CHAPTER SEVEN
Inside the cab an animated Aubrey chatted on about their afternoon excursion, happily oblivious to his cousin’s abstracted state.
Now that the end of the adventure was in sight, practical considerations, regrets and self-reproaches came streaming into Laura’s mind.
A peek at the watch pinned to her dress under the pelisse confirmed that she and Aubrey had been away for well over two hours with no more than a deliberately vague statement of their intentions to Sophia, who had no authority to sanction the outing.
That was precisely why she had chosen to inform Sophia, of course.
She had, metaphorically speaking, kicked her conscience aside, and now it was limping back to confront her.
No less than young Henry was she guilty of sneaking out without permission, but she did not possess a child’s excuse of immaturity to lessen her culpability.
Nor had her questionable conduct ended with the unauthorised outing.
Although extenuating circumstances could be argued to mitigate her action in accepting the assistance of a stranger in getting the injured child into a hackney, not even a desire to avoid wounding the good Samaritan’s feelings could excuse telling him a bold-faced lie.
She, who prided herself on her truthfulness, had lied to escape any potential complications of her rash action.
She was firmly persuaded the helpful gentleman was completely respectable, but she’d had a sudden insight into a parent’s rationale for some of the irksome restrictions placed on unmarried young women, and had taken the coward’s way out to prevent possible future embarrassment.
Laura’s self-flagellation came to a halt with the hackney at her uncle’s door.
Aubrey skipped inside while she paid the driver and he was already at the saloon door when Laura reached the first floor.
She entered the room in time to hear him announce, “Cousin Laura and I had a splendid adventure this afternoon,” squaring her shoulders and smoothing out an incipient frown as she did so.
Her mother and Sophia were seated around the tea table as expected, smiling at the exuberant Aubrey.
It was another second before Laura realised that the gentleman rising from the place beside her mother on the settee was not Sir Oswald but a stranger: a young man, tall and well-favoured, with curly hair the colour of a horse chestnut.
He was looking at her, his lips curved in a little smile.
Laura glanced to her mother for enlightenment, but an instant later her eyes winged back to the waiting gentleman — more specifically to the lock of hair dangling over his forehead.
Doubt became revelation, and her own lips curved irrepressibly as she dropped a curtsy, saying, “How do you do, Mr. Johnson? I am delighted to see that you have quite recovered your health.”
He looked baffled at first, and Laura regretted her foolish impulse to tease.
Then Lord Hastings chuckled as he came forward to take her hand in a firm clasp.
“Your mother told me in Hertfordshire that I had announced myself to you as ‘Mr. Johnson’, but I must plead temporary dementia or amnesia, for I have no such recollection. However, my father’s name was also John, so in that sense I suppose I am indeed ‘John’s son’.
In any case it will be my pleasure to answer to whatever you desire to call me, Miss Marsh. ”
“I blush to admit that my daughter can be a sad tease at times, Lord Hastings. Pay no heed to her nonsense. Do sit down, Laura; Aubrey is bursting to tell us about your afternoon adventure.”
Laura sank on to the chair across the table from her cousin Sophia, hoping her mother’s apocryphal blush would divert attention from the heat she could feel in her own cheeks.
She refused to look at Lord Hastings, but a quick glance at Sophia caught a speculative gleam in that damsel’s expressive eyes.
Hastily she transferred her gaze to Aubrey, seated next to his sister and obviously waiting on his audience, his blue eyes sparkling.
In the next few minutes Laura had cause to be grateful to her young cousin, who kept the company entertained while she regained her composure, for she was as surprised at her forward behaviour as her mother, and even more censorious.
Also, she was at a loss to account for this lapse from her usual reticence around men.
With the single exception of her old friend Mary Milford’s father, all the men of her admittedly limited acquaintance — her father and grandfather, her uncle even the vicar — had struck her as severe and overbearing in their demeanour toward women, exhibiting a conscious superiority that their character and understanding quite failed in her eyes to support.
Chester Hamilton, the only young man she knew well, was unlikely to alter her poor opinion of his sex.
On the other hand, she had certainly enjoyed her time with Aubrey and Henry today, finding them delightful companions.
Perhaps that was it, she decided with a flash of insight.
She had met Lord Hastings when he was helpless, temporarily devoid of that masculine air of superiority that rubbed against her grain.
Obviously she had treated him just now as she would Henry or Aubrey, an understandable enough slip given today’s events.
Satisfied with this explanation, her comfort restored, Laura found that Aubrey’s words were actually registering in her mind now, and a discreet sweep of the company through lowered lashes disclosed that he had everyone’s attention as he spoke of coming upon the injured boy on the wharf.
When he described their efforts to assist the boy, Miss Albright exclaimed, “So that is how your new pelisse came to be muddied!”
All eyes present went to the garment that Laura had removed upon entering the room and placed over the arm of her chair. “I am persuaded Sukie will be able to sponge it clean, my dear,” Mrs. Marsh said, “but go on, Aubrey. Was the boy badly hurt? What happened next?”
When Aubrey had related the details of the difficult trek to the cab stand and the return of the injured boy to his home, Mrs. Marsh spoke again. “You did just as you ought in the circumstances, Laura, but I could wish that you’d had Nora with you.”
“Who was the man who carried the boy to the hackney?” Sophia asked.
“Just a kind passer-by,” Laura said before Aubrey could speak. “Naturally we did not exchange identities.”
“Any man with an ounce of compassion would have done the same, Miss Albright,” Lord Hastings assured her.
“He wanted to call tomorrow to see how Henry did,” Aubrey said, “but Cousin Laura told him she was the governess and could not have visitors.”
Laura, who’d hoped that her young cousin had been too involved with Henry to have heard that particular exchange, blushed furiously as Sophia giggled and Mrs. Marsh let out a scandalised, “Laura, you didn’t!”
“Actually, ma’am, it was probably the best thing she could have done in the circumstances,” said Lord Hastings, coming to her rescue. “End everything quickly, no long explanations, no hurt feelings or repercussions.”
Though clearly unconvinced that a lie was ever the preferred course, Mrs. Marsh was not proof against the charm of Lord Hastings’ smile, which she returned with a murmured, “Perhaps you are right, but,” turning to her daughter, “you do now see why young ladies do not go out unattended in the city, my dear.”
“Yes, Maroa,” Laura said meekly. Desirous of changing the subject, she turned to their guest and gave voice to a question that had suddenly occurred to her.
“However did you know where to find us, sir — or mayhap you are already acquainted with my cousin?” she added, feeling that her choice of phrase might have been infelicitous, even unwelcoming, and recalling the smile he and Sophia had just shared.
“No, that is a very recent pleasure,” Lord Hastings replied, bowing and smiling at Sophia, who was looking consciously gratified.
“Lord Hastings explained that he went back to Hertfordshire to thank us again for our aid after his accident, Laura, though that was quite unnecessary, as you may be sure I informed him — for as you recall, Lady Hastings had written us such a gracious note conveying her appreciation for our neighbourly efforts on her son’s behalf.
Burns gave him our direction in London and —”
“And here I am,” Lord Hastings said, taking up the tale, “in the happy position of improving our acquaintance, Miss Marsh, with the added felicity of meeting Miss Albright, who tells me that you will both be making your come-out this spring.”
“Er, yes.”
Laura came to the belated realisation that more had been expected of her when he angled his head slightly and said with a quizzical expression, “Do I detect a note of uncertainty, Miss Marsh? Are you not looking forward to the season with pleasure?”
“Yes, of course I am. I expect there will be many new experiences that I will find most informative … and diverting.” She added the last in response to his lifted brow at her initial choice of adjective.
“I hope you have formed the intention of bringing your charges to Almack’s balls, ma’am,” he said to his hostess.
“Indeed I have,” she replied with a smile.
“Easter will be upon us in no time, and with it the official start of the season. I hope I may prevail upon your daughter and your niece to do me the honour of standing up with me at the very first ball,” Lord Hastings said.
Upon receiving a smiling assent from Miss Albright and a sober murmur to that effect from Miss Marsh, the baron rose and took a polite leave of the family, following the footman Mrs. Marsh had summoned to see him out.
The door had barely closed behind their caller when Miss Albright whirled on her cousin, demanding in a stage whisper, “Laura, why did you never tell me you were acquainted with a buck of the first head?”
“A what? I am not!”