Miss Downes’s court,” she explained kindly to one young lady, “because he is so accustomed to being part of
someone’s
court, poor gentleman.” She sighed.

No one then present cared to feed her the lines that would enable her to enlarge on the observation. But neither did anyone start talking furiously about the weather or any other innocuous subject. Everyone looked mildly embarrassed, except for Cora, who looked mildly interested. And so Miss Fletcher continued uninvited.

“Lord Francis was a part of Samantha Newman’s court for
years
, you know,” she said, speaking to Cora, though it was obvious she thought Cora did not know. “He was devoted to her. It was rumored that he was heartbroken when she married the Marquess of Carew earlier this Season. But who could blame her?” She looked about the group with a smile, inviting agreement. “The marquess is lamentably lacking in good looks and he is a
cripple
, though one does not like to use such a vulgar word aloud, but he is said to be worth more than fifty thousand a year. I might have been tempted to marry him myself if he had asked.” She tittered merrily.

Miss Fletcher, Cora concluded, was seriously deficient in brain power. If Lord Francis had been a member of a lady’s court for
years
, was not that indication enough that he had had no real romantic interest in her? Lord Francis heartbroken because his lady love had married another man for his fortune? What nonsense. She stored up this little tidbit of gossip to share with him too. She was going to tease him about Samantha Whatever-her-name-was, now the Marchioness of Wherever.

But the trouble was, even though the week following
Lady Fuller’s ball was an extremely busy one, and even though there were more gentlemen than enough to dance with Cora and drive with her and walk with her and converse with her, there was never the only one with whom she could
enjoy
doing those things. During the whole week she did not exchange a single word with Lord Francis Kneller. She saw him only twice—once at the theater when she was there with a party made up by the Earl of Greenwald, and once when she was shopping on Oxford Street. On neither occasion were they close enough to each other to exchange more than a distant and cheerful wave.

It was most provoking and most dreary. She had decided she wanted nothing to do with suitors, yet she dealt with nothing but suitors all day and every day. She wanted only a friend for the final two weeks she was to spend in London—a friend with whom she could relax and chat and laugh. She saw nothing of the only real friend she had in London—though that seemed an absurd and disloyal thought when she had Jane and even Elizabeth to be her friends.

She had known she was going to miss Lord Francis when she returned to Bristol. But she had not expected to have to start missing him so soon. Of course, he owed her nothing. He had been far kinder than could have been expected of a gentleman of his rank. He had tired of taking notice of her. He did not even think of her as a friend. How could she even have thought he might? The realization was a little humiliating.

There was just a week left in London. Apart from the usual daily rounds of entertainments, there was one in particular to which she looked forward. She was to go to Vauxhall Gardens one evening, again as part of the Earl of Greenwald’s party. She had not been there before and was excited at the prospect of seeing the famous pleasure gardens at night, when they were reputed to be
magical with their lamp-laden trees and shady walks and pavilion and music and food and fireworks.

It would be one last thrilling memory to store away before she went home again. How she longed to be at home! How she longed to boast to Papa and Edgar about all she had seen and done. How she longed to tell them about meeting the prince. She had mentioned in her letter only that he had attended the Fuller ball, at which she had been a guest. She had hugged to herself the main detail—
that he had spoken to her personally—
to tell them face-to-face. She wanted to watch their expressions when they heard it.

Oh, yes, she longed to be home. But first there were Vauxhall and a final week of merrymaking.

H
E DID NOT
know quite what he was doing still in London. There was no real reason to stay and the Season was all but at an end. Several people had already left. But where would he go? He had an estate of his own in Wiltshire, left him by his mother, but he always felt restless, even lonely there unless he took a house party with him. He did not feel like organizing a house party. He could go to his brother’s for a few weeks—there was always a standing invitation for him there, and the children would be delirious with joy. Or he could go to either of his sisters’. Both of them would go into instant action trotting out before him all the local eligible hopefuls. No, he was not in the mood for family, especially the matchmaking members of the family—and even his sister-in-law was not entirely blameless in that department. He could go to Brighton, where the entertainments of the Season would continue almost unabated in new surroundings. But he did not feel like more of the same. He could go to Chalcote in Yorkshire to visit Gabe and Lady Thornhill …

No, he could not. Highmoor adjoined Chalcote and they visited back and forth almost every day, Gabe had written. He could never go back to Chalcote—not for a long, long time, anyway, until he could be sure of doing so without making an ass of himself. He certainly did not want to see her with a growing womb. The very thought invited something near panic.

And so he stayed on in London simply because there was nowhere else he fancied going. Besides, for a few days he was not certain that scandal had been averted in that unfortunate affair at Lady Fuller’s ball. He could not understand what had got into him on that occasion. He could not recall laughing helplessly over nothing since he was a boy, and he certainly could not recall ever clinging to a female while he did so. And they had been seen. It was alarmingly humiliating. He was not at all sure that Bridgwater and his mother, even with all their consequence and influence, would be able to persuade the
ton
that what had been witnessed by so many had not been a passionate embrace.

He stayed so that he might offer for the woman if worse came to worst. It was another alarming thought. Fairhurst would have his head, Bridgwater had said. It was perfectly true—but his head would be had by chewing more than by chopping. Even a younger son of a Duke of Fairhurst was expected to be rather high in the instep. Even Samantha would have been somewhat frowned upon as his bride.

Samantha—he wished he could stop thinking about her. He was weary of doing so. He was tired of nursing a broken heart.

There was no scandal. Either the
ton
was far more sensible than it usually was—surely no one would seriously believe that he had been either courting or dallying with Miss Downes—or it was so dazzled by the honor Prinny had just paid her inside the ballroom that
it readily forgave her minor indiscretion in celebrating her victory with an exuberant hug with her partner of the moment. Or Bridge and his mother had accomplished a very good day’s work in deadening the growing gossip.

Lord Francis did his part by staying in case he was needed, but by keeping his distance from the dangerous person of Miss Cora Downes. It meant ducking out of ballrooms whenever he saw her in them and scooting down streets when he spotted her, so that they would not meet face-to-face, and doing an about-face with his horse in Hyde Park one afternoon, leaving the park only a few moments after entering it because she was there driving with Pandry. It meant being watchful and devious.

It meant being a little depressed.

He was missing her bright chatter and gay laughter. He was missing the expectation of farce in her company. There had been something farcical even in the fact that rollicking laughter had almost precipitated them into scandal and a forced union. He had to admit to himself at the end of one week that the high points of the week had been the two occasions when he had been unable to duck out of her sight and had been forced to lift a hand in acknowledgment of her. Both times she had smiled brightly and waved gaily.

Just as if she really cared. He remembered his discomfort at the ball and his growing conviction that she had allowed her feelings for him to grow too warm. He hoped she was not in love with him. But he had to confess on both occasions that she did not look quite like a woman who was pining over an elusive lover.

He danced with Lady Augusta Haville once during the week—the first time he had done so, even though he had been thinking about it for some time and she had been signaling her willingness for an even longer time. The
morning after, he received an unexpected invitation from Lady Augusta’s mama to make one of an evening party to Vauxhall.
Why not?
he thought with a shrug, the invitation still in his hand after he had already decided to refuse.
Why not?
He had been to Vauxhall only once this year. It was always worth a visit. And if there was any lingering gossip about Miss Downes and him, then he would put it finally to rest by appearing in public with Lady Augusta and her party.