Beauty in Black Read online

  “Oh, I do not fault you for being a conscientious guardian—even a mother hen will attack a fox if her chicks are threatened. But you would not object if I were to call upon Miss Crookshank?”

  Trapped, she hesitated a moment as if unable to think of a reasonable objection, then inclined her head. “No, indeed.” She gave him her address, though her smile seemed forced.

  John noted it, then, bowing, took his leave. He was not willing to risk forfeiting the progress he had made. The younger lady had smiled upon him, and her guardian had agreed that he could pursue the acquaintance. He did not wish to risk the redoubtable Mrs. Hughes regaining her quick wits and conceiving an excuse with which to put him off. So he made his way back across the crowded room and located his sister-in-law. She sat at a table chatting with several friends as she took small bites of the thin-sliced ham they had been served for their supper.

  So many people thronged the popular park that John’s brother, though doubtless not far away, was not in sight, which was just as well. After an awkward greeting earlier, they had avoided each other as much as possible all evening.

  “Leaving already?” Lady Gabriel asked as John thanked her stiffly for the invitation. “I hope you have enjoyed the evening.”

  “I believe it has been profitable,” he answered. “You’ve been very kind.”

  Her gaze thoughtful, she considered him, but she nodded. “I realize that it is a small step, but it is a start, you know. You and Gabriel are bound by blood and familial memories—you may yet come to improve your connection.”

  On a chilly day in hell, perhaps. But it was rude to contradict a lady, so he bowed and did not answer. When he lifted his head, he saw by the understanding in her clear blue eyes that Lady Gabriel was not fooled, but at least she did not appear angry.

  An intriguing woman, he thought, making his way toward the park’s entrance to find a hackney. Would the lovely and exuberant Miss Crookshank gain something of his strong-willed sister-in-law’s strength of character as she matured? Or equally, might she grow to resemble her exacting guardian? John would wager that Mrs. Hughes had courage and heart to spare, the kind of bottom that one wished to find in a fine horse . . . not that it was suitable to consider her in such equine terms. And really, her fine figure and her sparkling eyes made him—made any onlooker—only too glad that she was human, female, a lady of character and spirit . . . not that she was in any way within his reach.

  Although John had often heard how common affairs were among the Ton, he was not one of those rakes who desired an easy, brief coupling with another man’s wife. So it was foolish to dwell on the older woman’s attractions. He tried to focus his thoughts on the pleasing memory of the winsome Miss Crookshank, instead, to remember how easily she had smiled up at him, how unaffected she was, and how seemingly blind to his scarred face.

  Yet somehow, on the ride back to the inn, it was the guardian instead of the possible bride whose image lingered in his mind’s eye.

  When Marianne, ignoring Louisa’s protests, insisted that it was time to withdraw—if one remained at Vauxhall too late, the crowd became rougher and more unpredictable—she made her farewells to her friends. Then she and her charge allowed a servant to hand them into a hackney. They rolled through the darkness toward Marianne’s London home.

  Louisa’s high spirits had faded just a little after the marquess had made his strategic retreat, but, nonetheless, she declared that she had a wonderful time.

  “It was a dream; thank you so much for taking me. We will go back, won’t we, dearest Aunt?” she insisted. “Although I know London has so many more amusements to offer, as well. We have my coming-out ball to plan, and I must obtain vouchers to Almack’s. Every young lady of any substance goes there; I have heard all the stories about the famed ‘Marriage Mart.’ Do you have acquaintance with any of the patronesses, Aunt Marianne?”

  “I know Lady Seton slightly, and one or two others; we shall see what we can do,” Marianne answered absently. Her own thoughts tended to linger on the mysterious lord who had surprised her with his rush to courtship. Really, she should have thought of some excuse to avoid his call, Marianne reflected. What had slowed her usual quick responses? Would Louisa truly hook such a big fish on her very first foray into London’s social scene? It was ridiculous.

  And why was she feeling almost jealous? No, no, she would not admit to such an undignified response, Marianne assured herself. Of all the other men, young and old, who had sought out Louisa tonight, none of them had sparked any unseemly desires inside her; it was only the marquess who—

  Shaking her head, she refused to finish the thought.

  “Do you not think pink is a good color for me?” Louisa sounded anxious. She looked up at her aunt in concern.

  Marianne had not been listening; the girl was discussing clothes again. “Pink is most becoming,” she assured her. “With your fair hair and pale complexion, I’m sure it would suit.” She allowed Louisa to chatter on about the new clothes that were ordered, and where they would next venture out so that Louisa could look over some of London’s more fabled sights.

  Only after they were home, and her footman had let them in and locked the door behind them, did Marianne broach the subject that had been troubling her through most of the evening.

  “I noticed Sir Lucas Englewood taking part in the dancing,” she said, following Louisa into the guest bedchamber and sitting on a side chair as Louisa’s maid unbuttoned her mistress’s gown.

  “Umm . . . the thin-shaven ham was quite delicious, didn’t you think?” Louisa answered, but she kept her gaze directed down toward the gloves she peeled off.

  “Did you not observe him?” Marianne persisted. “I believe he is an old friend of yours from Bath?”

  Louisa shrugged. “A childhood friendship, nothing of significance.” Her voice sounded a little shrill.

  “I see,” Marianne said dryly. She thought she saw all too well. “So you do not mind that he seems to have a new attachment?”

  “Of course not!” Louisa’s voice rose for just a moment, then she had it back under control. “I am happy for him.”

  The girl was trying, Marianne thought, but . . . “Louisa, if you have some—quite understandable—feelings of chagrin at the parting of the ways with an old, umm, friend, just be aware that it would be most unkind to encourage another man to court you simply to show Sir Lucas that you are unaffected by his loss.”

  Louisa drew herself up to her full five feet and sought to control her bottom lip, which seemed to want to pout despite her best intentions. “Really, Aunt, I would not be so petty.”

  “Mind that you do not,” Marianne said, her tone serious. “It would be ill served in the long run, both for the marquess and for your own feelings.”

  “How can you suggest such a thing?” Louisa blinked hard. “If I were a bit distressed that Sir Lucas most rashly broke off his friendship for no reason that I know of, would it not be only natural to seek to make new—new friends?”

  “I suppose so,” Marianne agreed. “But do not rush too soon into any commitments, Louisa. It would not be wise, and as your temporary guardian, I would not allow it. I’m sure your uncle would listen to my concerns.”

  Louisa’s face was hidden as she turned to divest herself of her clothing. As the maid took the dinner gown to put away in the clothespress, Louisa pulled on a robe. When she turned, her expression was innocent. “Of course not, dearest Aunt. I would not trouble you for the world.”

  Somehow, Marianne did not feel reassured. But she kissed Louisa’s cheek and bade her good night. What else could she say?

  Perhaps she was anxious for no reason. But she had seen that sparkle in Louisa’s eyes before.

  Louisa retired in a terrible mood. After she said good night to her aunt, Louisa took to her bed with a pounding head and a mind full of thoughts as helter-skelter as the squirrel’s nest in the attic they had heard described at least three times from different members of her aunt’s small hous
ehold staff.

  She was finally in London, had actually danced at Vauxhall and listened to melodies floating from the orchestra on the rotunda. She was beginning to live her life, at last, instead of wasting away while confined to Bath along with its collection of elderly invalids. It was a dream come true, and she should be ecstatic. She had been, she had been thrilled and happy and untroubled, she told herself, thumping her pillow.

  A small feather escaped the linen case and floated to land on her cheek; frowning fiercely, she shook it away. At least she had until Lucas had had the temerity to walk into her long-awaited London fantasy—how dare he! And with some sallow-faced brunette on his arm, in a dress with entirely too many flounces, and no doubt the spaniel eyes she made at Lucas had only inflamed his already too-pompous sense of his own self-worth. Serve him right if he married the silly girl!

  Louisa tried to smile at the thought, but, instead, she found her eyes brimming suddenly with bitter tears. Oh, no, not again. How many times had she cried herself to sleep after Sir Lucas had so suddenly broken off his attentions? And then had to send her maid to sneak up cold slices of cucumber to lay upon her swollen eyes until she could be seen downstairs without exciting suspicion. She would not be pitied over a broken heart! If the servants noted it, gossip would seep out to other families, other Bath society . . . and then there would be no end of the tales.

  She pounded her pillow once more and blinked hard, determined not to succumb to the dismals. She had come to London to escape all those recollections—why did Lucas have the gall to be here just when she did! Never mind that a good proportion of people of worth gathered in London for the Season, he could have stayed at home! He had stayed in Bath last spring . . . but then, so had she, and they had still been courting, then. No, she could not dwell on those memories.

  Louisa gulped hard, trying to find comfort in the extraordinary good fortune that had led her to an introduction to the mysterious marquess she had been brooding over. He had danced with her, he had gazed at her with obvious interest. He had told Aunt he would call; Aunt Marianne had reluctantly admitted as much. So Louisa’s plan, born of the bitterness of Lucas’s abandonment, was bearing fruit already. And the comment Lucas had thrown at her once during a quarrel, the painful observation that she might be—imagine!—somewhat self-centered, would be proven false.

  All the world would see that she was not so base. If she loved a man whose face was marred by scars of old illness, if she could see past that to his obvious nobility—and she did not doubt that such high character would be there—would not that prove to Lucas, to everyone, that she was not as shallow as he had so foolishly judged her to be?

  Louisa felt a small wave of warmth that almost filled the cold hollowness inside her that had lingered since Lucas’s departure. The marquess would adore her; she would minister to his ailing health and sit by his side, admired by all much like an earthbound angel. Hadn’t she sat with her father in the sickroom through his long illness, till the physician himself had ordered her away for more rest and fresh air?

  Louisa, selfish? Never!

  Sighing, she tossed and turned until at last she drifted to sleep.

  On Sunday, Aunt Marianne took Louisa to St. Paul’s for morning service, so that Louisa could admire the fine dome and remarkable architecture of the church. They spent the afternoon quietly, and their attendance at St. Paul’s made a safe topic for a long letter to her aunt Caroline in Bath.

  Dipping her pen into the inkwell, Louisa filled two pages with her fine, small script. She said little about the more exciting excursion to Vauxhall, not wanting to incur any more lectures on propriety; she’d had enough of that already from Aunt Marianne! But privately, she thought that her “too forward” behavior had been well worth the risk. She’d met the marquess, and she was eager for Monday to see if he did, indeed, come to pay a call.

  And when she woke the next morning, with sunshine streaming through the polished windowpanes, she felt much better. She was in London, at long last, and her life would brighten just like the sunshine, she had no doubt of it.

  She rang for her maid. The girl appeared shortly, with a tray of tea and toast and porridge flavored with honey, just as she liked it. While Louisa ate, she eyed the windows with longing.

  “Is my aunt up yet?” she asked Eva.

  The servant girl shook her head. “I don’t think so, miss.”

  Louisa considered. A walk in the small park in the center of their square would be unexceptional, if she took her maid along. She told Eva her plan, and when the girl moved her breakfast tray to a side table, Louisa hurried to wash and dress. She chose a fresh new sprigged muslin and a matching maize-colored spencer, in case the breeze was fresh, then a new straw bonnet trimmed with spring flowers, and she drew on her gloves and skipped down the staircase, with Eva behind her.

  The little fenced area held a swatch of green, some low trees, and a few flower beds, whose sickly blooms seemed to be struggling amid the smoky London smog. But today, a fresh breeze kept the gray haze to a minium, and Louisa could draw a deep breath and stride along.

  She walked three times around the patch of greenery, somehow feeling overflowing with energy, or perhaps simply impatience. She had waited so long for this coming-out, dawdling away her time stuck in Bath with the widows and the invalids. Now that she was here, Louisa longed for excitement, for balls and parties and theater outings, for a romantic courtship, for a splendid wedding in a lovely dress and a wedding trip to the Continent, perhaps, and then to return to a grand estate, where she could manage a household with the sweet-natured firmness of her mother, and someday there would be babies. . . . And she would always return to London for the Season, of course, with a devoted husband by her side. And if her future spouse’s face was a bit hazy in her daydreams, that would resolve itself in time.

  Lost in dreams of marital bliss and social acclaim, Louisa marched around the park until she noticed that her maid was panting and lagging behind. Taking pity on the girl, Louisa slowed her steps. The sun was higher now, perhaps her aunt would be up and about and they could discuss what interesting excursions would fill the day. Shopping, perhaps, there were many more shops on Bond Street she had not yet examined, and then a luncheon; she wanted to taste the ices at Gunter’s and peek into Ackermann’s print shop, where all the Ton browsed. And perhaps they could call on one of the patronesses of Almack’s, so Louisa could obtain vouchers for that hallowed assembly. And was there a party to attend tonight? Louisa did hope so.

  She returned to her aunt’s town house. Inside, when she had taken off her bonnet and her gloves, Louisa looked up to find the footman, a stout man of middle years, regarding her with fatherly indulgence.

  “You have received flowers, miss. I’ve put them in the drawing room.”

  Louisa drew in a deep breath of delight. “Really? Oh, how splendid. Who are they—I mean, thank you, I shall go and see.”

  She kept her steps measured only with great self-control, going on into the small but elegant chamber, where she was thrilled to see the handsome bunch of lilies and tulips and other spring blossoms, which graced a side table. She hurried across to read the note.

  “With respect, Gillingham.”

  Not exactly a loverly sentiment, but perhaps he was old-fashioned, she told herself. And he had thought to send flowers, which was very proper, and most promising from a man she hoped—and planned!—would pay her suit.

  The footman, Masters, came in behind her with a tray and a small pot of tea, which she had not ordered. “I thought you might be dry, miss, after your walk,” he explained. He glanced covertly toward her, as if curious to see her reaction to the flowers. Was the staff whispering to each other already? So be it, she didn’t mind them knowing that she had so promptly attracted an admirer of such rank. Putting down the tray, Masters poured the tea into the cup that sat beside the pot and offered it to her.

  Louisa found herself smiling as she accepted the cup and saucer. Why should she not show h
er happiness? Life was good, and as for Sir Lucas, pity on the poor boy who didn’t recognize true devotion when he had had it!

  Humming to herself, Louisa sat down and drank her tea.

  Marianne slept poorly. When she finally woke, the morning was more advanced than usual. She glanced at the sunshine slanting through her windows and pushed herself up on her elbows, feeling a moment of alarm. Gracious, she must get up. Louisa would be impatient to be on the go again.

  Then she drew a deep breath and deliberately lay back against the pillows. The girl could wait; she would not make herself a serving lady for Louisa’s convenience. However, Marianne rang for her dresser, and when Hackett brought her breakfast tray, she didn’t linger over her tea and raisin cake.

  When Hackett opened the clothespress and surveyed the contents, she said over her shoulders, “The gray morning dress, ma’am?”

  “No,” Marianne said firmly, startling herself as much as her dresser. “The new blue silk, I think.”

  Hackett glanced at her in surprise.

  “I have calls to make later,” Marianne explained, not that she had to justify her choices to her maid, of course.

  And drawing on the new gown, she felt a flicker of pleasure as Hackett buttoned up the line of tiny buttons and straightened the skirt. Taking a quick glance at herself in the looking glass on the wall, Marianne thought the shade of clear blue became her; her eyes looked brighter and her skin softer.

  Not that she intended to succumb to vanity at her age, but still, it was pleasant to have new clothes. Louisa was not the only one who had been busy in the shops and dressmaker’s salon last week.

  Hackett brushed out her thick dark hair and coiled it into the usual knot on the back of her head, although Marianne decided to leave free several wisps of curls at the sides to soften her aspect. A mother hen, eh?

  When Marianne went downstairs, she found Louisa in the drawing room, eager to talk about plans for the day. Masters brought a fresh cup and saucer and poured tea for his mistress. Marianne listened to Louisa’s chatter as the young woman bubbled over with ideas for their mutual amusement.