Regency Rumours: A Scandalous Mistress / Dishonour and Desire

Amelie’s hands tightened on the reins. It had been her intention to speed with all haste to Kew Gardens with Caterina in order to avoid the visit that she feared might result from their introduction to Lord Elyot and his brother, who she knew to be returning to Richmond yesterday. Conversely, sending a message to the door to say that they were not at home would not please Caterina one bit, nor would it help to fulfil her assurances to Caterina’s father.

Yet after last night’s bitter disappointment and her poor night’s sleep, the thought of being even civil to the unfeeling pair was more than she could bear, and Caterina’s pleas to go out driving instead of revelling in her new dress-lengths had seemed to Amelie like a chance to please herself while appearing to please her niece. Now it looked as if her strategy had been identified, as the vehicle in question had swung round in a dangerously tight half circle to head in their direction.

It would have been folly for her to go any faster, as she would like to have done, with the small body of the phaeton suspended above the lightweight undercarriage and the greys being so eager, but Amelie saw no reason to slow down either. The road ahead was clear except for the approach of an open landau, and it was the tiger’s warning as he stood up to peer between their heads that decided the pace after all. ‘Watch out, m’lady!’ he called. ‘Them two are ‘avin a bit of a frisk, by the look o’ things. Better pull up till they’ve passed. Aye, I thought as much. It’s the Oglethorpes’ new pair. That’s it, m’lady. Keep ‘em on the rein till I’ve got their heads.’ He leapt down off his rear perch and ran to the bridles, and Amelie had no choice but to wait for the two fretting horses to pass, receiving the coachman’s thanks but only the briefest of acknowledgements from the two female passengers.

Amelie would have been surprised if it had been otherwise; only the men in Richmond had ever offered any warmer salutation in the last five weeks and, as yet, no lady had left her calling-card. Before they could move off again, the towering crane-neck phaeton had caught them up, making their lower version look sedate by comparison. Sensing Caterina’s frisson of excitement, Amelie glanced at her and saw how nervous fingers smoothed the blue muslin over her knees, saw the alertness in her posture like a soldier on parade. So soon she was in love, and all a-flutter. Within her own breast, she felt again that uncomfortable kick against her lungs and put it down either to the affray of last night or having eaten her breakfast muffin too quickly.

‘Lady Chester, Miss Chester,’ said Lord Elyot, tipping his hat. ‘What a happy coincidence. You are out early. Do you go to see and be seen up on the Hill?’

Richmond Hill was a favourite parade-ground for showing off one’s horse or carriage, which Amelie had so far avoided. ‘No, my lord,’ she said, aware of the looks being exchanged between Caterina and Lord Rayne, ‘we’re on our way to see the newest blooms at Kew. I’m teaching my niece to depict them.’ She wished instantly that she had not made it sound so school-marmish, but her large canvas bag lay at their feet, bulging with sketchbooks and paint-boxes, and the men would surely have seen it from their height.

Lord Rayne leaned forward the better to see Caterina. ‘The study of blooms,’ he said, ‘would seem to be a glaring omission from my education, my lady. Would you allow us, just this once, to accompany you to see how it’s done?’

Caterina was about to enthuse, but Amelie used an elbow to nudge her into silence. There was no question of her showing them or anyone else except her niece how to draw blooms, and the mock-interest Lord Rayne was showing annoyed her by its facetiousness. ‘I cannot prevent you going where you will, Lord Rayne,’ she replied, ‘but we are not inclined to demonstrate. I beg you to excuse us.’

Her indignation swelled once more as she recalled for the hundredth time those hurtful words the two men had used only yesterday: ‘Loose screw…do-gooders…addle-pate…ought to be locked up…’ Buxton people had thanked her and called her stout-hearted: here, they called it interference and would put a stop to it, if they could. Not even for Caterina’s sake could she forget or even try to find an allowance for their heartlessness, nor could she shake off the thought of the miserable childbearing woman she had failed last night. At that moment the two events were linked in her mind, and any goodwill she might have pretended for the sake of Caterina’s burgeoning emotions was still-born.

Sitting nearest to Amelie as his brother’s passenger, Lord Elyot was better able to see the coolness as well as the anger behind her dark eyes and, though they were now turned towards the horses’ ears, not to him, he was determined to get more out of this meeting than an excuse when it was obvious that the niece was setting so much store by it.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We have no wish to intrude, Lady Chester. But will you explain something to me, before you leave us?’

‘Certainly, if I can.’

‘I noticed that Mrs and Miss Oglethorpe could hardly raise an acknowledgement between them just now. Not that it matters, of course, but I wondered if there was a particular reason for their rudeness. Have they not been introduced to you?’

He was right. It did not matter, but he may as well know now as later, and it may as well come from her, to set the facts straight. ‘Yes, they were, at church.’ He would want to know more, she was sure.

‘Yet no smiles and hardly a bow? Was she attempting to cut you, by any chance?’

She sighed, then looked slowly at him and his handsome brother. ‘I think you and Lord Rayne will soon discover,’ she said, ‘that you do yourselves no favours by being seen speaking to Miss Chester and me. In London where we can be more anonymous, perhaps, but not here in Richmond. We are not quite the thing, you know.’

‘Is that so?’ said Lord Elyot. ‘How very intriguing. Well, I suppose we could drive on at a smart pace, but I am inclined to beg for more details. I’m sure my brother is of the same mind. Do tell us. You are highwaymen in disguise? Escaped Muscovy princesses?’

Though his eyes were shaded, Amelie recalled how they had looked at her in the shop, and she could not meet them again. ‘Nothing quite as dramatic,’ she replied. ‘We are northerners, sir. Worse still, my family has connections with industry. To put it bluntly, my lord, trade. There, I’ve said the awful word. Now I shall go and rinse my mouth with water and vinegar and you will put some distance between us as fast as you can. We shall not hold it against you. I bid you both a very good day.’

‘Wait!’ Lord Elyot’s gloved hand could not reach Amelie’s phaeton, but his command was enough to hold her back. ‘Please?’ he added, squeakily.

When she sneaked a look upwards, she saw that he and his brother were grinning broadly. ‘You may smile, Lord Elyot,’ she said, ‘but the good people of Richmond take such things very seriously, you must know. Or had you forgotten? We might display any number of harmless eccentricities like sketching blooms at Kew Gardens, but trade is unforgivable, sir. Somebody has obviously got wind of it. And the north…well, nothing there but mills and clogs and smoke and strange dialects. Miss Chester and I own only one head each, but some have two, or even three! Can you imagine it?’

To keep her straw hat firmly in place in the blustering wind, Amelie had tied a long gauze scarf over it, swathing her neck and making it difficult for him to see her face without craning forward. But her sarcasm had produced an angry flush and a sparkle to her superb eyes that Lord Elyot could only guess at until his brother moved the horses forward a step. Then he was better able to judge the passion behind her droll revelations and to see that she was not quite the amenable obliging creature he had met the day before, nor was she the misguided woman whose reticule he now possessed.

Equally significant was the expression of dismay on the pretty niece’s face at the scuppering of her hopes. So this was the reason why they had kept out of the social scene for five weeks and why the young lass was so keen to make contact with the first half-decent beau to speak to her. His laughter had stopped well before Amelie had finished her explanation.

‘With difficulty,’ he said, in answer to her question. ‘But am I to understand that Richmond approval is what you desire, my lady?’

Her voice lost its flinty edge. ‘Not for myself, my lord. I did not come here to seek high society and there is no one’s approval I need. I have more interesting matters to keep me occupied. I bid you both good day, my lords.’

Giving them no time to recover or to say a proper farewell, she called out to Riley to let the horses go, cracked the whip above their heads with astonishing precision, and set them off so fast that the poor tiger had to take a flying leap at the back of the perch as it passed.

‘Whew! You in an ‘urry, m’lady?’ he gasped.

‘Yes. How do we get out of this place?’

‘Thought you was going to Kew, m’lady.’

‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. Left or right…quick, man!’

‘Left! Steady, for pity’s sake, or we’ll all be in the ditch.’

‘Rubbish! If you can’t stay aboard, get off and walk.’

Riley grinned. ‘Yes, m’lady.’ He would rather have been seen dead.

Amelie’s sudden reversal, however, was heartily disapproved of, and had done more than bring a mild disappointment to the young breast at her side, for now there were tear-filled lashes and a voice husky with broken dreams. Turning round after taking a last lingering look at the classy phaeton’s driver, Caterina rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief and dabbed, reserving her questions for the privacy of the breakfast parlour at Number 18 Paradise Road. Travelling at Amelie’s speed, it did not take long.

Caterina was a vivacious but not unreasonable young lady, even at times like this when her desires had been thwarted, and such was her admiration for her aunt that the explanation and assurances she was given were accepted without argument. If Aunt Amelie said that the men would not be put off, then she must wait and hope it would not take too long, though privately she could not see why they should have been so positively rejected in the first place if they were expected to try again. Did Aunt Amelie hope they would?

The rest of the day was not wasted, for Caterina’s weekly singing lesson with Signor Cantoni used up an hour after noon, then there was piano practice to be done followed by a thorough search through back copies of the Ladies’Magazine to find some day dresses for the mantua-maker to reproduce. After which she read all the advertisements for cosmetics, hair colourants, rouge for lips and cheeks, mouth fresheners, skin softeners, soaps, pills and whalebone.

Amelie protested. ‘You need no stays, my dear,’ she said. ‘You have a beautiful youthful figure that needs not even the shortest corset. Nor does your hair need extra colour.’ It was no flattery—Caterina was exceedingly pretty and trim, and Amelie was convinced that, with an overhaul of her somewhat childish wardrobe and some practice of womanly ways, she would soon be a beauty. Her naturally curly red-gold hair would respond well to the dishevelled look, so they set about experimenting, there and then, with the Grecian style, with bandeaux, plumes, combs and knots, twists and coils. The next time Lord Rayne saw her, Amelie predicted, he would be astonished by the transformation.

Next morning, the mantua-maker and her young assistant arrived to measure Caterina for new gowns. It had rained heavily again during the night and well into the morning, damping the dressmaker and chilling her helper to such an extent that, although one of her roles was to model some of the gowns they had brought with them, her emaciated and shivering body stuck through the sheer fabrics like a grasshopper’s knees. Amelie resolved to mend that problem before the coming autumn sent the child to an early grave.

While they were merrily draping themselves with new muslins and silks, Henry the footman came to announce that Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne were below, hoping to be allowed to see them.

‘Oh, please, Aunt,’ Caterina said, clutching at her unstable toga. ‘Do say we’re at home. Don’t send them away.’

If she wondered, fleetingly, how far Lord Elyot’s enquiries had led him into the workhouse affair, Amelie concealed it well; she had no heart to disappoint her niece again so soon, even though she felt herself to be wading in rather deep waters.

‘The morning room,’ she said to Henry. ‘Leave your hair just as it is, Caterina. It looks most becoming like that, and they must take us as they find us, mustn’t they?’ Nevertheless, the advice was amended in her own favour as she passed the long cheval mirror brought downstairs for the fitting, and the darkly tumbling curls bound with lilac ribbons were tweaked into place. As a married woman she would have worn something over them, but any inclination towards convention had grown less attractive after Josiah’s death. Yet at the back of her mind was a nugget of satisfaction that there was someone in this town who, in full possession of the facts, had not been so easily put off. Indeed, a timely show of her very comfortable life without Richmond’s friendship might be no bad thing. Even now they would be looking around with some interest at the fine white and gilded entrance hall and the Ax-minster carpet, while in the morning room were two views of Venice by Canaletto that would impress them more.

The visitors were shown into the room only moments after Amelie had seated herself at the rosewood pianoforte with Caterina standing by her side, a sheet of music in her hand. Despite herself, it was an impression she wished to convey, though she could not have explained why.

‘Lady Chester. Miss Chester.’ The men bowed as the door closed behind them, their reflections disappearing into the shining oak floor.

Caterina smiled, but Amelie chose not to while resisting the temptation to continue her former irony. ‘You are welcome, my lords. May I enquire how you knew our address?’ She stood to meet them, inclining her head gracefully.

‘From the man who delivered the heroic silver tea urn from Rundell’s this morning,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I made a point of asking him so we could offer you our thanks in person.’

‘Ah…I see.’ Amelie sat on a chair newly upholstered with her own embroidery and saw how Lord Rayne sat near enough to Caterina to admire the glossy red curls he had not seen before. Against the simple gown of white muslin, the sight seemed to hold his attention most satisfactorily.

Lord Elyot went to sit in a corner of the sofa, his arm thrown across the scrolled end, his long legs crossed as if the creasing of his tight buckskins was of no consequence, and it was this relaxed manner and his study of her face that made Amelie suspect that her choice of gift for his sister had been recognised for what it was, for now he must have caught a flavour, at least, of her excellent taste in all things domestic. Other than the tea urn, that is.

There was something more to be seen in his steady regard, however, that kept Amelie’s eyes upon his face longer than at any time since that first meeting. She noted how the dark hair down the side of each cheek reached the level of his earlobes and how the starched points of his white shirt touched each dark column. Now she was able to see the colour of his eyes away from the shadows, grey and dark-rimmed like the clouds, and very intent upon her. She gulped as the sly thud against her lungs forced her to take an extra breath, then the silent exchange ended as she looked away, conscious that this was not at all what she had expected to feel. She did not like or approve of these men’s carelessness of others’ misfortunes, but they were noblemen who could open doors for Caterina and, for that reason alone, she would have to stifle her reservations and show them some civility.

‘I hope you approve of our choice, Lord Elyot,’ she said. ‘Miss Chester and I thought that, if your sister enjoys taking tea as much as we do, then an urn would be just the thing. Especially as she has a family.’

‘My sister’s family is still very young,’ he said, ‘but taking tea is one of her delights. I’m sure she’ll be…er…’