CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Despite Sylla’s reassurances, I knew that the instruction to “wait and see” was going to be difficult to follow. The truth was that I wasn’t really a “wait and see” sort of person.
During the night, I woke and slipped over to look out of the curtains in my bedroom to the street below. The world was still and silent, but in the dingy shadows I caught the red glow of the end of a lit cigarette, a profile turned in my direction and my heart thumped.
Dropping the heavy fabric of the curtain, I got back into bed and pulled the covers over my suddenly cold body. It could be nothing, of course, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I hadn’t been able to voice this suspicion to Sylla – at the time it seemed melodramatic at best. And yet … I thought again of that possessive, intense glimmer in Laing’s expression, and shivered. Was he the sort of man who would have a woman followed simply because he believed she belonged to him somehow? It sounded like something from a penny dreadful.
Still, now I knew that he’d recognized me from the poker game all along, it cast things in a different light. The Wellerbys’ ball, Lady Endsleigh’s… Perhaps it was not by chance that I encountered him at those events. I heard Ash’s voice telling me that Laing wasn’t usually found in such places, his warning to be careful rang in my ears.
My mind swung back and forth. Was I imagining things? There was nothing I liked less than unanswered questions. I wished that Laing had asked me to marry him, so I could have told him, quite clearly, that I wasn’t interested.
Then and there, I decided I didn’t want to wait and see, after all.
The next morning, I waited until Izzy had gone out for the day before approaching Mother with a bright smile and a sense of purpose.
“I know we have plans this afternoon, but I wondered if you might like to take a walk in the park this morning?” I said innocently. “It’s such a lovely day.”
Mother’s look of surprised delight made me feel guilty, but I told myself it was for a good cause. “What a nice idea!” she exclaimed. “You know I don’t like to overtax you, darling, but the season is short – one must make the most of it.”
She said the words earnestly. I was beginning to understand her thinking. She had a goal – it wasn’t a goal I liked or shared, but it was one that she was pursuing with a single-minded focus that I could admire. To her, finding me a husband was a problem as knotty, complex but ultimately solvable as any equation. Increasing exposure to potential suitors was a logical step, and today it was a step that worked with my own secret plans.
Unfortunately, as with everything to do with high society, a casual walk in the park had to be planned like a military operation, and I had to be primped like a doll. It was another hour before Mother pronounced my appearance perfect.
“Just right, Felicity.” She smiled approvingly. “Effortlessly lovely.”
Hardly effortless, I thought, as my appearance had taken a great deal of effort (four people fussing over me, all directed by my mother, a conductor producing a great symphony) but I was forced to swallow my retort. Dressed far too finely for any sort of real walk, the kind where one stomped around, breathing deep and clear and uncaring of mud spatter, we finally set out for the park.
It was a ritual, this promenade through the city’s green spaces. Like any good cattle market, such an activity allowed a man the chance to examine his potential purchase from all angles, while for the women it was an opportunity to show themselves to their best advantage. I hated the shameless, ruthless efficiency of it, and generally avoided it like the plague, but for today, at least, I was not above using this particular setting to my own advantage.
If, as I hypothesized, Edward Laing was having me followed then he would surely take the opportunity to catch me in a private moment. A visit to the park provided precisely that. It was not a typical activity for me, and it was spontaneous enough so he would have no prior knowledge of my being there. If he turned up it wouldn’t prove definitively that he was keeping an eye on me but it would strongly suggest it.
Worst-case scenario, I would spend the morning making small talk with chinless aristocrats. Best-case scenario, I would draw Laing out and firmly decline his offer, hopefully putting an end to his interest in me. It made logical sense.
Unfortunately, logical was the last thing I felt as we approached the park, Mother’s arm was through mine, the latest gossip from the night before on her lips. (When people had the time to get up to all this scandalous behaviour during a three-hour performance, I had no idea.) My heart was thumping, my palms sweating. I couldn’t stop my gaze from darting around, looking for Laing, or perhaps for anyone he had following me.
“And then Mr Kent said something extremely indiscreet about Lady Thurlow’s sister,” Mother was saying. “Which was bad manners on his part but could have come as absolutely no surprise to her.”
“I should think not,” I agreed, having not the faintest idea what she was talking about.
“Have you seen anyone who you might be interested in?” Mother asked in a low voice, her eyes scanning the park. “I know it’s early days, but there are several interesting matrimonial candidates to my mind.”
“I don’t think—” I began, but Mother cut me off with a squeeze of her hand.
“And here comes one now!” she hissed.
My heart in my mouth, I turned and found myself faced not with my quarry but with the disappointing sight of Mr Trent walking towards us with his mother, a lady who constantly looked as if someone had served her a piece of undercooked chicken.
“Your Grace, Lady Felicity,” Mr Trent said, bowing. His hand went anxiously to his neck tie, as if it were too tight. His mother cleared her throat rather pointedly and his fingers sprang away from his collar as though it burned. “How lovely to see you.” The words were slightly strangled, and I wondered if his shirt really was cutting off his supply of oxygen.
“Mr Trent!” Mother trilled. “What auspicious timing. I wonder if you would keep Felicity company, while I have a quick chat with your mother? I’ve been wanting to pick her brains about her lovely gardens for some time.”
“Yes, Geoffrey.” Mr Trent’s mother practically shoved him into my arms. (I suppose there’s no room for subtlety when a duke’s sister is up for grabs.) “You entertain Lady Felicity.”
The two women smiled wide as alligators.
With a resigned sigh, I fell into step beside Mr Trent. For a while neither of us spoke and as we walked in blissful silence my opinion of the man temporarily increased.
Then he opened his mouth.
“I have learned since our last conversation that you are something of a dabbler in mathematics yourself, Lady Felicity,” he said with a good deal of condescension. “It’s a surprising trait in a young lady, but now I understand why you were so happy to listen to talk of my Cambridge studies.”
“I would not call myself a dabbler ,” I said stiffly.
Mr Trent only smiled indulgently. “No, perhaps, hobbyist is a better word?”
“It certainly is not ,” I managed, and the man seemed finally to understand that I was about to start spitting fire.
“Forgive me!” He raised his hand as we wound our way along the footpath, emerging at the side of the large pond around which other couples were walking endless circles, like painted horses trapped on a carousel.
“I was clearly misinformed,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were anything other than a gentle, well-bred lady. I have no problem with women being exposed to a little education.” He said this as though it were a generous concession. It was clear in that moment he believed himself an enlightened young man. “After all, a woman’s role as wife and mother requires her to be a helpmeet and companion to her husband, does it not? And if that husband is an intelligent man, he requires a wife who is happy to listen to him talk about his world. But I realize I may have offended you. I did not mean to imply you were some sort of … bluestocking!” He chuckled here.
“Mr Trent,” I said through gritted teeth, my mouth stretched into an unholy imitation of a smile, so as not to alert my mother that her plans were going deeply awry. “Let me be clear. I am not a dabbler. I am not a hobbyist. I am a mathematician. In fact, I’m one of the most promising young mathematicians on this continent, which is far more than I can say for a man who possesses not even the most basic grasp of Weierstrass’s theory that a continuous function on a finite interval of the real line can be uniformly approximated arbitrarily closely by a polynomial.”
“I…” a pink-faced Mr Trent attempted to interject.
“It is a source of great frustration to me that you’re in a position where you can so cavalierly treat your university education as a game – one which you are playing badly,” I continued. “I find you to be entitled, obnoxious and of extremely average intelligence.”
We had come to a halt by this point and Mr Trent was gaping at me, open-mouthed, like a fish heaved unceremoniously on to dry land.
“Well, I never ,” he began in the startled tones of a society matron. “Really, this is—”
I’m not precisely sure what happened next. I think that, in his fit of indignation, Mr Trent simply tripped over his own feet. All I know is that one moment he was there, mottled and outraged beside me, and the next his arms were windmilling as he tipped backwards into the pond. I reached out for him but it was too late. He hit the water with a tremendous crash.
A deathly hush fell over the park, dozens of pairs of eyes turned in our direction. With a shuddering gasp, Mr Trent emerged from the pond. His suit was soaked through. His hat was lost. There were several unfortunate strands of algae clinging to his person.
I tried hard to stifle my laugh, but a snort escaped; my hand flew to my lips.
Mr Trent’s eyes narrowed, his chest was heaving. “ You! ” he hissed. “You pushed me!”
“I certainly did not!” I said hotly. “Though now I wish I had!”
Mother and Mrs Trent appeared at my side, the latter of the two making the sort of wailing noises of anguish that implied her son had drowned and was lost for ever in the briny deep, rather than having ruined a perfectly mediocre suit in a scant few inches of water.
“Oh, Geoffrey!” She clasped her hands. (I noticed that despite her loud distress, she didn’t seem to want to help him out of the pond, or let him near her own pristine ensemble.) “Whatever has happened?”
“An accident, Mother,” Mr Trent said, scrambling up the side of the pond, and sending me a darkling look when his foot slipped in a patch of mud, and I found myself trying to disguise another laugh.
“I noticed that you had lost your hat, Mr Trent,” a voice said from beside me, and I turned to see that Laing had finally appeared.
My heart sank.
It seemed likely, then, that he really was having me watched. The fact I was right about that was cold comfort. Now the theory was proved I had no idea what to do with the results.
Laing’s tone was perfectly steady, as was his hand as he held out Mr Trent’s sodden hat, though I thought amusement was in his eyes. “I have retrieved it for you.”
“Thank you,” Mr Trent said, snatching it away. “If you will excuse me. Good morning.” He sent me another glare and turned on his heel, striding down the path with his mother trailing after him.
“Oh dear,” Mother said faintly. “Poor Mr Trent.”
“I’m sure he’ll recover,” Laing said, seemingly unruffled by the events of the past few minutes. He bowed. “It’s nice to see you again, Your Grace.”
Mother rallied. It seemed that she wasn’t about to be cast down by so minor a setback as me almost drowning a potential suitor in broad daylight.
“Mr Laing,” she all but purred. “How charming.”
“It’s serendipitous that we should run into one another so soon.” Laing’s eyes lingered on my face. “Perhaps,” he continued solicitously, “I might have some private conversation with Lady Felicity?”
“I’m sure my daughter would be delighted,” Mother answered for me. “I’ll hang back here and admire the scenery.” She twinkled conspiratorially at Mr Laing, and he chuckled warmly. He tucked my hand through the crook of his arm and we strolled on.
“I’m glad to get this opportunity to speak with you,” I began, calling to mind the speech I had prepared. It was to be diplomatic and elegant, a quick, painless severing of any expectation he may have. Hopefully, if I made it clear I wasn’t going to marry the man, he would turn his attention away from me and back to whatever nefarious deeds Izzy was investigating. Sylla had called my involvement a complication and I was inclined to agree. Best for all concerned if I removed myself from the equation altogether.
“As am I, Lady Felicity.” Laing nodded. “I’m keen to continue the conversation we had when last we met. The one about your aversion to marriage.”
“Oh!” I faltered, not prepared for him to be so direct. “Well, yes,” I said more firmly, trying to steer us back to my prepared remarks on the subject. “That is precisely what I wished to discuss with you .”
“Wonderful,” Laing said mildly. “As I suspect may often be the case, you and I are of one mind. So while I quite comprehend your lack of interest in the … gentlemen who may approach you in society” – at this, he glanced back towards the pond where Mr Trent had suffered his great indignity – “I hope that you’ll agree that you and I might deal quite differently.” He leaned in towards me, and his voice dropped, low and intimate. “I see you, you know. Though you’re a member of the ton, you’re not truly one of them. You long to break free of these foolish conventions.”
He placed his hand over mine, lightly squeezing my fingers. “I see a dazzling intelligence and a quick wit. And, to continue speaking plainly, I find that extremely attractive. I hadn’t thought I would marry,” he said thoughtfully, “but you are a rare jewel indeed.”
A rare jewel – that was how he thought of me. A valuable object to be collected. And, perhaps, guarded. I shivered at the thought.
“So you do … wish to marry me?” I managed.
“I do.”
Even though it was precisely what I suspected, the words still struck me like a blow. He walked beside me, cool as a February day, while I tried to gather my wits.
“I’ll admit I haven’t received many proposals of marriage,” I said, aiming for a breezy tone, while I calculated how best to deliver a rebuff he would accept, “but this strikes me as a most unusual way to go about it.”
“Naturally I’ll have to court you first. Convention demands it.” He sighed. “But I suppose it’s a small price to pay. I intend to have you for my wife.”
“Well, I don’t intend to have you,” I said, the words out of my mouth before I could think about them.
So much for diplomatic and elegant.
“A mind such as yours is naturally disposed against the idea of marriage,” Laing replied, and I found myself furious that he believed that he knew or understood me.
“While I’m currently determined not to marry anyone ,” I said, trying hard to keep control of my temper and the situation, “I don’t wish there to be any misunderstanding. I’m afraid we will not suit, Mr Laing. I’m grateful for your proposal, but I’m sorry, I cannot accept.” There. That was certainly clear and to the point.
His hand twitched, tightening round my arm. “I think if you were to reflect on the advantages of such a match, you would come to change your mind,” Laing said tensely. “I know you to be a pragmatic young woman. You should have a husband worthy of your intellect.”
“Please do not presume to know me.” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady while I felt like a moth trapped beneath a glass. I turned back to signal my mother, who made her way towards us. “Let me be utterly clear, Mr Laing, as that is what you say you prefer: nothing could induce me to marry you.” I went to pull away, but he continued to grip my arm, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave a mark, and I made a small sound of distress before I could stop myself.
“This conversation is not at an end,” he said. His voice was low, but something sparked like a flint in his eyes. “I told you once before: when I set my mind to something, nothing stands in the way of what I want.”