Frances smiled as she left the door of the rundown tenement in Monmouth Street which was home to some twenty orphans. If her Society friends could see her now, they would have apoplexy, she decidedthat is, if they recognised her at all. Hatless and dressed in a grey wool dress and a short pelisse, she looked the image of a very ordinary woman, the wife or widow of a clerk or some such, respectable but nondescript.
Although, as Countess of Corringham, she was in the forefront of the charity which raised money for the orphans, it was as plain Mrs Fanny Randall that she worked at the orphanage, rolling up her sleeves to help bathe the children, or serve them the plain food which her money helped to provide. She loved the work and the children.
A real pied piper, you are, Mrs Thomas, the plump matron of the home, had said, adding that she must be sorry she had had no children of her own. Frances had passed it off with a smile, but her childlessness was the biggest regret of her life and something she found difficult to talk about.
She climbed up beside John Harker, who had been instructed to come and fetch her at noon in her tilbury. He was used to her ways and made no attempt to stop her when she picked up the ribbons and drove them towards Oxford Street, which was lined with shops and businesses, its pavements full of pedestrians and street hawkers. She tooled the horses with consummate ease, weaving the light carriage neatly in and out of the medley of riding horses, carts and carriages of every description which filled the road. No one paid any attention to an unmarked vehicle being driven by a nobody, but the slight chance she might be seen and recognised led an added piquancy to the adventure.
Less than twenty minutes later she turned into Duke Street and drew up with a flourish at the door of Corringham House, only to discover the Duke of Loscoe, dressed for riding, standing on the top step, apparently having found she was not at home and about to leave. She would have driven on in the hope he would not recognise her, but it was too late; he was standing quite still, staring at her. Was it in distaste? She could not be sure.
There was nothing for it but to carry off the situation as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for ladies of the aristocracy to drive themselves about town in what was considered to be a single mans carriage. Throwing the reins to Harker and instructing him to see to the horses, she jumped down with an agility which the ladies of the ton would have described as hoydenish if they could have seen her, and advanced towards him, smiling.
Your Grace, I did not expect you, or I would have been at home to greet you.
Good day, Countess, he said, doffing his curlybrimmed hat and bowing, while at the same time his dark eyes appraised the simple clothes she wore and his eyebrows rose just a fraction. If it is inconvenient His voice tailed off.
She smiled inwardly to think that he was more discomfited than she was. She could easily have asked him to come another time when she was prepared to receive him, but she had to admit to being a little curious. Why was he visiting her? Surely they could have nothing to say to each other after all this time? It is not inconvenient, my lord. Please come in.
The door had been opened by a footman who stood on the threshold, waiting for her to step inside. She led the way. Creeley, show his Grace into the green salon and ask Cook to bring refreshments. She turned to the Duke. Please excuse me while I change. I will not keep you long.
Once in her bedchamber, she stood and looked at herself in the mirror. She was a perfect antidote. The gown, although it had been clean when she left the house three hours earlier, was spotted and rumpled and some of her hair had escaped its pins and was curling about her neck. There was a smudge on her nose and a scratch on the back of one hand where the kitten they had bought to help keep down the mice at the orphanage had scratched her. It had been her own fault for teasing it.
Rose was waiting for her, clucking her disapproval. And the Duke of Loscoe standing on the step, she said, pulling the gown over Francess head. What must he have thought of you? Rose had been with her a very long time and considered that gave her the right to speak her mind.
I do not care a fig what he thinks, Rose.
What shall you tell him?
About what?
This, she said, throwing the grey dress into a corner in distaste.
Nothing. It is none of his business.
It will give him a disgust of you.
Do you think that bothers me, Rose? Do you think I lay sleepless at night, wondering what people think of me?
No, my lady.
But there had been a time when she had lain sleepless because of the man who waited for her in her drawing room and that thought brought a wry smile to her lips. She had pretended not to care then for her prides sake, but she did not need to pretend now, she told herself firmly, she did not care.
But even so, she had a feeling her ordered way of life was about to be eroded by a man she thought she had left far behind in her youth. If she had not known him before, if they were only now making each others acquaintance, would she feel any differently? Would she find him elegant and charming? She did not know. It was not possible to rewrite history.
Marcus prowled round the room and wondered what the lovely Countess was up to. The house was furnished in exquisite taste, with carpets and curtains in pale greens and fawns. There were paintings by the masters on the walls and one or two that were unsigned and which he guessed she had executed herself. There was a cabinet containing some beautiful porcelain and vases of fresh flowers on the tables.
In his experience, when aristocratic owners of beautiful houses fell on hard times, it showed in threadbare carpets or peeling paint or walls bare of valuable paintings, but this was a room of quiet opulence, with not a hint that there was anything wrong with its owner. So why was the Countess so shabbily attired? The Earl had left her well provided for, hadnt he?
But she didnt own the house, he reminded himself. It belonged to her stepson, the present Earl of Corringham. Did he keep his stepmother on short commons? Was that why she had to paint those sickening portraits and teach young ladies to draw? Oh, poor, poor Fanny. He was glad he had decided to visit her. Teaching Vinny would add to her income and he felt he owed her something for the way he had treated her in the past.
He was standing at the window, looking out on a perfectly maintained garden when he heard her enter. He turned towards her, a smile on his lips which he only just managed to stop becoming a gasp of surprise.
She was dressed in a dark green silk day gown. It had bands of velvet ribbon around the skirt and a low-cut square neck. But what was so startling was that it showed her figure off to perfection: the trim waist, the well-rounded bosom, the long, pale neck and the raven hair, pulled into a topknot and arranged in careful curls at the back of her head. Without the least attempt to appear girlish, she presented herself as still a young woman of astonishing beauty and great poise. She wore no jewellery; her lovely neck was unadorned. He felt a sudden urge to bury his face in the curve of it.
Countess. He bowed towards her, realising his smile had become a trifle fixed, as if he were afraid he would let it slip and all his thoughts and emotions would be laid bare.
I am sorry to have been so long, she said, without explaining why. I hope refreshments were sent to you.
Indeed, yes. He nodded towards the tray which a maidservant had put on one of the tables and which contained a teapot, cups and saucers and a plate of little cakes. I have been waiting for you to come and share them with me.
Then do sit down. She sat on a sofa and indicated the chair opposite. I prefer tea at this time, but if you would rather have Madeira or sherry
No, tea will suit me very well. He lifted the skirt of his coat and sat down, his long legs, clad in buckskin riding breeches, stretched out in front of him. There was no fat on him, she realised; the shape of his calves and thighs was due to well-toned muscle.
She poured two cups of tea and handed one to him, pleased that her hand was as steady as a rock. Please help yourself to a honey cake.
No, thank you, though they do look delicious.
She sipped her tea with what she hoped was cool detachment, but this mundane conversation was driving her mad. What did he want? Why had he come? He appeared to be sizing her up, as if he was trying to make up his mind whether she had been pining after him all the years they had been apart. Surely he did not hope to take up where they left off? If that were so he was insufferably conceited and she would soon show him how mistaken he was. It is a lovely day, she said. I am surprised you are not out riding. I believe Lady Lavinia is very fond of that exercise.
She is indeed. We had a ride this morning, and I took her home half an hour since, but she finds riding in the park somewhat restricting and, as I have not brought her mare to London, she has perforce to use a hired hack.
She will be glad to return to Derbyshire, then.
Oh, I have no plans to return in the immediate future, so if she wants to ride, she must learn to bear it. He was waiting for her to ask why he was visiting her, she decided, and she would not satisfy him on that score, even if they sat exchanging small talk all day. He put his cup down and she smiled and asked him if he would like a second cup of tea.
No, thank you, he said, looking round the room. You have a beautiful home.
Thank you. I have enjoyed refurbishing it over the years. Of course, it now belongs to the present Earl, my stepson, but he has said I may consider it my home for as long as I wish.
It would be different when he came fully into his inheritance on his twenty-fifth birthday, when the Essex estate and the London house would be handed over to him. Then she would have to find somewhere to live; she did not like the idea of living there under sufferance and certainly not after he married. And before long he would. Her steady, unruffled life was about to change, but she had been putting her head in the sand and doing nothing about it. However, sooner or later, she must.
It would be an inconsiderate son who said anything else, Countess.
He is far from inconsiderate, my lord. I cannot have wished for a better son, and, before you ask, I have not been so fortunate as to have children of my own.
I would not dream of asking such a personal question, my lady.
She was cross with herself for allowing her agitation to show and picked up his cup and saucer and put it on the tray to give herself something to do with her hands. Stanmore House is said to be a very fine example of a London house, she said, doing her best to retrieve the situation with an easy smile. I am told the staircase is unique and the decoration of the reception rooms superb.
Yes, but old-fashioned. My late wife did not like London and never came, so it has remained as it was in my mothers time.
She longed to ask why the Duchess had not liked London, but that would be as personal a question as asking her about her childlessness and she would not give him the satisfaction of pointing that out to her.
My daughter has never been to the capital, he said, breaking into her thoughts. And until now I did not feel she needed to, but next year she will be seventeen and must make her mark on Society if she is to take well.
Surely there is plenty of time for that? I think seventeen is far too young for any young lady to make up her mind about marriage. Why, they are still only schoolgirls at that age and given to all manner of fits and fancies. That is one for you to think on, she thought, as she watched his face for a sign that he understood what she was saying; that she had been fanciful at that age and had recovered from it. But the years had taught him to mask his feelings and not for a second did his expression reveal that the barb had gone home.
I have no wish to saddle her with marriage before she is ready for it, he said, evenly. But she must make her bow at court and I would not like it said she lacked polish.
You propose to polish her, my lord? She spoke with the hint of a teasing smile which jerked him back seventeen yearsthe young Fanny Randall had had a finely tuned sense of humourand made him stand up and go to look out of the window. The view was no different from the one he had been looking at earlier, but it was an excuse to keep his face turned from her until he had brought himself back under control. This was a business meeting and he must not allow emotion to gain the upper hand.
No, that would be foolish in me. I shall employ others to do it. He turned back suddenly. You, for one, if you agree.
Me? She could not hide the surprise and dismay in her voice. I am persuaded you are jesting.
Not at all. I am told one of the accomplishments a young lady needs, besides being able to sew a fine seam, play a musical instrument and dance the latest steps, is the ability to draw and paint and I can think of no one more suited to teach Lavinia that.
He sat down beside her on the sofa, which did nothing for her hard-won control. He was so close, she could almost feel the warmth emanating from a body which was still lithe and muscular. Her own body seemed to want to lean towards his, to feel again the contact of thigh against thigh, his arms about her, lips on lips. Shocked to the core, she stood up and went to pull the bell for the maid to remove the tray.
Because she was on her feet, etiquette demanded he should rise too. She sat down abruptly and motioned him to the other chair. He sat down again, far enough away to allow her to breathe more easily. It is true I have a certain facility, but
You are far too modest, Countess. You have an incomparable reputation
Fustian! She smiled, remembering those were the words that Lady Willoughby had used; she had probably repeated them in his hearing. You have seen my work for yourself, at Lady Willoughbys. And criticised it too.
I would not presume to do so, my lady. I simply made a comment that you had flattered your subject. He smiled suddenly and his amber eyes lit up in the way she remembered; it made his somewhat sombre face come alive, the light in his eyes giving depth to his expression. And considering your subject, you should take that as a compliment.
People do not pay to see the truth, your Grace.
And it is important they should pay, he murmured softly.
Yes, it is, she said bluntly.
I shall pay. I shall pay handsomely.
I have a set fee for pupils who join my class.
I do not want Vinny to join a class. I expect her to receive your undivided attention.
I am not sure I have the time for that.
The maid came in answer to the summons and removed the tray. He waited until she had gone and closed the door before speaking again. Two hours twice a weeksurely you can manage that, especially for twenty pounds every time she comes.