We met only once, informally.
When?
Some time last August, when I was at Moreton Park.
The brown eyes narrowed. But I visited you at Moreton Park last August, and I distinctly remember you telling me such game was very scarce.
Ah, yes, mused Hazelmere, long fingers caressing the stem of the goblet. I do recall saying some such thing.
And I suppose Miss Darent just happened to slip your mind at the time?
The Marquis smiled provokingly. As you say, Tony.
No, dash it all! You cant possibly expect me to swallow that. And if I wont swallow it no one else will either. And, as that fellow Ruscombes about somewhere, youre going to have to come up with a better explanation. Unless, he concluded sarcastically, you want all London agog?
At that the dark brows rose. Hazelmere drew a long breath. Unfortunately youre quite right. He still seemed absorbed in his study of the goblet. Fanshawe, who knew him better than anyone, waited patiently.
Sir Barnaby Ruscombe was a man tolerated by societys hostesses purely on account of his trade in malicious gossip. There was no chance that he would abstain from telling the story of how Hazelmere had rescued a lady from a prizefight crowd in an inn yard. The fact that Hazelmere was sure to dislike having his name bandied about in such context would ensure its dissemination throughout the ton. Although not in itself of much import, the story would reveal the interesting fact that the Marquis had some previous acquaintance with Miss Darent. And that, as Fanshawe was so eager to point out, would lead to complications.
After some minutes had passed in silence Hazelmere raised his eyes. Confessions of a rake, Im afraid, he said, both voice and features gently self-mocking. Seeing the surprise in Fanshawes brown eyes, he continued, This time the truth will definitely not do. The details of my only previous meeting with Miss Darent would keep the scandalmongers in alt for weeks.
Tony Fanshawe was amazed. Whatever he had expected, it was not that. He knew, none better, that, while Hazelmeres affaires among the demi-monde might be legion, his behaviour with women of his own class was rigidly correct. Then he thought he saw the light. I take it you mean that when you met her in the country she was unchaperoned?
The curious smile on Hazelmeres lips deepened. The hazel eyes held Fanshawes for a moment, before dropping to the goblet once more. I am, naturally, devastated to contradict you. Youre right in assuming we were unchaperoned. But what I meant is, if the truth ever became public property Miss Darent would be hopelessly compromised and I, in all honour, would be forced to marry her.
It was not possible to misinterpret that. Good lord! said Fanshawe, thoroughly intrigued. Whatever did you do?
Hazelmere, sensing the wild speculations running through his mind, hastened to bring him back to earth. Control your satyric imaginings! I kissed her, if you must know.
Oh? Fanshawe was positively agog.
Feeling horrendously like a schoolboy describing to his more backward friends the details of his first encounter with a wench, Hazelmere regarded him with amusement tinged with irritation. Correctly interpreting the slightly awed expression in the brown eyes, he nodded. Precisely. Not a peck on the cheek.
Fanshawe stared at Hazelmere for a full minute before saying, his voice quavering with suppressed incredulity, Do you mean to say you kissed her as you would one of your mistresses? Hazelmeres brows merely rose. No! Dash it all! You cant go around kissing young ladies as if they were bordello misses!
Perfectly true. The fact, however, remains, that in Miss Darents case I did.
Fanshawe blinked. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why. But he could not quite bring himself to enquire. Instead he asked, How long did she take to come out of her faint?
Oh, she didnt faint, replied Hazelmere, the smile in his eyes pronounced. She tried to slap me.
Fanshawe was fascinated. I must meet this Miss Darent for myself. She sounds a remarkable young lady.
You can meet her in London shortly. Just remember who met her first.
And that, thought Tony Fanshawe, is a very revealing comment. He sighed, exasperated. If thats not just like you, to find all the choicest morsels before anyone else has laid eyes on em. I dont suppose she has a sister?
She does, as it happens. Just turned seventeen and a stunning blonde.
So theres hope for the rest of us yet. Abruptly eschewing their light banter, he returned to the serious side of the affair. How are you going to account for your knowing Miss Darent?
Shes Lady Merions granddaughter, remember? Ill call at Merion House as soon as we get back to town and, figuratively speaking, throw myself on her ladyships mercy. He paused to sip his wine. It shouldnt be beyond us to concoct some believable tale.
Provided shes willing to overlook your behaviour with her granddaughter, Fanshawe pointed out.
I rather think, said Hazelmere, his gaze abstracted, that its more likely to be a case of Miss Darent being willing to overlook my behaviour.
You mean, she might try and use it against you?
The hazel gaze abruptly focused. Then, understanding his reasoning, Hazelmere gave the ghost of a laugh. No. What I mean is that, although she was furious with me, Im not sure shell tell Lady Merion the full story.
Fanshawe mulled this over, then shook his head. Cant see it, myself. You know what the young ones are like. Paint you in all sorts of romantic shades. The chit will probably have blabbed it all to at least three of her bosom bows before you even get to see Lady Merion!
The strangely elusive smile that kept appearing on Hazelmeres face was again in evidence. In this case, I think it unlikely.
A thought struck Fanshawe. The girls not an antidote, is she?
No. Not beautiful, but shed be strikingly attractive if properly gowned.
You mean, she wasnt properly gowned when you met her?
A soft laugh escaped Hazelmere. Not exactly.
Reluctantly Fanshawe decided not to pursue it. He was consumed by curiosity but slightly scandalised by the revelations thus far. He had never known Hazelmere in this sort of fix, nor in this sort of mood. For the first time in his life he was sure that Marc was hiding something.
Hazelmere volunteered a few more pieces of the puzzle. Shes twenty-two, and sensible and practical. She didnt faint, nor did she enact me any scenes. If Id allowed it she would have terminated our interview a great deal sooner. Tonight, instead of falling on my chest and thanking me for deliverance from the hands of Tremlow and company, she very nearly told me to go to the devil. In short, I doubt that Miss Darent is in the least danger of succumbing to the Marquis of Hazelmeres wicked charms.
Fanshawe gaped. Oh. I see. But he did not see at all.
Unfortunately he had no more time to pursue the matter. A sharp knock on the door heralded the arrival of a group of their friends, come late from the field. More wine was called for and the conversation took a decidedly sporting turn. It was not until much later that Tony Fanshawe recalled his conviction that Marc Henry was concealing something from his childhood friend.
Chapter Three
Early next morning, before the appointed time and without further incident, the Grange party set off from the Three Feathers, watched, appreciatively, by Jim Hitchin.
The day was cool but the thaw had set in. The roads improved as they neared the capital, so the motion of the coach was more even and their progress noticeably more rapid. Dorothea was in a subdued frame of mind. On her return to their chamber the evening before she had been subjected to a barrage of questions from Cecily and Betsy. Her head still swimming, she had let the tide flow over her, knowing from experience that silence would more effectively stop the inquisition than any argument. This time, her normal stratagem had failed. The questions had continued until she lost her temper. Oh, do stop fussing, both of you! If you must know, I had an encounter with an extremely impertinent gentleman on my way back from the coachyard, and Im quite vexed!
Cecily, piqued at her subsequent refusal to recount the incident, had only been diverted by the appearance of their meal. In August, in a moment of ill-judged candour, Dorothea had told her sister of her impromptu meeting with Lord Hazelmere in the woods. The memory of the tortuous explanations she had had to fabricate to conceal from Cecilys avid interest the full tale of that encounter had ensured that this time she easily refrained from blurting out the name of the gentleman involved. In no circumstances could she have endured another such ordeal. Not when she was feeling so unusually exhausted.
She had had little appetite, but to admit this would only have reopened the discussion. So she had forced herself to eat some pigeon pie. After the brandy she had not dared to touch the wine. The meal completed, she had pointedly prepared for bed. Cecily, thankfully without comment, had done likewise.
A light sleeper, Dorothea had found it impossible to even doze until dawn, when the racket in the inn finally abated. She therefore had had ample time to reflect on her second encounter with the Marquis of Hazelmere. His calm assumption of authority irritated her deeply. His arrogant conviction that she would do exactly as he wished irked her beyond measure. The knowledge that, despite this, he possessed a strange attraction for her she resolutely pushed to the furthest corner of her mind. The last thing she felt inclined to do, she had sternly told herself, was to develop a tendre for the odious man! In all probability he would spend the night enjoying the favours of some doxy elsewhere in the inn. For some reason she found this thought absurdly depressing and, thoroughly annoyed with herself, had tried to compose her mind for sleep. Even then, when sleep finally came, it was haunted by a pair of hazel eyes.
Once they were under way, the swaying of the chaise quickly lulled her into slumber. She woke when they paused for lunch at a pretty little inn on the banks of the Thames. Only partially refreshed, she forced herself to consider how she was going to handle the coming interview with her grandmother. How, exactly, was she to broach the subject of Hazelmere and his promised visit? Back in the carriage, she dozed fitfully while her problems revolved like clockwork in her mind. She came fully awake when the wheels hit the cobbled streets. Gazing about, she was astonished by the hustle and bustle of life in the capital. As the carriage moved into the areas inhabited by the wealthier citizens the clamour was left behind, and both sisters were soon engaged in examining and pronouncing sentence on the elegant outfits they saw.