Susanne Marie Knight (4 page)

Fenwick, a slender man closer in age to David than the Countess’, was a rumpled-looking fellow. Unkempt dark red hair, large liquid brown eyes, a rather sorrowful expression — the sort of man women often described as romantic.

More boldly put — good in the bedchamber; useless in a crisis.

In the tub-shaped chair across from her, David studied his mother and amended his thought about being unaltered. A beam of fading sunlight from the nearby window caught the Countess’ hair. Instead of its original light brown color, her hair gave off a distinctly reddish glow.

Henna? Was she so smitten with this Fenwick character that she resorted to artifice? Was the color intended to mimic Fenwick’s red hair?

The conversation continued without him, so he brought his attention back to his mother’s words.

“But Fenwick, dear, you must stay here with us. ’Tis not to be borne for you to take inferior lodging at a hotel.”

Good God!
Evidently the Countess had become dicked in the nob during David’s absence from England. Even the impropriety of the suggestion that her cicisbeo stay —

“My lady, it is very good of you to offer. However, I wouldn’t dream of imposing upon you and the earl,” Fenwick said smoothly. He slid his limpid gaze from the Countess to David. “I have made arrangements to stay at the Clarendon.”

Before his mother could register her protest, David tilted his head. “Excellent choice. I am certain you will enjoy your accommodations.”

Not that he cared a whit about the fellow’s enjoyment. Personally, he wished Fenwick to the devil.

Or rather, to the point: when would the bounder take his leave?

Sometimes a butler could anticipate his master’s desires. Perhaps Stevens would enter the drawing room with an urgent message, triggering Fenwick’s departure.

David eyed the open door out into the corridor. If he concentrated hard enough, Stevens just might appear.

A head did appear but it wasn’t the butler’s. His houseguest, Miss Branford, peeked into room.

“Oh! Please excuse me.” Her cheeks blushed vivid pink with embarrassment. “I was looking for the library.”

David stood and quickly strode over to the doorframe. The girl was just as lovely as yesterday. Perhaps even more so, since she was rested. Looks aside, he was grateful for her intrusion. Indeed, it was providence. She had come along as an answer to his unspoken wish for a diversion.

“No need to apologize, Miss Branford.” He placed his hand under her arm and, ignoring the plea in her eyes to let her be, firmly led her to the settee. “Allow me to introduce my mother, Lady Ingraham.”

Miss Branford stepped away from him, then made a pretty curtsy. “I’m very happy to meet you, my lady. I greatly appreciate your very kind invitation.”

His mother’s blank-eyed gaze revealed that she did not remember Miss Branford’s identity.

“Mother, this is our cousin, Miss Branford. You and I exchanged correspondence about her visit.”

That jogged the Countess’ memory. She patted the empty cushion in the middle of the settee. “Yes, yes, indeed. Please sit, my dear. I have heard so much about you. You and I shall get along famously. I just know we will.”

Miss Branford meekly obeyed and folded her hands in her lap. Her cotton morning gown appeared dingy next to the colorful blue flowered fabric of the sofa…and the Countess’ flashy finery.

Fenwick had already gotten to his feet and David extended his hand in Fenwick’s direction. “And this gentleman is Mr. Fenwick.”

The man made a small bow. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Branford. I, as well, have heard much about you. As I can see with my own eyes, there has been no exaggeration.”

If possible, the girl’s rosy blush deepened.

Fenwick’s mournful countenance lit up with a smile. “May I have the pleasure of escorting you two ladies around Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon?”

The Countess clapped her hands together. “What a splendid idea. A carriage ride! Yes, and the most fashionable time to be seen at the park is between five and six. Shall we say, five o’clock, then, Fenwick?”

Miss Branford glanced up at David with another pleading look in her deep hazel eyes. Evidently she did not care for the idea but as her hostess expressed delight, she could do naught but agree.

Once again he disregarded her plea. The girl would have to rely on another Sir Galahad to rescue her.

Then again, his interpretation of her expression could have been completely wrong. After all, what did he know about her ways? His acquaintance with this chit was of less than a twenty-four hour duration.

“Done then.” Fenwick bowed again. “Until tomorrow, ladies. My lord.”

As soon as the slippery fellow left, David exhaled in relief. His duty now was to attempt to lessen the man’s hold over the Countess. Or divert her attention toward a more worthy object for her affection.

His mother turned her rabid interest on Miss Branford. “You are just down from Northumberland, are you not? So very far away. You must tell me all about Aunt Cordelia’s passing, my dear. Did she suffer?”

The young woman paled and lowered her gaze. “She did suffer for a brief time, ma’am, with a high fever. I confess it was quite dreadful to see, but, mercifully, Great Aunt Cordelia had a speedy release. I believe she was as comfortable as could be expected at the end.”

Miss Branford’s sentiments did her much credit. He admired her fortitude and the strength of her deportment. She seemed to be a young woman without an ounce of guile, without a drop of deceit.

Again, he was reminded of a rare jewel. For some reason, this thought disturbed him.

He stood. “Ladies, I have some pressing business to attend to, so I shall leave you to get better acquainted.”

His mother waved an imperious hand. “Do go on, David. Never fear, Miss Branford and I will be bosom bows by the time we see you again for dinner.”

Dinner. He darted his gaze over his houseguest’s appealing form as if she were on the dinner menu.

Greyle!

This mooning over the country cousin had to stop. He bowed to his mother, and then to the appetizing dessert. “My apologies, ladies, but I fear I will not be able to join you tonight. I am dining at my club this evening.”

He had not planned to eat at Brooks’ until just this very moment, but thank the heavens he thought of it. In addition, he would banish his inappropriate longing for Miss Branford by paying his mistress a long overdue visit.

David took his leave, then strode out of the drawing room as fast as was humanly possible. He never imagined having houseguests would prove to be so unsettling.

The weather for the latter part of October was still comfortably tolerable. David placed his beaver topper squarely on his head, then left Palace of Westminster. For the past three days, he had worked inside the government office. In fact, ever since his houseguest had arrived.

Not that he was avoiding Grosvenor Square.

He looked up at the late afternoon sky. Instead of hailing a hackney carriage, he would walk back to his townhouse. A long haul, to be sure, but after discussions with Lord Castlereagh, the Foreign Secretary, and Lord Liverpool, the prime minister, David needed to clear his head.

This meeting had been in preparation for next month’s Parliament session. The upcoming debate promised to be a grim one. The summer’s unending rain had yielded a dismal harvest with the almost total failure of the potato crop, and in turn had caused a sharp increase in the cost of corn. Exports dwindled, fields laid fallow, factories dismissed workers. The list of serious woes seemed endless.

Should a national charity program be implemented? Should there be as little governmental interference as possible with the liberties of English citizens, as the Whig stance believed? Or should the security and welfare of the state have more importance than any particular subject, which was the philosophy of Tory ministers?

These were the pressing issues in this, the year of our Lord 1816: the rights of the individual versus the rights of the state.

People looked to the Houses of Lords and Commons to cure the country’s ills. How could Lord Liverpool’s government bring about a return to prosperity?

Enough politics! David shook away his dismal contemplation and concentrated on his surroundings. His steps had brought him to the road bordering St. James’ Park to the south. Birdcage Walk it was dubbed, so named because of Charles II’s long row of exotic bird aviaries set up along the path.

As he strolled along the road with its magnificent trees shaking glossy dark leaves in the breeze, he inhaled the crisp autumn air. It had a bracing effect, enabling him to set aside the woes of England.

It felt good to relax.

“Ingraham!”

David looked up and saw his friend Henry Penning handling the ribbons on his high-perched phaeton.

Penning stopped his horse next to David, then leaned across the seat. “Lud, man, what the deuce are you about, traveling under your own steam, of all things? Why do you walk when you can ride?”

“Thanks but no thanks, Penning. I have been sitting all day. Where are you headed?”

“’Tis a pleasurable journey.” A smile brightened Penning’s face. “To see London’s new angel, of course.”

“And who might that be?” Penning rarely expressed interest in any female, eligible or otherwise. Who had captured his friend’s fancy?

Penning slapped his muscular thigh and laughed. “Ho! You’ve been so busy with government business that you don’t know. Capitol! ’Tis your very own cousin, man. The toast of the town — Miss Branford.”

David’s jaw dropped. Miss Branford? Miss Bethany Branford? Her image flashed before him in his mind. True, she was an uncommon beauty, but to have already made a splash for herself in London society…

He stared at his friend with unseeing eyes. For three days now, Miss Branford had resided in his house. And for three nights he had dined elsewhere. Their paths had crossed only once. She had smiled shyly at him, then curtsied. Her hair, sleek and smooth, shone with a healthy glow. He had bowed, then made tracks out of the entrance hall into the safety of his study.

Despite the mild weather, a sudden chill ran up his spine, echoing his fear. Was his mother proving to be an inadequate chaperon?

“Where are you meeting Miss Branford?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded harsh.

“Why, Hyde Park, naturally.” Penning adjusted his top hat. “’Tis a known fact the lady enjoys a brisk drive alongside the bank of the Serpentine.”

All thoughts of walking now disappeared. Grabbing hold of the seat bench, David jumped up onto his friend’s phaeton. “Changed my mind, Penning. Take me to Hyde Park.”

“Stap me! I’ll ferry you anywhere you wish, old fellow. Just temper that fierce face of yours, hey? ’Tis akin to driving with the devil himself.”

David declined to comply nor reply. As Penning’s competent hands urged his carriage forward, David mulled over his unfortunate predicament. Women. He had just recently gotten his sister safely married off. His mother, well, she was a law unto herself. No pulling the reins in on that woman.

But Miss Branford — if she fell in with the wrong characters, she would be a liability waiting to happen. It would behoove the Earl of Ingraham to take a more personal interest in his cousin’s introduction to society.

And if he had to play matchmaker to that comely chit to insure she made an acceptable match, so be it.

Anything to get her off of his hands.

Sitting next to Mr. Fenwick in his tilbury, Bethany glanced at the autumn foliage of Hyde Park. The dazzling array of colors — oranges, yellows, reds, and of course greens was breathtaking to behold.

She was not alone in her enjoyment. All of London, it seemed, was within the confines of the park, taking advantage of the fine weather and nature’s vibrant display. In carriages, on horseback, and on foot, people crowded the pathways as if this was their last chance to revel in the glorious outdoors.

Her companion glanced over at her and smiled. “There is a decided crush today, wouldn’t you say? But then again Sundays are usually swarming with sightseers, from the tops of society to those who give themselves airs of importance and pretend to ascend to these lofty heights.”

Bethany waved away his snobbish attitude. Indeed, in that he reminded her of Bamburgh’s blacksmith Mr. Jarvis, only the gentleman by her side — debatedly — had a higher social standing.

“I can understand the reason for crowds of carriages and pedestrians, sir. The park is delightful. I will never tire of gazing at these majestic trees.” She swept her gaze out past the colorful foliage to the lake beyond. “And also the swans floating on the waters of the Serpentine.”

The shade from the stately trees lining the road caused the October breeze to feel cooler than a few moments ago. She pulled the warmth of her shawl around the shoulders of her new stylish pelisse.

“As lovely as the park is, it does not hold a candle to you, Miss Branford.” Mr. Fenwick turned his brown-eyed gaze from the horse’s progress and looked at her for an uncomfortable length of time.

She frowned. Sweet talk was never acceptable to her, especially from a gentleman she’d only met three days ago. “You flatter me, sir.”

Hopefully her tone contained the proper amount of disapproval.

“The truth is never flattery, Miss Branford.”

She shrugged, then glanced down at a barking dog that chased the open carriage in front of them. Every now and then the animal nipped at the horse’s legs — an extremely hazardous action. The dog was very brave not to be concerned about being trampled by horse hooves.

Brave, or blissfully unaware of the danger.

At the crossroads ahead, a fashionable phaeton traversed the road in front of them. The dashing female driving the carriage held the reins with one gloved hand and waved at them with the other.

As Bethany numbered very few acquaintances in London, the lady must have been greeting Mr. Fenwick, so she glanced over at him to observe his response.

He lifted his top hat, and then, of all things, he winked at the woman!

The woman smiled archly at this display, nodded, then continued down the dirt pathway.

Bethany pulled her shawl tighter. Goodness, was the pink blush on the woman’s cheeks from the artifice of a rouge pot?

“Who was that lady?”

The color of Mr. Fenwick’s red hair was now reflected on his cheeks. “I…she…well, no sense in wrapping it up in clean linen. That was Mrs. Lippincott of Drury Lane.”

His embarrassed explanation confirmed Bethany’s belief in the matter. Heat burned her own cheeks, probably matching her companion’s florid color.

Now eager for this outing to end, she glanced behind her. Lady Ingraham’s barouche had kept up the pace and continued to follow Mr. Fenwick’s tilbury. Behind the driver, Lady Ingraham and Lady Petunia sat like queens taking in all the splendors of the park as their just due.

Bethany fidgeted on her seat. If only she could trade places with one of her hostesses.

“Here is a lovely spot, Miss Branford.” Mr. Fenwick pointed to a flat area surrounded by a copse of beech trees. “Shall we rest here a moment so Lady Ingraham and Lady Petunia may join us?”

“An excellent idea, sir.” Bethany smiled at him. No doubt Lady Ingraham would gladly switch carriages so that she could sit beside her current favorite.

He guided the tilbury down a gentle slope and stopped in the clearing next to leafy beech trees. Lady Ingraham’s driver followed suit. While the Countess and Mr. Fenwick exchanged pleasantries, Lady Petunia motioned for Bethany to join her in a short walk along the edge of the Serpentine.

Once down from the carriages, they walked arm in arm together. As soon as they were past the tilbury, Petunia lowered her head close to Bethany’s ear. “I am mortified, Bethany! I saw Mr. Fenwick acknowledging that…that Paphian in your company. Gracious! He should’ve given her the cut direct.”

“He was only being polite, Petunia. Truly, there was no harm done.”

The Viscountess shook her head, sending her multitude of curls into a tizzy. “My word, ’tis monstrously improper. If my brother ever found out…oh, he would blame me so. ’Twould be a regular blow-up!”

“But why?” Bethany stumbled on the uneven path, then righted her gait. “What possible difference would it make to Lord Ingraham?”

She and Petunia approached the bank of the Serpentine, then watched the lake’s abundant waterfowl majestically swim close by. As if drawn by a magnet, the ducks and swans sailed closer — within feeding distance.

When no bits of bread or other edibles were cast upon the waters, the swans honked their protest. The ducks also chimed in.

“My word, such unharmonious noises coming from such graceful beauty, wouldn’t you say?” Petunia sighed. “What a day this has been. My nerves are shattered. Just shattered. I cannot believe I just received the cut direct from that scheming hussy.”

Bethany tried to decipher her hostess’ words. “From Mr. Fenwick’s acquaintance?”

“No, no. From the Marquess of Overton’s abominable daughter, Lady Harriet.” Petunia folded her arms across her bosom, then drummed her fingers. “I daresay you didn’t notice her. Her carriage is quite ostentatious, you must know. But in any event, back to your question. ’Tis amazing that you don’t know. But of course how could you? That woman — Mrs. Lippincott, I believe is the name she goes by — well, she was Davy’s mistress once upon a time.”

“Oh.” Bethany blinked rapidly, blocking out the scene of the swans and the ducks’ squawking their outrage. She hadn’t acquired enough town bronze to be comfortable with that sort of intimate information. Especially personal information concerning David Greyle. “Oh, I see.”

“You see what, Miss Branford?” a male voice from behind asked.

Bethany spun around, then blinked even harder. Standing only an arm’s distance away was none other than the incredibly handsome Lord Ingraham himself.

As he strode over to the ladies, David tightened his hands into fists. There could be no mistake: both Miss Branford and his sister had guilty expressions stamped on their faces. Why Petunia blazed red, he had no idea. But for Miss Branford — well, he had seen her unabashed smile at Randolph Fenwick. Obviously, she enjoyed indulging in an inappropriate flirtation with that bounder.

“Davy!” Instead of looking at him, Petunia averted her gaze, glancing down the road. “We, ah, what a pleasant surprise to see you at Hyde Park. And Lord Penning as well.”

She waved at Penning as he talked with the Countess and Fenwick a short distance away.

“Just so.” David lifted his hat in greeting to Miss Branford, but no accompanying smile lifted his lips.

Not that her appearance did not please him. He could admit, but only to himself, that she looked absolutely radiant in her new fashionable clothes. Indeed, she looked as a tempting as a pot of honey to a swarm of overeager flies.