The Heart That Lies (4 page)

“I do not always concentrate as I ought.”

The boy looked away and bit
his lip. Meldon was ashamed; Smith had obviously noticed that the older man was attracted to him and attributed his lack of concentration to that attraction.

It was a relief for Meldon when the evening came to a close. He had at least managed to give some wrong information to Bonaparte’s spies
. If only he could find a way to resolve his situation with Smith as easily.

However much Meldon told himself that the invitation to Smith to dine alone with him in his house was motivated by a desire to keep his eye on him and to make him talk, he was not entirely convinced. He was very much afraid that he just wanted to spend the evening alone with the boy. Finch’s presence would have allowed him to watch Smith more closely, he realised. Now he would have to make conversation and watch whilst giving the appearance of not watching.

The meal was very pleasant. Smith’s manners were impeccable and Meldon began to suspect that there was more to him than met the eye; if he had not been brought up to high rank, he
, or his father on his behalf, certainly aspired to it. Not only did Smith appreciate the food he was served appropriately, but he did not have to ask what any of it was. He even recognised the wines by taste. This was no farmer’s son from Lincolnshire. To be fair to the man, he had never claimed that his father was a farmer, but some kind of landowner, but the implication had been that the man was low born.

Smith’s education seemed
to have been rather fanciful, whether he was the son of a gentleman or a farmer. He was well enough read and he understood what he had read. He knew a fair amount of history and his knowledge of French, German, Greek and Latin could not be faulted. It was his lack of knowledge about politics that surprised Meldon. The boy did not seem to know whether he was a Whig or a Tory. He knew nothing of soldiering nor of what was happening on the other side of the Channel.

“You’ll be telling me next yo
u’ve never heard of Nelson,” joked Meldon.

“Of course I have,
my lord. He was a great hero.” Smith seemed put out at being the butt of Meldon’s small joke. Meldon hoped he wouldn’t form his beautiful mouth into a pout, for he had so far been very successful in managing the evidence of his attraction to the younger man.

“
Indeed he was,” agreed Meldon. “I had the honour of meeting him twice. I was younger than you are now and my father entertained him at Meldon Hall, my house in Hampshire.”

“What was he like?” asked Smith.

“Courteous and flamboyant,” said Meldon. “He was a very emotional man.”

“You were not tempted to take him as your model?”
Smith smiled, as if he knew Meldon well enough already to know the answer. Meldon paused. In truth, Nelson had scared him. The man had been so governed by his emotions that no one knew what he would do next. Meldon preferred self-control and restraint. There had been nothing false about the man, but Meldon had no intention of being as exposed as the admiral had made himself to his fellow man. Tears had come as easily to Nelson as they did to Meldon’s father, reflecting the times in which they had been brought up. Meldon, who was much younger than his sister and had been brought up more as an only child, had grown used to keeping his own emotions to himself.

“No
,” he said. “That sort of thing is all very well if you have something to be flamboyant about. The man was a genius and I swear that if he had asked me to go sea with him, I would have followed him that day, but I did not wish to emulate him.”

“
And you chose to be a soldier.”

“The Earls of Meldon have always been soldiers. I saw no reason to change that.”
Even now, however, Meldon wondered sometimes whether it would have been better to have gone to sea. At least he would have known some of the glory that came with victory. The army had seen precious little of it in this war.

They came to the end of the meal. Meldon picked up his glass and stood.

“Shall we go into the drawing-room?”

Smith followed him and they sat in Meldon’s comfortable
chairs and drank. The windows were open as far as they would go in an attempt to cool the room. Occasionally they heard the noise of a passing carriage or someone walking along the street outside. Meldon hoped that the contrast with Smith’s lodgings was not too evident; he had no intention of making the boy feel inferior.

Meldon felt at
peace with the world, a rare event these days. Smith also looked less haggard than he had on his arrival. Meldon thought that he probably couldn’t afford to eat well and resolved to invite him as often as he could to Meldon House or his club. In this mellow state he thought that the exercise in self-control would do him good.

“Are you out much?” he asked.

“Only to gamble. I know very few people.”

“Then dine with me at the club. You’ll meet
a lot of people very quickly.”

“But,
my lord, I can’t...”

“Yes, you can,” said Meldon gently, ignoring the stricken look on the boy’s face. “You need to meet people who can help you and one day you’ll be in a position to help others.
That’s how these things work.”

“That’s very kind of you,
my lord.”

Meldon was uncomfortably
aware that this wasn’t true, but he smiled as benignly as possible.

“And
women? Have you met many women?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. The boy’s face fell and he wished the words unsaid.

“Not many,
my lord. I’m only a poor man from Lincolnshire.”

“When you know more men you’ll be invited to suppers and balls. I could even invite a few mothers and daughters here.”
Meldon entertained a great deal. It was a good way of learning what was going on and what was being said and he enjoyed it.

“Please
do not trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble.” Meldon t
hought that seeing Smith fall in love might cure him of the attraction he felt for the boy. “A young man should fall in love.”

Smith blushed. “I am already in love.”
He looked away from Meldon.

“Oh.” Meldon had not expected the
disappointment that washed over him. “Who is she? Do I know her?”

Smith hesitated.

“She’s not married?” He could not bear the thought of consoling the boy for a hopeless affection.

“No
, my love is not married and yes, the object of my affections is known to you, my lord.”

“A young woman, then and
doubtless beautiful.”

Smith smiled the smile that Meldon had seen before only once. It was like a brief glimpse into his soul.

“My... my love is older than me, but quite plain, apart from the hands. My love is possessed of very fine hands and a good character.”

Unwittingly Meldon looked at his own hands. He was not a vain man
, all the looks had gone to his sister, but he was proud of his hands. His fingers were long and thin and he went to great lengths to protect them, much to the despair of Perkins, who had to ensure that there was always a pair of good gloves available for his master to wear, even when the earl was indoors without visitors.

“A good character is more valuab
le than beauty,” he said after a long pause, “and it lasts longer. Does she return your affection?”

“No, I
do not believe so.” Smith smiled weakly, but Meldon could see that the admission saddened the boy.

“I’m sorry for that. Is it your poverty that disgusts her?”

“No, my lord. No one of good character can be disgusted by poverty. Let us just say that my... my love does not see my situation, or even my person, clearly.”

“Yet you hope.”

“Of course I hope. I would not let that hope die for anything.”

Meldon nodded, although he did not understand. He had never loved, never even come close to it.
He had had two mistresses. He had taken them more because it was the thing to do than because he had wanted them. He was almost grateful to his wound for giving him an excuse to give up his last mistress and he had not taken another. He had found the relationships to be utterly devoid of passion and could not see the point of making love to a woman for whom he felt nothing. He had become convinced that he would never know love, but hearing Smith talk about his love he began to wonder whether he had been wrong to dismiss the idea, despite the pain it obviously gave the boy.

He roused himself from this ref
lection.

“If I know her, perhaps I may be of assistance in helping her to see your situation more clearly.”

“You are indeed very kind, my lord, but...”

“Kindness be damned!”

Meldon jumped out of his chair so quickly that Smith jerked his hand up protectively, as if afraid of an attack from Meldon. Whisky flew out of his glass and onto his clothes.

“I’m sorry. I’ll send for Perkins and he can put you into a clean shirt and waistcoat. I’m
a lot larger than you, but Perkins can work wonders.”

Smith was on his feet and dabbing ineffectually at the stains with a handkerchief.

“Please don’t bother, my lord. I should be going anyway.”

“Nonsense. I can’t let you go out looking like that.”

“It is nothing, my lord.”

“Please, forgive my lack of manners.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“Then allow me to make amends by inviting you to supper on Thursday evening. I shall have company, so that you shan’t have to bear my boorish manners alone.”

“Thank you. That would be very pleasant.”

After S
mith was gone Meldon ripped off his cravat and pulled off his waistcoat before he sat again. It was unbearably hot and there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room to breathe. Damned if he hadn’t made the boy so uncomfortable that he was afraid to remove his shirt in front of him. This could not go on.

“This evening will be the talk of town for days,” said Finch.

“Hmm
? Why?” Reluctantly Meldon dragged his attention from Smith, who was laughing and smiling with the Misses Arbuthnot.

“When was the last time a pretty young woman crossed your threshold? With the exception of Lady Caroline, of course.”

“Caro wouldn’t be flattered that you call her young.” At forty-three Meldon’s sister was fifteen years his senior. Those fifteen years represented continually dashed hopes for his parents as each son who was born to them died after a few weeks or days. His own arrival had been preceded by four years of barrenness.

“Yes, she speaks every bit as plainly as you. But you must concede that she’s beautiful.”

“I will allow that.” Meldon smiled, for he was very fond of his sister and she was beautiful. The only reason that he had not invited her tonight was so that his oldest nephew John, just about to go to back to Oxford, could enjoy an evening with other young people away from her censorious gaze. It meant that he had to watch him himself, but John was everything that his mother could hope he would be in company. Since John was as interested in the Arbuthnots as they were in Smith, it was not too great a task to keep an eye on him, for Meldon was constantly looking to see who Smith talked with and how he behaved and John was always near.

Although Smith had shown a preference for remaining
with Meldon’s male guests, he had seemed to understand that the purpose of the evening was for him to meet women of his own age and station and had gradually spent more and more time with the female guests. Now he seemed very comfortable with the Misses Arbuthnot and Meldon was unhappy.

“You have been nagging me to have such a supper
for some time and now you complain,” said Meldon.

“I do complain. I
meant for you to find a wife, not Smith.”

Meldon looked at his friend. “I am not as lonely as you think.”

“No? It won’t be long before you won’t know how to talk to a woman and when you do find the one you want you won’t be able to tell her.”

“It’s a good thing
that you’ll be around to give me advice, then.”

Finch laughed so hard that he snorted and every
eye in the room turned to him.

“Are you alright, Mr Finch? Shall I fetch you some water?”

It was Smith. When had he left the group on the other side of the room to come here?

“He’s well enough,” said Meldon.
“Just laughing at a joke.”

Smith looked at Meldon as if he could not conceive o
f the other man telling a joke.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”
Meldon asked as Finch started to cough beside him.

“Yes, thank you. It was very kind of you to invite me.
” He spared a glance for Finch. “Are you sure that Mr Finch is quite well?”

Meldon slapped his friend on the back, so hard that he almost fell. “Yes, he’s perfectly well.”

Finch stopped coughing and took a sip from the glass in his hand.

“Meldon is quite funny when you get to know him.”

Smith looked doubtful.

Miss Arbuthnot came up to
Meldon with her sister. She smiled briefly at Smith then turned shyly to her host. “May we dance, Lord Meldon?”

“Of course.” Meldon had calculated the number of guests so tha
t they might dance. He wished to see how Smith would acquit himself. “But make sure you take it in turns to play the pianoforte.”