Preferably as he had before by the blackberry bush. Scandalous it might have been, but she had been wishing for weeks that he would repeat the performance.
She laid the brush down and carefully rewound her hair. She knew she looked forward to meeting him wherever they went, and she derived much pleasure from his company, despite his high-handed ways, which still on occasion infuriated her. The disconcerting habit he had of reading her mind merely added spice to their encounters, and she thoroughly enjoyed their highly irregular conversations. When he was not with her, alternately mocking or provoking her, with that certain amused expression in his hazel eyes, she felt sadly flat and found little to please her. The inescapable conclusion was that he had captured her heart. That admitted, what exactly was she to do about it?
Rising to cross the room, she lay on her bed, idly playing with the tassels of the bedcurtain cord. While she was now sure of her feelings, what had she learnt of his? He certainly seemed genuinely attracted to her. But he was of an age when he would be expected to marry. Maybe he had simply, in his customary high-handed way, decided that she would do. Surely, if that was the case, and his interest in her was illusory, she would be able to tell? But he was a master at this game and she was a novice. In the normal way of things, it seemed certain that he would, at some point, offer for her hand. And, by the same agreed code of behaviour, she would accept him. The trouble was, she loved him. Did he love her?
She pondered that question for half an hour. Despite his ability to guess most of her thoughts, she felt sure that she had not yet betrayed the depth of her interest in him. It seemed prudent to shield her heart until he gave her some indication of his regard.
However, the present stage of innocuous dalliance could not last; this afternoon’s events proved that. Perhaps, during one of their numerous interludes, she could find a way of encouraging him to declare himself? The idea of encouraging such a man as Hazelmere brought a grin of amusement to her face. That, at least, should not prove too difficult. Feeling, for no particular reason, more confident, she placed her head on her pillow and, worn out by her cogitations, slept until Trimmer came to dress her for the Duchess of Richmond’s ball.
If she had looked out of her window instead of into her mirror Dorothea would have seen Hazelmere, Fanshawe and Ferdie entering Hazelmere House. They left their mounts in the mews behind the mansion and walked back to the front door, deep in discussion of horseflesh. Hazelmere opened the door with his key and crossed the threshold, only to come to an immediate halt. Ferdie, following, cannoned into him and, peering around his shoulders, remarked in wonder, ‘Good lord!’
Hazelmere brought his quizzing glass to bear on the piles of band-boxes and trunks strewn about his hall. Seeing his butler attempting to approach through the welter of luggage, he enquired in a deceptively sweet voice, ‘Mytton, what exactly is all this?’
Mytton, knowing that tone, promptly replied, ‘Her ladyship has arrived, m’lord.’
‘Which ladyship?’ pursued Hazelmere, assailed by a sudden and revolting thought.
‘Why, the Dowager, m’lord!’ replied Mytton, at a loss to understand the strange question.
‘Oh, of course!’ said Hazelmere, relieved as enlightenment dawned. ‘For one horrible moment I thought Maria and Susan had come back.’
This explanation made all clear to the assembled company. Hazelmere’s antipathy towards his elder sisters was common knowledge. This stemmed from an attempt made some years previously by those rigid ladies to manage his matrimonial affairs for him. Their inevitable and ignoble defeat had culminated in their being
Absorbed in his own affairs, he had entirely forgotten that his mother, Anthea Henry, the Dowager Marchioness of Hazelmere, always came to town for a few weeks of the Season, and invariably attended the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. Again surveying the scene, he asked, ‘How is her ladyship, Mytton?’
‘She has retired to rest, m’lord, but said she would join you for dinner.’
Hazelmere nodded absently and led the way in between the various trunks and boxes, down the corridor and through the double doors into the beautifully appointed library. Ferdie followed, with Fanshawe bringing up the rear. Closing the doors behind them, Fanshawe turned with a grin. ‘They all seem to move with mountains of luggage, don’t they? Can’t think your mama will need the half of it, but mine’s exactly the same.’
Hazelmere ruefully agreed. Realising that to dine alone with his sharp-eyed parent might not be all that soothing to his temper, already under strain, he decided to call in reinforcements. ‘Tony, you’ll come to dinner? And you too, Ferdie?’
Fanshawe nodded his acceptance, but Ferdie replied, ‘Pleased to, but don’t forget I’m to escort the Merion party to the ball, so I’ll have to leave at seven.’
‘Well, if you’re leaving at seven we’ll have to leave earlier,’ said Fanshawe. ‘Don’t you dare leave Merion House until the carriage is away from this door!’
Hazelmere crossed to the bell pull and, when Mytton appeared, gave his orders. ‘And my respects to her ladyship, but we dine at five and are to leave for the ball at seven. See that the carriage is waiting no later than seven.’
Mytton retreated to convey this unwelcome news to the culinary wizard downstairs. Hazelmere poured glasses of wine and, having handed these around, sank into one of the wing chairs gathered around the marble fireplace. Fanshawe had taken the chair opposite, and Ferdie was elegantly disposed on the chaise. Now that they were comfortably settled, a companionable silence descended. This was broken by Fanshawe. ‘What on earth made you come back from that ride so quickly?’
Without looking up from his contemplation of the unlit fire, Hazelmere replied, ‘Temptation.’
‘What?’
With a sigh he explained. ‘Remember we agreed we’d have to play by the rules?’ Fanshawe nodded. ‘Well, if we’d stayed any longer in that ride the rules would have flown with the wind. So we came back.’
Fanshawe nodded sympathetically. ‘All this is turning out a dashed sight more complicated than I’d imagined.’
That brought Hazelmere’s gaze to his face, but it was Ferdie, all at sea, who spoke. ‘But why is it all so complicated? Would’ve thought it was all pretty much plain sailing, myself, especially for you two. Simply roll up and ask the girls’ guardian, the horrible Herbert, for their hands. Simple! No problem at all.’
Seeing the expression of amused tolerance this speech elicited, Ferdie realised that he had missed some vital point and waited patiently to be set right. Hazelmere, eyes fixed on the delicate wine glass held in one white hand, eventually explained, ‘The difficulty, Ferdie, lies in divining the true state of the Misses Darents’ affections. To whit, I can’t tell if Miss Darent is merely playing the game or whether her heart is at all engaged by your humble servant.’
Ferdie regarded him with absolute disbelief, utterly bereft of words. Finally regaining the use of his tongue, he exclaimed, ‘No! Hang it all, Marc! Can’t be true. You, of all people. Must be able to tell.’
‘How?’
Ferdie opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again. He turned to Fanshawe. ‘You too?’
Fanshawe, head sunk on his chest, merely nodded.
After a pause while he digested this astonishing intelligence, Ferdie said, ‘But they both seem to enjoy your company.’
‘Oh, we know that,’ agreed Hazelmere dismissively. ‘But beyond that, I, for one, can’t tell.’
‘True,’ Fanshawe confirmed. ‘Only need to look into those eyes to see they like having us around. Like to talk to us, dance with us. Well, why wouldn’t they, all things considered? Fact of the matter, Ferdie, m’lad, is it’s a very long hop from that to love.’
The dilemma they were in was now clear to Ferdie. He was considering the possibility of helping them out, when he suddenly found himself the object of the Marquis’s hazel gaze.
‘Ferdie,’ said Hazelmere softly, ‘if you so much as breathe a word of this conversation outside this room-’
‘We’ll both make your life entirely unbearable,’ finished Fanshawe. This was a standard threat between the three, and Ferdie made haste to assure them that such an idea had never entered his head. He faltered slightly under Hazelmere’s sceptical gaze.
A dismal silence settled over them, until Fanshawe glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf and stirred. ‘I’d best be off to change. Coming, Ferdie?’
