Chapter 19
Nineteen
It wasn’t unusual for Sebastian to visit Hatchard’s, the bookseller, but it was unusual for him to be browsing books suitable for children, a fact Lady Frances recognised with the curling lift of her smile when she discovered him there.
“From what your uncle has been telling me, I’d have thought to find you among the political philosophy.”
“Looking to replace my well-thumbed copy of Paine’s Rights of Man, no doubt,” he said after his bow.
He ran his gaze over the titles on offer.
Mother Goose, Aesop’s Fables… Really, he ought to buy Tom a cheap chapbook, or let him learn to read on the Bible, like he himself and every other honest English gentleman had been forced to.
But the Holy Book might well disintegrate to ashes in Tom’s larcenous paws.
“Is that the on-dit, is it? I’ve supposedly become a liberal?
Anyone who knows me would understand that’s impossible.
I’d have to change my allegiance from White’s to Brook’s, and rumour has it they have a very inferior cook. ”
Lady Frances smiled. “A man does march on his stomach, it’s true.”
“The Reign of Terror could have been averted with a few good meals.”
“Feed the peasants? You really are growing liberal.”
He flashed her a smile—a very society smile, all amusement and no meaning. “Let them eat cake. Et cetera, et cetera.” They got on very well like this; they could speak for hours, saying nothing of worth.
Lady Frances looked determinedly pretty today, her skin and hair gold and ivory, her pelisse pale with scarlet froggings.
It put one in mind of strawberries and cream on a gilt-edged plate.
Last month’s frosty silver and queenly blue was only a memory.
Today she made herself delicious and inviting. Her appearance was always deliberate.
He drew out a slim volume, studying the title in amusement. Peter Piper’s Practical Principles of Plain and Perfect Pronunciation. Tongue twisters. Perfect; they’d infuriate the boy. Hopefully there’d be one about Horses with Hammering Hooves. Tom would learn to say his aitches if it killed him.
“So you’ve been seeing my uncle?” He tucked the book under his elbow, turning from the shelves to address Lady Frances directly.
“He makes a poor proxy, but you have hardly been anywhere to be found.”
That wasn’t quite true. This business with the wager and Mrs Ardingly only occupied a few hours of each day. But he certainly hadn’t been putting himself in Lady Frances’s path quite so much as before. If, as usual, he had multiple invitations, he’d taken to picking the one she was least likely to.
A test? Or perhaps a ploy, in the same way that inviting Mrs Ardingly to dance had been. Today’s strawberry outfit and the smilingly inviting head tilt she now gave him suggested it was working.
Ushering her to walk with him, he headed towards the nearest clerk and handed over the book. The man took it to be wrapped and to write the sale in his book.
“I did leave town for a few days,” he said to Lady Frances. “I had business in Kent.”
“At Woodhaven? How goes the building work?”
“Exceptionally well. The wing should be complete by Christmas.” The house—part of a small estate he’d bought recently, his family’s main seat being in Shropshire and inconveniently far from town—was perfectly big enough, but building work was a tasteful way of demonstrating one’s wealth, and he always took care to do that.
“I cannot wait to see it. Mr Soane’s plans were exquisite.”
Receiving only a smile instead of an invitation, Lady Frances switched topics. “Knowing you have no nieces or nephews, can I presume this book is a gift for your young guest? Your uncle says you still have the boy with you.”
“Presume? You may presume all you want with me, Lady Frances. We’re good enough friends for that.
” The gift of strawberries deserved a little sweetness.
“Yes, it is a gift for the boy. And no”—he smiled—“the boy is not mine. I haven’t been so much out of town as to have escaped hearing that rumour. ”
“He is said to look like you.”
“I have loose-lipped servants, do I? Or was that my uncle again? Yes, we both have dark hair. And two arms, and two legs. By that reckoning, three-quarters of the London youth are mine. I certainly have been busy.”
There weren’t many young, unmarried women he would’ve spoken to in such a way, but this style of conversation was normal in Lady Frances’s lively, fashionable circle.
Strict propriety, their manner said, was for dowdy creatures lacking the style to weather a little scandal.
They themselves were untouchable—they believed it and thereby made it true.
But still…he eyed the delighted spark in her eyes…she would never have risked her name to come visit him late at night, purely to see how he did, as Mrs Ardingly had done. That was a performance with no audience and therefore not one worth making.
“What are you planning to do with the boy?”
A good question. He answered to Tom, was clean and no longer gaunt, though still all wire and sinew. He hadn’t yet stolen anything that Sebastian was aware of, but last night he’d won a guinea from his father and then taken apart the longcase clock in the back hall.
“In all honesty, I haven’t the slightest idea. Apprentice him somewhere, probably.”
“You’re going to a great deal of effort on his behalf.”
She was confused by it, he knew, and this annoyed her. How could she control him if she didn’t understand him?
Smiling his thanks to the shop clerk who returned his now-wrapped book, he tucked it back under his arm and drew nearer the bay window by the door.
It was a natural place to wait—outside it was drizzling, the windowpanes misted with fine drops.
“I once knew a lady who seemed to doubt my… Is there any way of putting this subtly? I think not. She seemed to doubt whether I had a heart. It apparently gave her grave reservations when it came to the matter of handing over her own into my safekeeping.”
Lady Frances coloured. Yes, he could talk of bastards and conquests, but matrimony was beyond the pale.
“Put like that, you can hardly blame the woman.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. And if that had been the real issue, I would’ve honoured her for it.”
Her smile was like one of those images painted on glass, very bright, and very thin. “You think she had another?”
“Another reason? Not quite. Let us call it an instinct, as a cat chooses to play with a mouse, or a child picks at a scab. A futile but seemingly irresistible impulse.”
Her smile brightened several more notches, gas-flame behind the glass. It almost hid the splash of colour on her cheeks. “You must forgive us ladies our games. We have so little real power, you see.”
He studied her for a moment, not angry, but with the curiosity one gives a card player of near equal skill, wondering at their technique.
For all her small conceits and occasional immaturity, she possessed a core of smooth, determined intelligence.
She wouldn’t be half as popular if she was nothing more than a pretty face and a handsome portion.
She was shrewd; she knew how to play society’s great game. She was—still—the perfect wife.
The bell jangled, and a gentleman stepped in, shoulders and beaver hat sparkling with tiny raindrops.
The wet scent of the street came with him—dirt and stone and wood polish from the door.
From down the street came the sweet smell of the bakery’s spiced buns before the door shut and sealed them once more into the scent of books.
“Is that why you keep the boy?” She gave him a twinkling smile, adding a dimple to the strawberries and cream of her cheek, not giving up just yet.
“Isn’t there some fable about an ogre or a giant who keeps his heart outside his body—perhaps this boy is the embodiment of yours.
I’m sure this doubting lady you mention… I’m sure by now she is convinced.”
He watched the raindrops on the window brighten from grey to sparkling diamond as the sun shrugged off the clouds. “So far in this conversation I’ve taken the role of an ogre, a mouse, and a liberal. I hardly know which is worse.”
It was no answer to what she was really saying. If you came to me now, privately at home, I would accept you. I’ve learnt my lesson and proved my point. I will be your wife, but I will remain my own person—just as I know you plan to.
Ah, of such clever manoeuvring were society marriages made.
There were estates to combine, settlements to be drawn up.
There was rank and power and prestige to negotiate, two powerful horses jockeying for position at the start of a race.
If he’d wanted a meek little innocent wife to bully, he could’ve had one.
But what he wanted was a partner, and he’d chosen Lady Frances with great care.
What reason did he have to change his mind? By any rational reckoning, she was perfect.
On the window, two neighbouring raindrops sank together and merged, running down the glass. He reached out a fingertip, but they were on the other side. It was dry in here. His glove remained unmarred.
“You’ll be at the ball?” He didn’t need to say which.
Her smile was soft, her eyes triumphant. “All of London will be at your ball.”
“My ball? Hardly.”
“But it is your victory.”
The gleam in her eyes said she was pleased to share in that. If he’d been about to lose this wager, she wouldn’t have been here offering herself on that gilt plate.
“You have nine of your ten men on the committee now,” she said. “Your uncle tells me.”
“You are informed. I only confirmed the last three of them yesterday.” And they were all MPs—Mrs Ardingly had been pleased. His visit to Kent had secured the last of them, the man not being in town.
“And the success of the ball is certain, even with this odd fundraising ticket business,” said Lady Frances. “All of town would pay twice as much to attend the Duchess of Cumbria’s first ball as hostess. Everyone is fevered with curiosity. You chose that introduction well.”
“Cynical, Lady Frances, very cynical. They come to support The Society for Ending Cruelty to Children.”
“Another masterstroke, Cote, leaving their real issue undefined—who can argue for cruelty to children?”
“Oh, the name isn’t mine, much as I’d like to take credit for it. It was Mrs Ardingly’s suggestion and voted in unanimously—the committee is formed enough to already be producing copious amounts of paperwork.”
“No wonder Sir Nathan is in such a bad mood. One more man on the committee and your victory is complete.”
“And the tenth man is already decided.”
“Oh?”
He smiled, glancing up to confirm the rain had stopped, the sun as watery as gin. “You’ll have to wait and see.” He reached for the door.
“I’m saving my first dance for you, Cote. Don’t embarrass me by not claiming it.”
With a bow, he stepped out into the street.