The Unexpected Bride (4 page)

‘Your lordship may remember that upon the last occasion I ventured to do such a thing you hurled a boot at my head with great accuracy and consigned me to a place of extreme heat!’ was the unperturbed reply.

Darleston, satisfied that his cravat would pass muster, swung around with a distinct twinkle in his eye and asked curiously, ‘Why do you bear with me Fordham?’

The valet answered simply, ‘I like you, my lord, and even if you did hit me with the boot you apologised later and informed me that you would prefer I remained in your employ rather than seeking the post you had recommended in the heat of the moment.’

Darleston chuckled and said, ‘Very well, Fordham! Did you by any chance send a note round to Lady Edenhope?’

‘Certainly, my lord. She sent this note back for you.’ He handed Darleston a sealed billet.

‘Thank you, Fordham.’ He broke the seal and read the enclosed missive.

Darleston grinned. He wouldn’t put it past Lady Edenhope to know perfectly well where he had been last night. He glanced at Fordham and said, ‘You may send a footman round to tell Lady Edenhope that I shall be delighted to be her escort this evening.’

‘Very good, my lord. I will go myself, if your lordship has no further need for me this afternoon.’

‘Yourself, Fordham?’ said Darleston in surprise. ‘You are welcome to do so if you wish, but why?’

‘Some exercise will do me good, my lord. Mr Meadows has informed me that I am getting fat!’ There was a slight hint of indignation in Fordham’s tone of voice.

‘I see,’ said Darleston, somehow preserving a straight face. ‘You have my permission to take a walk every day if you deem it necessary. You know my routine. No doubt you can pick a time which will be mutually acceptable to us both. That will be all for now. You will lay out my clothes later, of course.’

‘Naturally, my lord.’ Fordham left on his message and Darleston gave himself up to laughter. No doubt Meadows, the old butler, was enjoying himself at Fordham’s expense, but there was no denying that Fordham was starting to look a little tubby!

Darleston did enjoy the concert that evening. He found Lady Edenhope’s company restful, and it was pleasant to sit back and listen to the music. One of the things he missed most about his mother was her music.
She had been a fine singer and had played the pianoforte with great talent. There had always been music in his home and he missed it greatly. He thought idly to himself that he must try and choose a musical wife.

During the interval he remained with Lady Edenhope, chatting about the performance. Two of Mozart’s string quartets had been played, and Lady Edenhope felt that a better balance of the parts had been needed.

They returned to their seats for the second half. ‘That cellist was by far too loud in places, Peter. Particularly in the slow movements!’ she asserted, and then realised that Darleston was not listening. He was staring at a lady she had already noted as being most oddly dressed.

All in severe black and heavily veiled, the lady sat two rows ahead of them and slightly to the right. She was escorted by a young person who was obviously a maidservant and had made no effort to speak to anyone during the interval. Looking at her more closely, Lady Edenhope came to the conclusion that she was quite young. The severe black was extremely flattering to an already slender figure.

Darleston continued to stare until his companion gave him a gentle nudge and asked, ‘Do you know that girl, Peter?’

‘What…? Oh, I’m sorry, Aunt Louisa! I wasn’t really attending,’ he apologised.

‘I noticed,’ she said dryly. ‘Is the young lady an acquaintance of yours?’

‘I’m not quite sure,’ said Darleston slowly. ‘I
think
I know who it is, but I can’t for the life of me imagine what she is doing dressed like that!’

‘Most odd!’ agreed Lady Edenhope. ‘Oh, here is the orchestra. We had better stop chattering.’

They sat back to enjoy the two symphonies which followed. The last one was Mozart’s final essay in this genre. Darleston had never heard the work before and was taken aback by the power of the music, particularly in the final movement. Here the closely knit interweaving of the melodies was utterly exhilarating, and when the end came Darleston felt that he wanted to leap up and yell like a boy. He contented himself with clapping vigorously.

The slender lady in black appeared to be similarly affected. She was leaning forward, applauding enthusiastically, and Darleston became more and more certain that he knew her.

Turning to Lady Edenhope as the audience began to make its way to the doors, Darleston said, ‘Would you excuse me for a moment, Aunt Louisa? I should like to speak to that lady.’

‘Of course, Peter,’ she replied. ‘I shall wait here.’

Darleston made his way forward against the crowd, nodding to acquaintances as he went. The girl in black had not moved from her seat, but seemed to be waiting for the crush to disperse. No one spoke to her, although many curious glances were cast in her direction.

She did not notice Darleston until he sat down beside her and said, ‘Good evening, Miss Ffolliot! Did you enjoy the concert?’ Several heads turned at once as he identified the mysterious lady.

There came a startled gasp and she swung around towards him. What he could see of the lovely face behind the veil suggested shock and consternation.
Rather surprised, he said, ‘I’m sorry. I did not mean to startle you.’

For a split second she hesitated, and then said, ‘It is Lord Darleston, is it not?’

He smiled and said, ‘Quite correct! Although I am surprised you can see a thing through that veil!’

‘But I…’ She stopped, appeared to recollect herself, and said with an assumption of lightness, ‘Well, my lord, you have lost me my wager!’

‘Miss Ffolliot, I most humbly beg your pardon! What wager was that?’ he asked in amusement.

‘Why, that no one would recognise me like this! I did not think it possible. And indeed I do not think anyone else did know me!’ she said, laughing.

Darleston chuckled and said, ‘I’m sure they didn’t. Certainly my companion Lady Edenhope did not. But I’m afraid that I gave the game away by speaking your name so loudly.’

She shrugged her shoulders and said surprisingly, ‘Oh, well, I dare say it does not matter too much now. Did you enjoy the concert?’

‘Yes, very much indeed. Especially the last symphony. I had not heard it before.’

‘Had you not?’ she asked. ‘I have once. I think it is my favourite of his works. The last movement—I wish it could go on for ever!’

‘That movement is particularly splendid,’ he agreed. ‘What is it that
you
like about it?’

She thought carefully for a moment and then said, ‘It’s all the melodies, I think. You know, how he fits them all together, especially at the end in the coda, where they seem to be tumbling over one another. It makes me want to run and jump. It makes me forget…’ Again she stopped herself in mid sentence.

‘Forget?’ he asked curiously. ‘What can a child your age wish to forget?’

‘Oh, nothing really, my lord,’ she answered awkwardly. ‘I really should be going now.’ She turned to the maid. ‘Anna?’

‘The crowd is gone, miss. Just his lordship, and a lady seems to be waiting for him,’ was the reply.

Darleston was very puzzled by now. Wishing to prolong the encounter, he asked, ‘May Lady Edenhope and I escort you home, Miss Ffolliot? I assure you it would be no trouble.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘Thank you, my lord, but the carriage will be waiting for me.’

Sensing that she would really prefer to be alone, Darleston did not press her, but said, ‘Then I had better return to Lady Edenhope! Goodnight, Miss Ffolliot, it was delightful to run across you again so unexpectedly. Please convey my regards to your parents, and of course to your dog!’

‘Oh, Gelert!’ She choked on a giggle. ‘Not even I would dare try to bring him to a concert! Goodnight, my lord! If I had to lose my wager, I’m glad it was to you!’

‘You are very gallant, Miss Ffolliot! Goodnight!’ Darleston returned to Lady Edenhope, who was looking distinctly amused.

‘Well, you have stirred up the gossips! Was it really Miss Ffolliot?’ she asked as they went out into Hanover Square.

Before Darleston could answer, a bluff, hearty voice was heard from a carriage. ‘Hello Darleston. Was that Miss Ffolliot? Charming lass! Good for you, boy!’

Darleston blinked into the amiable countenance of old Lord Warboys, who tipped him a knowing wink
and continued to his coachman, ‘Well, drive on, man! Drive on! Catch me death of cold!’ The carriage clattered off, leaving Lord Darleston staring.

Several more encounters of a similar nature served to finish the job begun by Lord Warboys’ example of well-meant but tactless jocularity. By the time Darleston had escorted Lady Edenhope back to Half Moon Street he had quite made up his mind to end all the gossip and speculation at least temporarily.

Five days later Lady Caroline Daventry left London for Paris. Three days after that Lord Darleston was reliably reported to be on his way to Dover to catch the next packet. Society shrugged its collective shoulders and forgot all about the momentary excitement raised by Darleston’s supposed pursuit of the lovely Miss Ffolliot and invented other gossip for its amusement.

Lord Carrington, returning to town, shook his head at George Carstares and said, ‘It will be the same next season! If only the silly fool doesn’t take it into his head to marry Caroline Daventry!’

George looked up, shocked, from his copy of the
Gazette.
‘Don’t think he’s that taken with her, do you?’

Carrington looked cynical and said, ‘I’d be prepared to lay odds that’s what
she’s
after! As for Peter, he seems to think that all women are much the same as each other. In that mood, there’s no saying what he might do!’

‘Good God!’ said George, staring in disbelief at the
Gazette.

‘What’s that?’ asked Carrington, momentarily diverted.

‘Says here that Mr John Ffolliot has been killed in a driving accident!’ answered George.

‘Lord, that’s bad. Young Geoffrey isn’t up to much. Doubt he’ll make the grade. He’ll be running through his inheritance in no time! Hard on Mrs Ffolliot. I believe they were devoted to each other.’

George nodded, ‘Sad. Oh, well. Just have to wait and see what happens when Peter comes back. No good us taking a trip to Paris. He’d be furious if he thought we were checking up on him!’

‘Can’t say I’d blame him,’ said Carrington. ‘He’s two and thirty and ought to be capable of looking after himself, even if he is an ass at times!’

T
o the intense concern of Carstares and Carrington, Darleston spent the entire summer and most of the autumn in France. After a lengthy sojourn in Paris, during which he was reported to have danced scandalous attendance on Lady Caroline, he proceeded to attend a series of house parties in various
châteaux,
all of which were notable for the presence of
la belle veuve anglaise,
Lady Caroline Daventry.

At last, towards the end of October, George received a brief note from Darleston Court informing him that its noble owner had returned and would be perfectly happy to entertain the recipient as soon as might be convenient for him. The note ended: ‘I have invited Carrington as well and hope you will both make a long stay. Christmas if you like! Sorry to have been such a rotten correspondent. Darleston.’

George breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed his lordship had no immediate plans involving Lady Caroline. He resolved to inform his married sister, with whom he had promised to spend Christmas and New Year, that he would be bringing Darleston. Not for anything would he willingly leave his friend alone at that sea
son. He had as a boy spent a couple of Christmases with Darleston’s family and knew that Peter would be more lonely than ever at that time.

Accordingly, he and Carrington drove down to Darleston Court hatching plans to keep Peter out of trouble. All went well, and when Carrington departed six weeks later, to join his mother and sister in Bath, Carstares bore Peter off to spend the holiday with Lord and Lady Fairford and their young family.

It seemed to George that when Peter returned to Darleston Court in late January he had lost much of his bitterness and was far closer to being his old self than would have seemed possible the previous spring.

In early April Darleston House in Grosvenor Square became a hive of activity as it was readied for the arrival of his lordship. Every room was turned out and cleaned as though it were not always kept in readiness for any unexpected visit my lord might choose to make.

Lord Darleston flung himself into the festivities of the season with no hint at all that he was an unwilling participant. The Marriage Mart was honoured with his frequent presence, and he danced assiduously with all the prettiest debutantes, but no one could detect the slightest sign that he was more attracted by one than another. To be honest, he appeared no closer to fixing his interest than last year!

It takes very little, however, to nudge a man into precipitate action. The hand of fate, once dealt, takes no account of rank or wealth but plays its cards with ruthless efficiency. Thus Darleston was sitting idly reading an estate report in his study one afternoon in late May when he was interrupted by his butler.

He looked up. ‘Yes, Meadows? What is it?’

The butler coughed apologetically, ‘I’m sure I’m sorry to disturb your lordship, but there is An Individual to see your lordship. Quite determined, he is. Says he’ll wait in the hall as long as it takes to see you. I hope I know my duty, and I would have had him removed, but he seems terribly worried about something that concerns your lordship and wouldn’t trust any of us to give a message! Wouldn’t even give his name!’

Darleston looked startled. ‘Good heavens! This sounds most melodramatic! Is he a Respectable Individual, Meadows?’

‘I should say he was in one of the Trades, my lord. He was, I
will
say, very respectful,’ replied Meadows.

‘Very well, Meadows. Send this mysterious person in,’ instructed Darleston.

He sat back to await his visitor, agog with curiosity.

He had not long to wait before a respectably dressed man of about forty stood before him. ‘Good afternoon, Mr…er?’

The man said slowly, ‘If your lordship will not be offended I’d be better pleased to leave names out of it for now. I will only say that I am employed by the
Gazette
as an editor. A couple of hours ago one of my boys brought this to me.’ He held up a note with a broken seal.

‘Go on, then,’ said Darleston encouragingly. ‘I assure you I am listening.’

‘Well, my lord, the lad is very sharp, and he said the lady who delivered it seemed very upset and kept on asking odd questions about how we verified the accuracy of notices and suchlike. Almost as if she wanted to warn the boy! He took the money and gave
her a receipt, but then he got worried and brought it in and told me the whole story. So when I read the notice I thought I’d just come along and check with you. Read it for yourself my lord.’ He held out the note across the desk.

Darleston opened it and was at once aware of a very familiar scent which clung to it. He read the note and his brows contracted sharply. His visitor blenched as he looked up and asked in freezing accents, ‘Did the lad describe the lady?’

‘He did, my lord. He said she was quite old, maybe fifty or even sixty. Dressed very plain. Gave him a shilling, which he didn’t want to take on account of he didn’t think she looked as if she’d have too many shillings, despite being a lady, which he reckoned she was.’

Darleston was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘I am much obliged to you and the lad. This notice has not my authority, and I will be further obliged if you will keep it to yourselves that it ever crossed your desk.

‘Begging your pardon, my lord, but there’s no question of the lad or myself saying a word to anyone about this!’ said the man.

‘Good! I am more grateful than ever, and while I realise that you are a man of integrity and did not come with the idea of a reward, I beg that you will accept something. If not for yourself then for the lad.’ So saying, Darleston reached into a drawer in his desk and drew out a roll of soft. He peeled off several notes and held them out. ‘As I said, you are a fellow of honour. You will divide this fairly between yourself and the lad.’

His visitor flushed as he accepted the money and
said, ‘I’ll take it for the boy, my lord. Not for myself, thanking you kindly. Well, I’ll be going, then. I take it you’ll know how best to deal with the matter. I…I wish you luck! No, don’t ring that bell. Your butler makes me nervous!’

He departed quickly, leaving the angriest man in London behind him.

Darleston strode over to the fire which was burning in the grate and cast the note into its flames. He watched it burn for a moment and then went back to his desk. ‘Thank God for Lucy Jameson!’ he said to himself.

He penned a brief note and then rang the bell. When Meadows came in response he handed him the note and spoke abruptly. ‘Be so good as to have that delivered to Lady Caroline Daventry immediately. That will be all.’

Meadows took the note and left the room without a word.

Darleston left his mansion in Grosvenor Square shortly after ten o’clock that evening, clad in the satin knee-breeches and swallow-tailed coat which proclaimed his destination was a ball.

A footman, springing to open the door of the waiting town carriage, and being rewarded with a curt nod, wondered what had happened to put the master in such a temper. Generally he was pleasant enough, if rather aloof. This evening, however, the expression on his face was positively forbidding. Roger shut the door carefully. Whatever had put that look on the master’s face, he preferred not to be involved.

‘Brook Street. We are picking up Mr Carstares at his lodgings,’ was the terse order. The carriage rolled away, clattering over the cobbles. Its occupant leaned
back against the squabs, prey to bitter thoughts, all of which were directed at the fairer sex. To Lord Darleston, at that moment, the goddess Aphrodite held no charms whatsoever.

He shuddered at the thought of the ball he had promised to attend. Hordes of gauche young girls, all in hopes of catching a husband, all with ambitious mamas eager to make sure they danced with the most eligible bachelors or, as in his case, widowers. Blast them all, he thought furiously. He would stay in the card room drinking brandy!

The carriage drew to a halt in Brook Street unnoticed by him. Then George’s cheerful voice said, ‘Anyone home? Wake up, Peter, you’re away with the clouds!’

He looked up in surprise into the open countenance. ‘Oh. Here, am I? Sorry, George. I was thinking.’

‘Bad habit that,’ said George, getting into the carriage. ‘People might notice and then where would you be?’ Observing the frown as he looked closely at his friend, George asked, ‘What’s happened, Peter? Your face is enough to turn the milk!’

Peter was silent for a moment before replying savagely, ‘Caroline!’

Momentarily puzzled, George enquired, ‘Is she ill?’

‘Not in the least! She sent a notice of our engagement to the
Gazette!’
was the sufficiently startling reply.

Speechless with amazed horror, George could only stare at his friend with a dropped jaw. His brain whirled as he contemplated the uproar which would greet the Seventh Earl of Darleston’s betrothal to his mistress.

Finally he managed to say, ‘Er…do I congratulate you?’

‘You do! Fortunately the editor had the good sense to check with me before printing! I was able to stop it being published, thank God.’

‘Anyone else know about this?’ asked George.

‘I hope not! Except for old Miss Jameson, who delivered the notice. From what the editor said she deliberately went out of her way to put them on their guard.’

After some thought, George said, ‘Seems to me that if Lady Caroline has told people the notice is going to appear, and it doesn’t, she’ll look like a fool.’

‘Good!’

‘Won’t like that, Peter.’

‘She’s not supposed to like it! I sent a discreet note to her house informing her that after a most interesting conversation with an editor of the
Gazette
I would be returning to Darleston Court tomorrow and did not expect to see her again!’

‘Oh!’ George digested the news that Peter had broken irrevocably with his mistress, then said cautiously, ‘Probably a good thing.’

‘I’m damned sure it is! Tonight I’m celebrating. Cards, dice and brandy are the order of the evening. Curse all women! The problem is that I have to marry! Caroline knows that, but if she thinks I want a child of hers to succeed me any more than my revolting cousin Jack…!’

George was fully in agreement with this sentiment. So Carrington had been right after all! No doubt she had subtly manoeuvred Peter into spending all those months in France. His retreat to Darleston Court and the Fairfords’ for the entire winter, though, must have
made her desperate. No doubt she had decided to risk all on this last throw when Darleston had returned to town and begun attending the sort of parties where one met eligible young ladies.

The problem, to George’s way of thinking, was Peter’s ridiculously low opinion of women generally. Much of this could, of course, be attributed to Melissa’s behaviour. Lovely, faithless Melissa, who had run off with another man just as her husband returned, wounded, from Waterloo. Her defection had been no surprise to anyone, least of all Darleston, who had rejoined Wellington’s forces as a volunteer in full knowledge of his wife’s character. It struck George that Peter had an absolute genius for choosing the wrong woman. First Melissa and now Caroline. Expecting women to be like that, he could pick them unerringly!

Hoping to change the subject, he said casually, ‘Had a letter from my sister this morning. In the family way again. Hoping for a girl this time. Says three boys in row is quite enough. She and Fairford want me to visit. Probably wouldn’t mind if you came along again. Do you good to get out of London for a while.’ He knew that Peter liked and respected Lady Fairford very much. In fact, on reflection, there were plenty of women whom Peter liked and respected but all of them were happily married!

Peter hesitated before answering, ‘Thanks, George, I’ll hold you to that later. But first I think I’ll go to Darleston alone. I need to do some thinking. A terrible habit, as you say, but necessary. I must marry, but I don’t want to find myself saddled with a second Melissa!’

‘Certainly not,’ said George. Then, ‘Don’t any of
the debutantes interest you? You certainly interest them!’

Peter laughed cynically. ‘Not really. They all admire my wealth and my title and most of ’em are absolutely tongue-tied when I dance with them. That or disgustingly arch!’

George thought about that for a moment. ‘Well, if you take my advice you’ll marry the first eligible girl you meet with whom you can hold a rational conversation!’

Peter chuckled. ‘I did meet one, now I come to think of it. Last year it was. Young Ffolliot’s sister. Can’t think of the girl’s name now. Something beginning with a P anyway. But I haven’t seen her this year.’

‘Believe their father died suddenly last year. Driving accident. Carrington and I saw it in the paper,’ said George thoughtfully. ‘They’d still be in mourning.’

‘But young Ffolliot has been on the town just as usual!’ said Peter, very much surprised. ‘He’s not in mourning, surely!’

‘Ffolliot wouldn’t!’ said George in disgust. ‘Young waster! Carrington said something about it at the time. He’ll be running through his fortune before long if he doesn’t settle down.’

Their arrival at Lady Bellingham’s ball put an end to the conversation as they stepped out of the carriage to join the crush of people flocking up the steps.

Lord Darleston’s behaviour that evening was described by some as disgraceful and by others as exemplary. The first camp was almost entirely composed of young ladies and their ambitious mamas, all of whom were disappointed that such an eligible
parti
should elect to spend the entire evening in the card room, dicing while consuming untold quantities of brandy. The gentlemen in the card room, however, were of the opinion that under the circumstances Darleston’s forbearance was remarkable. Admittedly he was badly foxed, not vulgarly drunk, as young Ffolliot was, for example, but on the whole he carried his drink very well.

The evening was a successful one for Darleston. He had begun with piquet, playing with George Carstares for chicken stakes. His lordship made it a rule never to play for high stakes with relatives, and had extended this taboo to include his best friend. After a couple of rubbers, in which the run of cards was fairly evenly divided, Darleston suggested they should give up trying to fleece each other.