A Desirable Husband

‘Anything that takes my fancy—household articles, inventions, but particularly objects made of glass.’

‘Drinking glasses, bottles, that kind of thing?’

‘Yes, dishes, vases, ornaments. I have a small manufactory in Birmingham.’

‘Is that where you live?’

‘Just outside it. The estate is called Larkhills. I live there with my mother.’

‘Is your mother in London with you?’

‘No, she rarely travels these days. I came down for the Mansion House banquet.’

‘But that is over and you are still here.’

He smiled, amused rather than annoyed, by her questions. ‘There are other attractions to keep me here.’

‘A lady?’

‘That would be telling.’

She heard Rosemary’s sharp intake of breath and knew she had breached another of her sister’s strict codes. ‘Oh, I should not have asked.’ She saw his lips twitch and nearly laughed aloud. Instead she posed another—to her, less contentious—question. ‘What were you doing in the park when we saw you sketching? You spoke of the Great Exhibition. Are you an architect, too?’

‘No, but I thought I might try my hand at designing something to house the exhibits.’

‘Has that not already been done?’

‘There are architects working on it, but nothing has been finally decided.’

‘Then I wish you luck with it. Has it been decided where the building is to be sited?’

‘I think it is fairly certain to be in the corner of Hyde Park where we encountered each other.’

‘And that was why you were on that particular spot?’

‘Yes. No doubt I shall need to go there again to check my measurements.’

It was a mundane conversation, apparently meaningless, but Esme knew there was more to it than that. They were communicating with their eyes, with the way they looked at each other, even in the way they stood and occasionally lifted a hand to emphasise a point. There was empathy in the very air around them. It was a wonderful feeling that left her slightly breathless.

She did not realise it also made her cheeks rosier than usual and her eyes bright as stars. Felix saw it and felt it. Here was a child of nature, someone so open, so unafraid, he was afraid for her. He was afraid of life treating her badly, of his own emotions, which at that moment were playing havoc with his peace of mind. He had no right to feel like this, no right to engage her feelings when he had sworn never again to let a woman into his heart. She was too young to understand what was happening, too young to be hurt. He did not want to hurt her.

He bowed. ‘I must not keep you from your friends. Good day, Lady Trent, good day, Lady Esme.’

He moved on and Esme found herself watching his back disappearing through the throng and wanting to cry. His departure had been so abrupt, as if she had said something to upset him. But she hadn’t, had she? She had complimented him on his drawing skill—that wouldn’t make him want to disappear, would it? Perhaps he found her conversation boring? Or had he realised Rosemary had not spoken a single civil word to him since her first formal greeting? Was he sensitive enough to feel her sister’s animosity? If she met him when Rosemary was not present…

She pulled herself together to listen to Rosemary making arrangements with Lady Bryson to attend a charity concert the following week, after which they took their leave and returned to the carriage which took them back to Trent House. The whole journey was one long scold, mainly directed at Lord Pendlebury and the way Esme had encouraged him.

‘I cannot understand what you can have against him,’ Esme said. ‘I think you made up your mind not to like him right from the first when he tipped his hat to me and smiled. It was just his way of being polite.’

‘Impudent, you mean, and then to draw pictures of us without even a by-your-leave.’

‘You surely did not mind that. It was only a sketch and very tasteful.’

‘I mind when my sister, for whom I am acting in loco parentis, makes a fool of herself,’ she said, as Esme followed her. ‘And of me.’

‘No one is making a fool of you, except yourself, Rosie. Lord Pendlebury is accepted in society. Why, you could see all the unmarried ladies falling over themselves to attract his attention.’

‘That does not mean you have to. Always remember you are the daughter of an earl and should behave with more dignity.’

This business of protocol and etiquette and what was and was not proper behaviour was full of pitfalls and she seemed to be falling into every one of them. The trouble was, she did not know they were there until she had tumbled into them. The result was that, as soon as they arrived home, she was given a book on etiquette and told to study it.

Chapter Three

Esme’s study of the book of manners soon palled and, since Rosemary was otherwise engaged with household affairs the following morning, Esme prevailed upon Miss Bannister to accompany her on a walk in the park. ‘I might sit and sketch the riders,’ she said, picking up a pad and several newly sharpened pencils.

‘Don’t you think that is a little advanced for you?’ the governess queried mildly.

‘Perhaps, but I mean to try, then I can send it back to Mama in my next letter.’

If Miss Bannister thought her erstwhile pupil was up to mischief, she did not say so, but fetched her coat and bonnet and prepared to humour her.

It was the first really mild day of the year and the good weather had brought out the populace who had nothing better to do than stroll in the park, ride in their carriages or show off their riding skills. There were some workers among the idlers: road sweepers, park attendants, street vendors, grooms holding horses, coachmen who drove the carriages in which the rich paraded, cabmen hoping to pick up a fare, a soldier or two on his way to or from the barracks. Esme in a patterned gown in several shades of green from palest aquamarine through apple green to dark forest green and a long matching jacket, was alive to it all, drinking in the sights and sounds, chatting animatedly to Miss Bannister, all the while searching around her for a particular figure. He had meant he would be in the park, hadn’t he? But perhaps not today.

Miss Bannister was old and becoming frail and it was not long before she declared herself exhausted. ‘I must sit on this bench awhile,’ she told Esme, indicating a seat beside the carriage ride and suiting action to words.

Esme sat beside her and began sketching. Before long she was aware of gentle snoring and smiled to herself as she tried her best to draw the scene before her.

‘Very good,’ said a quiet voice behind her. ‘But you have made the horse’s neck a little too long and his head too small.’

Her heart began pounding, but she did not turn round. ‘I told you I was not very good, didn’t I?’

‘I didn’t mean it was bad.’ He walked round the seat and sat beside her. ‘Here, let me show you.’

She looked apprehensively at Miss Bannister as he took the pencil from her trembling fingers. The old lady gave no indication she had seen or heard the newcomer. ‘We must not wake your duenna.’ It was said in a whisper.

‘No, she is quite old and tires very easily.’ More whispering. She felt like a mischievous child, glorying in doing something forbidden. It would not have been the least bit necessary if Rosemary had not taken against his lordship, she excused herself, they could have met openly. But, oh, the need for secrecy was fun.

He moved closer, so that he was very near indeed, his grey trousers brushing against the folds of her skirt and his warm breath on her cheek. ‘Now, you do this. And this.’ The pencil skimmed over the page. ‘Think of the muscles in the horse’s neck, how strong they are, how they support the head and how they are attached to the shoulders.’

‘Oh, I see what you mean. It is perfect now. Is it the same for drawing people?’

‘Of course. It is the bones and muscles that govern the shape of everyone.’

‘Fat, too, or lack of it?’

‘Yes, but that you can add that afterwards, along with the clothes, when you have the underlying structure right.’

She smiled mischievously. ‘You mean I should imagine everyone naked?’