A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance Read online

  Eventually, losing patience, Zanthe was obliged to give the lady a set-down. ‘Is there anything else you wish to know, Ma’am? I think we have covered my lineage, fortune, childlessness, and future prospects quite thoroughly.’

  Mrs Weatherspoon bridled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Indeed, I think you should!’

  The lady rose with outraged dignity. ‘Come, girls. We are leaving.’

  All four then stalked out of the room, leaving Zanthe laughing and Margery very worried, indeed.

  ‘My love, I know the temptation was very great, but you should not have said that. Recollect that we are new arrivals while she is an established resident. She might make things very awkward for you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry yourself, Margery,’ interposed Paris carelessly. ‘No one could make things awkward for a sprightly, young widow with three thousand a year.’

  But Paris was wrong. Mrs Weatherspoon was not popular, but she was powerful among the various ladies who gave balls, got up concerts, and held receptions in Bath. The results of this disastrous visit were apparent when Zanthe and Margery next visited the Pump Room. Several ladies who had previously smiled graciously upon them now looked coldly and turned a shoulder. The whispers flew around the room and came at last to Paris’s ears. Mrs Weatherspoon had pronounced Zanthe to be improper, vulgar, and fast. No lady of breeding, she said, could be expected to receive such a person.

  A gentleman who had been watching the little comedy being played out in front of him now moved with some deliberation from his position by the door and made his way across the room towards Zanthe. The crowd fell silent, watching.

  ‘Lady Brookenby.’ He bowed. ‘I hardly dare hope that you remember me. I had the inexpressible pleasure of your acquaintance before your marriage.’

  Her eyes widened, and the pretty colour drained from her cheeks. Then, recollecting herself, she lifted her chin a little and met his eyes challengingly. ‘Most certainly I remember you, Viscount.’

  To acknowledge the acquaintance of one of the most notorious libertines in the country would hardly contradict the rumours flying around the room. Indeed, if anything more were needed to convince the Bath matrons that she was fast, she had now provided it. But she had not seen him since she had been seventeen, and whatever came of it, she could not turn away. Aware that, in the comparative silence, their conversation was clearly audible to some of Bath’s most notorious gossips, she said in a cool, even voice, ‘I am most happy to renew our acquaintance.’

  He looked a little amused. ‘I am overwhelmed.’ He gave the assembled company a lazy glance and smiled, showing his teeth. Recalled to themselves, the crowd plunged into animated speech. In a much lower voice, he continued, ‘I seem to remember that, at our last encounter, you gave me a very decided rebuff.’

  ‘Did I? I really don’t remember that at all.’

  ‘How should you? No doubt, at that time, your life was full of gentlemen who attempted to kiss you.’

  ‘Not gentlemen, no.’

  ‘Ah, a hit, a very palpable hit!’

  She laughed a little. ‘Much has changed since those days. I have changed.’

  ‘Yes, you have grown even more beautiful.’

  She looked at him. ‘You have altered, too, my Lord.’

  Indeed, Viscount Launceston had aged in a way for which the passage of eight years scarcely accounted. There were harsh lines around his eyes and mouth to evidence the years of hard living. He was now, she knew, only six-and-thirty, but he looked much older. He was not a handsome man, but his lean face was wickedly attractive, especially when he smiled and his rather hard eyes were lit from within by amusement. He wore his modish attire negligently with none of the affectations of the Dandy set, and no aspirant to fashion would have demanded to know who had made his boots or designed his waistcoat.

  ‘I must congratulate you, by-the-by.’

  She looked a question.

  ‘You have been in Bath for what—a sennight?—and it appears that, already, you have made a most dangerous enemy.’

  She looked a little scornful. ‘The lady may say what she pleases about me.’

  He glanced behind her to where Margery stood alone and close to tears. ‘I think your companion is not so indifferent.’

  Zanthe followed his gaze and bit her lip. ‘You are very right. Poor, dear Margery; she had such hopes of this visit. Her life has been a very lonely one, you see. And now— Oh, I should have guarded my wretched tongue for her sake.’

  ‘Do not distress yourself. I shall spike Mrs Weatherspoon’s guns for you.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Firstly, I think a little polite blackmail is indicated. The late George Weatherspoon was by no means the pattern card of virtue his relict would have one believe. Nor, in her day, was she.’

  ‘Excellent! And secondly?

  He held her blue eyes with his. ‘You are aware that everyone in the room is watching us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For your own sake, you should publicly rebuff me once more, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘’Do so. I will retire with all humility.’

  ‘I would not give them the satisfaction.’

  ‘Then I must do it for you.’ His expression altered, he stepped back quickly as though he had received a blow. Then he shrugged his powerful shoulders and made her a deeply ironic bow before turning on his heel. Not a person in the large room but would have taken their oath that young Lady Brookenby had sent the disreputable Lord Launceston about his business. There was a collective exhalation of breath, and then the discourse rose again with renewed animation.

  Three

  The effects of the Viscount’s intervention were first felt the following Sunday when Zanthe and Margery attended Holy Communion at the Abbey. After the service, Mrs Weatherspoon made it a point to greet them with a wide, insincere smile and kept them chatting in a brisk wind far longer than Zanthe thought at all necessary.

  ‘Dear Lady Brookenby, I think you are not acquainted with Miss Tarleton—Mrs Preston—Lady Kilmarnock—’ The introductions seemed interminable but, for her sister-in-law’s sake, Zanthe smiled, shook hands, exchanged commonplaces, and accepted a surprising number of invitations that had, for some unaccountable reason, been overlooked by the careless hostess. She could not help murmuring to Margery, ‘I wish I had been a fly on the wall during that “polite blackmail” the Viscount spoke of. It certainly seems to have worked a treat.’

  ‘Oh hush, Zanthe.’ Margery admonished her. ‘The poor woman is trying to make amends.’

  Upon their release from Mrs Weatherspoon, they were approached by a middle-aged couple who, while not precisely identical, were so much alike that it came as no surprise to their new acquaintances to discover that they were brother and sister, born within a single hour. They were of the same height, tall for a lady, medium for a gentleman, and both very thin. They shared an expression of extreme benevolence and peered shortsightedly through thick spectacles. The lady wore her graying hair in youthful ringlets while her brother’s still-thick thatch stuck up on his head like a brush, giving him a permanently surprised appearance.

  ‘Do, pray, forgive us for coming up to you like this without being introduced,’ twittered the lady in a high, girlish voice. ‘So rag-mannered but, you see, I have a letter from a common acquaintance of ours, my dear Miss Brookenby, and I can only hope that you will consider it a sufficient introduction.’

  ‘A common acquaintance?’ Margery looked pleased and interested.

  ‘Yes, indeed, Miss Brookenby, your respected Rector, Doctor Thatcher, such a charming man, was up at Oxford with my brother—when was it, Mortimer, oh, at least twenty years ago, was it not? How time does fly! Oh, pray, may I present my brother to you, the Reverend Mr Cholmondeley, who is taking his annual holiday from his clerical duties in Lancashire. And I am Letitia Cholmondeley, “Letty” to my friends, of whom I do so hope you will become one if you do not think it impertinent of me.
’

  She paused to take a breath, allowing Mr Cholmondeley and Margery to exchange inarticulate murmurs. Zanthe, accustomed to her sister-in-law’s incapacitating diffidence, recognised, with sympathy, that Mr Cholmondeley was almost equally afflicted. However, when he spoke, though his words were disjointed, his voice was unexpectedly deep and pleasant.

  ‘An honour—Ma’am. My friend Thatcher—full of praise—your benevolence—the poor—I am overwhelmed!’

  Miss Cholmondeley, having recovered her breath, hurried once more into speech: ‘We do hope that we may persuade you to lend us your aid while you are here, Miss Brookenby, if Lady Brookenby can spare you to us. It is difficult to believe while we stand here by this wonderful old abbey that not so very far away there are streets that would absolutely shock you. Avon Street now—the poverty, the vice, and disease, you know—so very distressing and not nice to talk about in front of dear Lady Brookenby, so young and, if I may say so, very pretty—but there it is. If persons of goodwill do not help them, the children especially, poor little things, I do not know how they are to go on. And it is not the least use trying to interest them in spiritual matters while they are starving, of course.’

  ‘No, I should imagine not,’ agreed Zanthe. ‘I’m sure we would both—’

  The spinster threw up her hands. ‘No, oh no, dear Lady Brookenby, we could not think of allowing you to join us in those dreadful tenements. You are here to recover your health and spirits after your sad loss. But your sister-in-law is used to go among the poor, and such sights as she might see, however shocking—well—I am sure she has seen as bad or worse in Lincolnshire.’

  ‘As too have I, my dear Ma’am. I have been used to go among the poor quite as much as my sister, I assure you.’

  ‘Oh, but that is in the country! Here it is so very—you can have no notion. It is not just the poverty, you know.’ She lowered her voice and said in trembling accents, ‘There is crime—terrible crime and much—vice.’

  Zanthe smiled. The lady seemed to have a very romantic notion of the bucolic life. ‘I daresay. You have your housebreakers and pickpockets; we have our poachers and smugglers. I should think there is little to choose between them for brutality and sheer wickedness. However, I have found that even very rough men are often capable of gratitude for any acts of charity and kindness toward their women and children. And, as for the women, I assure you they are quite as likely to fall victim to a life of vice as any of those in the town.’ She saw that it would be difficult to convince Miss Cholmondeley that she should be included in the benevolent meddling the lady proposed and, with a little shrug, she acquiesced for the moment. After all, it was not to perform charitable deeds that she had come to Bath.

  While Margery and Miss Cholmondeley plunged into discussion, and the Reverend gentleman beamed upon them both, Zanthe stood clasping and unclasping her hands in her muff and wriggling her toes in her little kid boots in a vain attempt to warm them. She would not for the world have interrupted the conversation, however. It was such a pleasure to see Margery happy and animated. She was staring up at the beauties of the west facade of the Abbey when she heard her name and turned to find Paris at her elbow.

  ‘Parry, Good Heavens, I had thought you tucked up in bed still.’

  Parry was in a rollicking mood. His breath smelled strongly of brandy and his pleasant voice was slurred. ‘Bed? Haven’t been t’bed all night’. Had a capital time, kickin’ up a lark with some very good fellers.’

  Zanthe took a step back from her brother, wrinkling her nose. ‘You’re foxed—at this hour of the morning?’

  He blinked at her owlishly. ‘Devil-a-bit! This ain’t nothin’. You should ha’ seen me a couple o’ hours ago.’

  ‘Well, you must go away. Margery has just made some new friends, and I won’t have you spoiling things for her.’

  ‘Don’t see that. Introduce me! Happy to make their acq—acq—happy to meet ‘em!’

  She thrust her hand in his arm and dragged him to some little distance from the Cholmondeleys. ‘How odious you are! Can you not behave yourself for my sake?’

  He pulled his arm away and staggered slightly. ‘Well, it was you insisted I come with you to this cursed place. D’you expect me to sit about doin’ the pretty with a lot of dowagers?’

  ‘Yes! That is exactly what I expect.’ She folded her arms across her breast and pursed her lips crossly. ‘Your behaviour is quite irresponsible.’

  ‘You looked just like Mama when you said that,’ he told her, grinning.

  She looked aghast. ‘No! Did I? Oh dear!’

  He giggled. ‘All girls grow to be like their mothers. Seen it over and over, and—’ He stopped abruptly and clapped a hand over his mouth.

  ‘May I be of assistance?’

  She turned swiftly to see Launceston standing a little behind her. He was watching Parry with an expression of weary forbearance. ‘I don’t know if you are aware of it, Ma’am, but judging from the greenish shade of his complexion, your brother is about to be extremely unwell. I suggest you allow me to remove him from this too-public locality.’

  Zanthe cast a look at her companions. Margery and Letty were still in earnest conversation, but she caught Mr Cholmondeley glancing in their direction. He looked away quickly as he met her eye. ‘Pray, do remove him, Sir. If you would convey him home, I would be most grateful.’ She hesitated a moment and then said, ‘Would you remain there until I return? I would like to—to—have speech with you.’

  ‘It would be unwise.’

  ‘Please.’

  He bowed. ‘Of course, if that is your wish.’ He turned to Parry and, with surprising ease, picked the boy up and threw him over his shoulder. ‘I will find a chair in the High Street.’ He strode off around the corner of the great facade and was gone.

  It was about half-an-hour later that the Brookenby ladies were admitted into the house by a disapproving butler. A maidservant was busy in the hallway with a mop and bucket, and when Zanthe attempted a propitiating smile in her direction, she was met with an offended sniff. She realised that only an offering of hard cash was likely to soothe her affronted household.

  ‘Where is my brother, Billings?’ she asked as she shrugged herself out of her light silk pelisse.

  ‘He has been put to—he is in his bedchamber, m’Lady.’

  ‘Good, good—and—Lord Launceston? Is he still here?’

  ‘In the morning-room, m’Lady. A cold collation has been set out in the dining-room for your refreshment. After the gentleman leaves, of course.’ Thus reminding his mistress that it would be the height of impropriety for the Viscount to lunch with her without her brother present to play the host.

  Zanthe smiled at her sister-in-law. ‘Forgive me a moment, Margery. You go on up. I must thank Launceston for his kindness.’

  ‘We are very much obliged to him,’ acknowledged Miss Brookenby. ‘I should have been so mortified if the Cholmondeleys had been aware of the state Parry was in.’

  ‘I think Mr Cholmondeley did see, but he said nothing. I liked him, didn’t you?’

  Margery flushed a rich purple and nodded. ‘Very pleasant gentleman.’

  ‘He seemed to like you, too, I thought.’

  Her sister-in-law glanced up eagerly. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Goose! I have just said so.’ She gave her a gentle little push. ‘Go away now. I shan’t be long.’

  The Viscount was standing by the window, looking out over the haha to the countryside beyond. It was noon and, as the sun was directly overhead, his face was in shadow. He looked in that dim light, just as he had eight years earlier, thought Zanthe. His plentiful, black hair fell over his forehead in a disorder that made her long to smooth it from his brow; his dark eyes still glowed, she thought, with the passions that had at once frightened and fascinated her. Then he turned into the light and, once more, she was facing the man she had met in the Pump Room, his hair silvered at the temples, lines of dissipation hardening his mouth, and deep, frowning cleft
s between his eyebrows. He stood looking at her, and she watched his expression change. He looked, she thought, like a man standing by the grave of a loved one.

  She came forward, holding out her hand. He bowed formally, and her hand dropped to her side. She said, with a slight effort, ‘It seems that you are always standing by to come to my rescue. How can I thank you?’

  ‘What, for playing nursemaid to that young idiot? You need not.’

  ‘For that and for dealing with Mrs Weatherspoon. Whatever did you say to her? It must have been most persuasive.’

  He laughed. ‘It is better that you should not know, Lady Brookenby.’

  ‘Lady Brookenby? Why not Zanthe? That is what you used to call me.’

  ‘I always thought it a very beautiful name.’

  ‘I make you free of it.’ She took a step closer. ‘I remember other names—sweetheart—darling—beloved. Names no one else has ever called me.’

  ‘Not Brookenby?’

  She laughed, but not as if she were amused. ‘No, most decidedly not my husband! He never rose above a terse m’dear.’

  ‘Yet he loved you?’

  ‘Yes, at first, but his infatuation soon burnt itself out. Then, I think, he was merely fond of me.’

  ‘Fond! Oh my God!’

  ‘I wanted nothing more—from him. Jarvis, why do you look so—can we not—?’

  He shook his head. ‘My sweet, take my word for it; there is no going back.’

  Her lip trembled. ‘No? Don’t you want to?’

  ‘Want to!’ He turned from her abruptly, to stand once more by the window. ‘Of course, I want to! What do you think it means to me to be here with you, alone? Knowing I could take you in my arms and there is no one, this time, to stop me from—’ He bit his lip and said in a calmer tone, ‘But it won’t do, my darling. I never was fit to be your husband; I knew that. But then, all those years ago, if you had accepted my offer, I could have changed. I would have changed. But now? I doubt if there is a single folly in the canon I have not committed since you married Brookenby. I gambled my fortune away long since; what was left of it after I kept a succession of— Well, never mind that—’