CHAPTER XIV #2
‘Nonsense – you just have a terrible memory, Isabelle,’ the Marquis insisted – leaning back to avoid an answering jab from his sister’s fan.
Lady Allerton laughed. ‘You and Hetty first met in Vienna, is that right?’
‘Yes,’ Nicolet said, before Hetty could answer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arthur’s head tilt to the side.
‘Rome,’ she corrected swiftly. ‘If you remember, we first met – briefly – in Rome.’
‘Of course.’ Nicolet snapped his fingers in apparent recollection. ‘I had forgotten, so much of our friendship having occurred in Vienna.’ He smiled at Hetty. ‘Of course that was many, many years ago now.’
Arthur frowned. ‘Was it?’ If he was not mistaken, Hetty had been in Vienna only four years before.
‘Oh, my deplorable English …’ Deepening the subtle inflection of his accent to something approaching the caricature, he pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘Many, a few … I mix them, you must forgive me …’
Mademoiselle de Nicolet frowned at him quizzically. ‘Your English is perfect, why do you – oh, I perceive you are trying to make yourself more interesting. Do carry on.’
‘I cannot very well do so now!’ Nicolet told her indignantly.
The Allertons all laughed. All save Arthur. The Marquis’s memory of Hetty was plainly not as firm as her memory of him, if he had to be reminded in such a way. This, Arthur felt, did not bode at all well.
This was an unease no other Allerton shared, however.
For nothing could be more gratifying than the attentions the Marquis paid Hetty for the remainder of the visit, as he conveyed to Lady Allerton his great pleasure at meeting his friend again, his surprise that she should have grown up so very much, and – expanding on this eloquence – began to reminisce on all the joyous times they had spent amid the splendour of Vienna, eating creams, dashing all about, even putting on plays for the amusement of their families.
‘Hetty put on plays?’ Trixie repeated, brows rising. Hetty, whose palms had grown clammier and clammier with every moment that passed, sent Nicolet a speaking glance.
‘A fact which is … surprising,’ Nicolet summarised, ‘to anyone who knows her. Goodness, is that the time?’
Lady Allerton made protestations, and Hetty was about to breathe a sigh of relief until—
‘I was wondering if Miss Clithero would care to accompany me to the botanical gardens?’ Nicolet asked. Mademoiselle de Nicolet frowned at him. ‘Accompany us,’ he corrected hastily. ‘We are told the spring flowers are quite the sight.’
‘I should like to see the flowers too,’ Timothy announced.
‘But of course,’ the Marquis agreed easily. ‘May I persuade anyone else to join us?’
Given the imminent arrival of Thimbleby and Holland, Arthur declined, as did Lady Allerton – who felt that her chaperonage would be very much in the way of Hetty’s promising new romance – and, to Hetty’s surprise, so did Trixie, on account of an appointment.
‘What kind of appointment?’ Hetty quizzed her.
‘I am walking with Miss Corcott in the park.’
‘Again?’ Hetty reflected that this must be the third time that week.
Trixie gave her a bland smile. ‘I do so love to walk.’
‘Well, Miss Clithero?’ Nicolet interrupted Hetty’s scrutiny.
Hetty hesitated. It was plain that she and Nicolet needed to speak privately, before he caused any mischief, but she did not wish to miss the meeting with Holland and Thimbleby.
She looked questioningly towards Arthur, with an expression that so plainly spoke to wishing to go that he waved her off at once, though when he laid eyes upon the sporting vehicle and very spirited pair of greys the Marquis was driving, he felt some regret at not having objected more.
‘Is that safe?’ Arthur wondered, peering out of the window as the Marquis handed Hetty up into it – Mademoiselle de Nicolet having ceded her place to Hetty to accompany Timothy in the more sedate barouche.
‘You have one just like it,’ Lady Allerton reminded him.
‘I know how to drive!’
From the way the curricle swept out of sight, however, it was clear the Marquis was no mere whipster, which should have afforded Arthur some relief. It did not. No, Arthur was not quite sure what he did feel, watching the curricle disappear from sight, but it was certainly not relief.
As they disembarked from their carriages at the botanical gardens, the business-like fashion in which Mademoiselle de Nicolet extracted a list of plants from her reticule gave Hetty and Timothy their first inkling that this was going to be no mere meander.
It was a suspicion that was confirmed by the prompt appearance of the head gardener – a Mr John Fairbairn – upon their admittance through the doors of the establishment, who assured Mademoiselle de Nicolet of his readiness to deliver a comprehensive tour of the premises and explain the intricacies of whichever specimens most attracted Mademoiselle Isabelle’s curiosity.
It was at this point, Timothy realised, with no small amount of foreboding, that they were there by appointment.
He hid the disquiet admirably, however, bowing in greeting to Mr Fairbairn, as Mademoiselle de Nicolet made introductions.
‘Miss Clithero is my childhood friend,’ the Marquis told the perplexed Mr Fairbairn when Mademoiselle de Nicolet reached Hetty. ‘Though, after our recent reunion, I am beginning to see her in a wholly new light.’
Hetty turned pink so quickly it hurt. ‘Shall we begin?’
Then, at last, winding their way through the paths of this four-acre parcel of land, with Timothy borne off by Mademoiselle de Nicolet and Mr Fairbairn, she could speak freely, turning to regard the Marquis with a severity much in contrast with the jaunty satin-straw bonnet tied with an apple-green ribbon under her ear.
‘However amusing you might find my predicament, I do hope you are not trying to cause me a mischief.’
‘I am not,’ he assured her. ‘I am quite serious! Perhaps a little over-enthusiastic, I can see that. You see, in another life, I would have belonged on the stage.’
‘This is not a stage,’ she reminded him. ‘This is my life.’
He begged her pardon. ‘I quite see that we ought to discuss our plot, in full, before acting any further.’
‘I do not know that it is a plot, per se.’ For did that not make it sound deplorably villainous?
‘You need not be ashamed, Miss Clithero; indeed, I am all in support of the project! Thus far, as I understand it, your focus has been upon conversation, dresses and haberdashery. It is admirable, indeed, but I believe now you ought to give jealousy a try. I predict Allerton will more speedily recognise the gem under his nose if you embark upon a rampant flirtation.’
Hetty felt vaguely alarmed. ‘Rampant?’
‘Rampant,’ he confirmed gravely.
Hetty found herself wishing she had thought to bring her parasol. The high brick walls of the garden were designed to trap a great deal of heat, mimicking the foreign climes whence came so many of the rare specimens housed here, and she was beginning to feel rather warm.
‘With whom?’