Once Upon A Christmas
Nancy Lawrence
Published by Anglocentria, Inc. at Smashwords.
Copyright © 2010 by Nancy Starts. All rights reserved.
Discover other titles by Nancy Lawrence at Smashwords.com:
- A Bewitching Minx
- An Intimate Arrangement
- Sweet Companion
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Once Upon A Christmas
Chapter 1
London, December 1816
Miss Nerissa Raleigh descended the front steps of the publishing offices at 18 Warwick Square with her manuscript tucked protectively in her arms and an expression of strong indignation on her face.
Her sister, Lady Anne Bridgewater, was waiting for her in the barouche at the curb of the crowded street, and saw in an instant that Nerissa's interview with Mr. Heble the Younger of Heble and Sons, Publishers, had not gone well.
"They didn't buy it!" said Nerissa in a voice of deep emotion as a groom assisted her across a rather treacherous puddle and into the carriage.
"Oh, dear!" said Anne in her soft, comforting voice. "And I was so sure Mr. Heble would think you just as talented a writer as I do!"
Nerissa settled in the comfortable carriage beside her sister with her manuscript clutched against her bosom. She cast a piteous look up at the windows of the publisher's offices as the groom draped a heavy carriage rug across her legs.
"I had such great hopes of having my book published, and I've worked so desperately hard on the story. Oh, Anne, now what am I to do?"
Anne gave the signal for her coachman to drive on into the crush of traffic, then patted her sister's hand consolingly. She peeked beneath the brim of the bonnet that covered Nerissa's shining black curls and was relieved to note there were no visible tears gathering in her brown eyes. "You mustn't be sad, dearest. I think it is a wonderful story that quite rivals any of the novels you and I have ever read! I think it is quite horrid of Mr. Heble to have thought otherwise! Tell me, dearest, was he cruel to you at all?"
"No, he wasn't cruel," allowed Nerissa. "He was quite charming, actually. He said he liked my story and thought it showed promise but it was in need of fixing."
Anne blinked twice and her eyes widened slightly. "Did he? And what else did he say?"
"He said he especially liked the villain in the story. He said I had quite a knack for creating evil genius."
"So Mr. Heble liked it after all! Rissa, you goose! You almost had me believing your story was rejected quite out of hand!"
"But it was rejected," Nerissa countered burningly.
Anne gave her sister's slender fingers an affectionate squeeze. "Goose!" she said again. "What else did he say about your book? Did he like the heroine, Lady Hester? And what of the hero, Count du Laney?"
"He liked Lady Hester very well, I dare say, for he said she was all a heroine should be. But, Anne, it's that dreadful Count du Laney that is the very reason Mr. Heble said he would not publish my book! He said Count du Laney behaved not at all as a hero should!"
"Oh, dear! That doesn't sound very promising," said Anne sympathetically. "Did he tell you why he thought Count du Laney was not so very heroic?"
Nerissa wasn't at all sure she wanted to repeat Mr. Heble's judgments concerning the novel she had penned. She and Anne were as close as sisters could be in age, temperament, and feeling. They shared the same passion for romantic stories of gothic proportions. But Nerissa was more deeply disappointed that her work would not be published than she was willing even to let Anne know. In Mr. Heble's polite but firm words of rejection, all her self-esteem—as well as all her plans for the future—was at once reduced to little more than rubble at her feet.
She said in an uncharacteristically forlorn voice, "He had much to say on the matter! Mr. Heble thought the hero should be more proud, more forceful and determined. Anne, you have read my story and liked it very well. I'm sure you never considered that a hero should be so!"
Anne averted her eyes and said rather reluctantly, "Well . . . perhaps your hero could have behaved with a bit more dash."
"So! I see you agree with Mr. Heble!" said Nerissa, casting her sister a look of injured betrayal. "Rather Trojan behavior of you, I must say! And all this time I thought you enjoyed reading my stories!"
"But I do!" said Anne quickly. "They are always so entertaining and quite wonderful. Ever since we were children you've scribbled the most remarkable fairy tales, and I've enjoyed reading them all. You're so clever, I just know you will sell a book one day—if not this book, Rissa dear, then certainly another one!"
Nerissa looked down at the sheaf of pages in her lap on which she had inscribed in carefully crafted copperplate a tale of romantic derring-do. The sight of it sent her spirits plummeting. "I shall never write another story as long as I live!" she said in a voice of passion.
“Not even after hearing Mr. Heble's words of encouragement?"
Nerissa suffered the odd notion that her sister had not listened to a single word she had said. "He was hardly encouraging! He said the hero was not forceful enough and needed to be a bit of a swaggerer! He would have me write Count du Laney as a handsome, strong, daring rogue who hides behind a facade of polished detachment!"
"Now, that sounds like a hero," said Anne approvingly. "Is that how Mr. Heble said your hero should be?"
Nerissa nodded.
"I know I'm not very clever about these things, dearest Rissa, but it does seem to me that you have simply to change the hero in your story as Mr. Heble suggested and you shall be quite happily published."
"It is not as simple as you make it sound," said Nerissa. "I have changed him—so many times and in so many ways—and still I have not written him well!"
"Could you not try again?"
"I shall only fail again," said Nerissa in a voice of flat despair.
"I've never heard you speak so before!" said Anne bracingly. "Of all the five Raleigh sisters, you have always been the determined one. Never have I known you to fail at anything you've set your hand to."
Nerissa turned her head away to gather together a bit of self-control and deliberately concentrated on the crush of traffic surrounding their carriage. Few people of society were in London at this time of year. In the winter months Cits and tradesmen held free reign over the city and its more fashionable haunts until the nobles and gentry began to arrive for the Parliamentary session that opened after the first of the year.
A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight, but the day had warmed enough to have melted the snow down to rather manageable puddles. Nerissa absently watched the passersby skirt the standing pools of water as they went about their business, but when she suddenly realized she and her sister were attracting quite a few curious and some vulgarly bold stares, she dragged her gaze from the window and turned her attention back to her most pressing concern.
"You're right, of course!" she said, clasping her hands together in her lap. "It's wrong of me to cry defeat so easily. But, Anne, I am so very disappointed my book was not purchased! If I may not sell my story, I shall have no means of supporting myself and I shall be forced to find a husband after all!"
"Being married is not so very bad," said Anne gently.
"Perhaps not for you, for Arthur is rather pleasant and he makes no demands on you. But you must agree our other sisters have not been so fortunate in marriage. In fact, of all our acquaintances, I have never known anyone to be truly happy in marriage—or in love."
"Marriage has nothing to do with love or happiness," said Anne in a voice of quiet authority. "Marriage is merely for the purpose of alliance. At least, that is how Mama explained it to me. Mama said love and romance are found only within the pages of a novel. But a lady may consider herself fortunate to have a husband she respects." Nerissa cast her a pointed look. "Do you respect Arthur?"
“'Well, he is very kind to me,'' said Anne after a moment's consideration, "and he does give me carte blanche at all the most fashionable shops."
"That's not love," said Nerissa. "At least, not according to all the romantic novels you and I have read. If Arthur were indeed in love with you, he would be something of a bounder, with scores of mistresses and a tragic, deep, dark secret. And only you, with your undying devotion, could reform him."
"I'm not entirely certain," said Anne, "but I don't think such books are to be recognized as authority on the subject."
"My book shall be!" declared Nerissa.
Anne gave a short laugh. "My dear sister! You are barely nineteen years! What, pray, do you know of men and love?"
"Well, you are one and twenty and you have never been in love either," said Nerissa with unerring accuracy.
"True, but only because I was promised to marry Arthur before the end of my first season," Anne said calmly, "and Arthur and I have been married little less than a year, so we really haven't had time to form a deep affection. You shall share the same fate, Rissa dear. All the Raleigh sisters married within a year of their curtsies, and if Mama is to have her way, you shall prove no exception."
Nerissa's fine lips briefly pursed together into a line of determination before she said, "That, however, is exactly what I intend to be! You know, when I was a little girl, I often thought it a cruel twist of fate to have been born the youngest Raleigh daughter. But that was before I realized that I could learn much from my elder sisters—and I have learned by their example that marriage is not for me! Every one of you was forced to marry a man she didn't love and hardly knew. I will not suffer the same fate," she said with true determination. "Not me!"
She had come close to having her wish. Lady Raleigh's health, always indifferent, had declined enough in the last year to make it impossible for her to orchestrate a fifth and final court presentation for her youngest daughter. Still, she would not hear of allowing Nerissa to remain at home, but promptly packed Nerissa aboard the traveling chaise and sent her off to London to gain a bit of town polish under the aegis of her sister Anne.
Since Anne's husband, Lord Arthur Bridgewater, was a member of the House of Lords and took most seriously his responsibilities in that august assembly, he made it his habit to open his London house in December to prepare for the Parliamentary session that would begin in January. And since Arthur's politics kept him quite occupied, Anne was glad to have her younger sister on hand to keep her company.
Anne gave her sister's hand a gentle squeeze of affection. "I hope you may get your wish, dear Rissa."
"I hope so too, for I am more determined than ever that I shall not marry. But if my book is not published, how am I to support myself? I have no trade and no skills or arts to speak of. Will I, too, wind up in a loveless union?"
Anne patted her hand encouragingly. "You have merely to try again. I think, dearest, you are closer to selling your story than you may know. Simply change your hero in the piece, as Mr. Heble instructed!"
"I shall do my best, but I never considered that a hero could be so difficult!" said Nerissa. "I have tried to write Count du Laney as proud before, and ended in making him merely arrogant. And when I have tried in the past to write him as daring, he has ended as little more than reckless."
"You must try yet again, Rissa dear. This time I know you shall succeed." Anne cast her sister an encouraging smile. "When your novel is published, you shall be more famous than Lady Caroline Lamb. Your book shall rival Glenarvon and readers shall swoon to think that such a hero as Count du Laney may exist!"
"I only wish he did exist!'' said Nerissa with a sigh. “Then I might pattern my story's hero after him, and I shouldn't be in this predicament."
"You might use Arthur for your pattern," offered Anne helpfully.
Nerissa shook her head. Sir Arthur Bridgewater was a young man who treated Anne with kindness, but he was hardly the model for the ideal romantic hero. In fact, now that she came to consider it, Nerissa realized that none of the gentlemen of her acquaintance could possibly timber up to a hero's weight.
"Thank you for offering Arthur, but I do not think he shall serve my purpose. I think my model must be someone more dashing and daring, and rather roguish," she said, doing her best to conjure the image of a man who could remain swaggeringly aloof yet still incite the kind of deep, passionate love she had read about in the chronicles of the Minerva Press.
"Do you mean, someone like him?" Anne asked, gesturing out the carriage window toward the far end of the street with a slight ladylike wave of her gloved hand.
Nerissa followed her gaze and caught sight of a gentleman tooling a sporting curricle with deft precision through the crush of traffic.
The pair of grays that pulled his equipage were large beasts with broad chests and thighs and perfectly arched necks that hinted at a barely concealed power. The gentleman driving the curricle appeared to share those same characteristics.
His expression held a wealth of determination as he nimbly guided his grays through the crowd, and, like his horses, he appeared impatient to be off. His eyes and his hair were indistinguishable beneath the shadowing brim of the tall, silk beaver hat he wore. His black, many-caped driving cloak swirled gently behind him in the direction of the liveried tiger perched up behind, and when he looped the reins and poised his whip to overtake a ponderous lozenge coach, he did so with an unmistakable flair.
"Do you see him, Rissa?" asked Anne.
She did indeed, and she was rather mesmerized by the picture he presented. She said in a tone of wonder, "Why, he needs only a patch over one eye and a horrid scar upon his cheek, and he could very well pass for Count du Laney himself! Anne, who is he?"
"I have no idea. I don't believe I have ever seen him before."
"I am sure you would have remembered if you had," said Nerissa, her gaze never wavering form the picture he created. "He is the very image of Mr. Heble's description of how a hero should be! I must know who he is."
Anne's smooth brow furrowed slightly. "I don't know how we may discover his identity unless we follow him and see where he goes."
"Do you think we ought?" asked Nerissa, clearly tempted by the idea. She did not wait for an answer, but leaned forward to give the back of the coachman's box a hearty rap. "Coachman! Coachman, follow that curricle!" she called.
"Rissa! You cannot mean to follow that man through the streets of London!" said Anne, horrified by the very notion as the barouche made a sudden lurch forward.
"But I must know who he is! Do tell your coachman to hurry, or we shall lose sight of him in the crush of traffic," said Nerissa, doing her best to keep the fast-fading curricle in view.
"Nerissa Raleigh, if you put your head out the window of this carriage, I shall faint dead away from shame!" exclaimed Anne in a scandalized tone. "You must sit down and calm yourself!"
"I have to make sure we don't lose him in this traffic," said Nerissa reasonably.
"And what, pray, do you intend to do once we catch up to him?"
"I—I don't know," she replied, never having considered the matter that thoroughly. "I dare say I shall merely watch where he goes or see what he does. Fm sure he is on his way even now to some very hero-like destination!"
Anne looked doubtful. "He may be criminal for all we know."
"With those horses? A criminal would never have such a bang-up pair in hand!"
"Someday you must tell me how you came by such language," said Anne, trying to sound severe at the very moment the carriage swept around a turn and she was obliged to clutch at the window frame to keep her balance. "Mama would swoon to hear you speak so."
"Don't scold me now, but tell your coachman to go faster!" begged Nerissa as she watched the driver negotiate his speeding curricle around another turn to make his way down yet another street
Instead of following at the same breakneck pace, the ladies' barouche slowed considerably and then came to a complete halt.
"Why do we stop?" Nerissa demanded in a voice of alarm. "Anne, tell your coachman to drive on!"
"I don't see how he may," said Anne, looking out the windows of first one side then the other of the carriage. "We're quite caught up in a crush, Rissa dear. Until the traffic clears about us, we cannot continue on."
Nerissa, her gaze firmly fixed upon the driver of the curricle, noticed that he, too, had slowed his pace considerably. But he was still moving, however slowly, forward, while the oversized barouche with the Bridgewater crest in which the ladies were traveling had come to a complete halt. She gave another rap on the coachman's box and opened the carriage door. "Then we'll walk," she declared, barely allowing enough time for a groom to rush forward to make a step before she alit to the street
She turned back to see Anne watching her from the carriage doorway with a horrified expression.
"Nerissa Raleigh, you must be mad! A young lady of breeding does not walk unaccompanied in Piccadilly!"
"Then you must come with me!" replied Nerissa. She did not wait for an answer, but lifted her skirts to step over a rather treacherous puddle and began to pick her way through the tangle of vehicles, riders, and pedestrians toward the shop walk.
Anne hesitated, torn between the compelling need to lend her sister escort and the scandalous prospect of walking about the streets of London without a proper escort or maid. "Nerissa, this is madness! Have you no idea how to go on?"
"Yes, I do! But going on properly has not gotten my book published. If I am to make my living as an authoress, I must rewrite my hero—and I need that man as the model! Please do hurry, Anne, or we shall lose sight of him!"
Anne suppressed the nagging sense of decorum that warned her against following her sister, and carefully stepped down from the coach.
Chapter 2
Nerissa led the way through the snarl of pedestrians strolling before the storefronts. Anne followed close behind, all the while casting nervous glances over her shoulder, lest she be recognized by any of the passersby.
"What if someone sees us?" she asked quite worriedly.
Nerissa reached back to grasp Anne's hand and pull her inexorably forward. "Don't be silly—Cits and tradesmen? We don't know any of these people!"
Anne could not be comforted. "I do hope Arthur never learns of this! I shudder to think what he might say!"
"Don't be such a faintheart!" said Nerissa bracingly. “How can you think of Arthur now, when the very epitome of Count du Laney is driving out of my life forever? I shall never again have such an opportunity as this! Only see how all the other vehicles move out of his way! Why, he's absolutely compelling!"
He was also moving quite steadily toward the rise at Piccadilly, and Anne was having a difficult time catching her breath in her attempts to keep pace with both Nerissa and the curricle. "Rissa dear, you must slow down!" she begged, her breath coming in short bursts. "Heavens, next you shall have us running!"
But Nerissa was too intent upon the man in the curricle to heed her sister's Words. When the curricle driver slowed to pass yet another vehicle, she found herself almost abreast of him. "Only see how square his jaw is—that is a sure sign of wickedness, I believe!" she said in a tone of deep appreciation. "And he holds his head at such a proud, arrogant angle! If we could manage to get a little closer, I might be able to determine the color of his eyes."
The curricle driver obliged by cutting directly across the ladies' path and sweeping elegantly around the next comer and down the adjoining street.
Nerissa's color heightened slightly from the exertion and excitement of her pursuit. "Oh, Anne, he went past so quickly, I couldn't see his eyes at all!"
"His hair appeared to have been a very lovely brown," said Anne helpfully.
"The color of his hair is of no import at all!" said Nerissa, somewhat impatient with her sister's lack of understanding. "It is his eyes and his demeanor that shall give me the insight I need into his character, not his hair color. We shall just have to catch up to him again," she added with renewed determination. "I shall follow him all day if need be."
"Not down that street, you won't!" said Anne firmly. A protest formed on Nerissa's lips, but Anne cut her off, saying, "He has turned down St. James's Street. No lady of breeding would even consider driving down St. James's—to say nothing of walking!"
Nerissa watched the broad back of the curricle driver fade as he traveled the length of that forbidden street. A small rush of panic enveloped her. "Anne, he's getting away! Are—are you quite sure we cannot follow him?"
"Quite," said Anne in a tone that invited no argument. "The street is filled with gentlemen's clubs. My dear sister, you would have to be lost to all reason to attempt to walk down that avenue! You would be ogled and leered at and made the object of the coarsest attentions!"
Nerissa didn't think that being ogled would prove as horrid a fate as Anne made it sound. But she was torn between the note of scandal in her sister's voice and the prospect of never again seeing the curricle driver.
"I don't even know his name! How am I to use him as the model for my hero if I know nothing about him?"
“I suppose you shall have to use your very fertile imagination," said Anne as the Bridgewater barouche drew alongside them at the curb. "Do get in the carriage before we are seen by someone we know!"
But Nerissa didn't move. Instead, her gaze was focused on a very elegantly but conservatively dressed young man who stood contemplating them from the opposite curb.
"Too late," said Nerissa, catching at Anne's sleeve to draw her attention toward the young man, who began to make his way purposefully toward them across the crowded street. "I think we have been discovered."
"Good heavens, it's Arthur!" breathed Anne. "Now we are quite undone!"
Nerissa watched Lord Arthur Bridgewater draw ever nearer and decided she could determine no anger or displeasure in his expression. She said to her sister, "Pooh! You are fretting over nothing. Arthur doesn't look the least bit displeased. Besides, we have done nothing wrong."
Anne drew a deep breath and said in a quick, nervous tone, "Arthur shall be upon us in a mere moment. You must promise me you shall not say a word! Of course what we have done is wrong, but I fear you are too young to realize! I should never have allowed you to embark upon this mad escapade of yours! I have no one to blame but myself!"
She had no chance to say more, for Lord Arthur Bridgewater gained their side. He greeted his wife and sister-in-law with a touch of his gloved hand to the brim of his hat and a slight gesture toward the waiting barouche.
Nerissa climbed aboard and settled most comfortably beside Anne, while Arthur issued instructions for the coachman to drive to Bridgewater House. Then he, too, entered the carriage and took the seat opposite them.
As they crossed the intersection of St. James's, Nerissa couldn't help but cast a rather hopeful look down the length of that street. The curricle driver who so exactly fit the image of the gothic hero of her imagination was nowhere to be seen.
She simply had to learn the man's identity, and had the sudden thought that perhaps Arthur might be acquainted with the man in question.
But one look into Arthur's face and the notion of asking him about the curricle driver fled. In the close confines of the barouche, Nerissa could see that his expression revealed a very subtle yet evident displeasure.
Lord Arthur Bridgewater was not generally a man given to emotion. He was only six-and-twenty summers, but an assured manner born of a strong sense of reserve caused him to be mistaken for a man of many more years.
He rested both hands on the hilt of the walking stick poised before him and directed a calm, yet unnerving gaze upon the ladies.
"Imagine my surprise at seeing you just now," he said in an even tone. "At first I thought you must be in need of assistance, that perhaps the barouche had met with an accident."
Anne gave a nervous trill of laughter. "Oh, no! Nothing like that, I assure you!"
"I see. Perhaps, then, you will be good enough to tell me what you were about just now."
He waited very patiently for a reply, and continued to direct his unwavering gaze toward Anne.
She blushed and stammered. "We were—we were merely walking. We weren't about anything particular."
He looked from Anne to Nerissa and back to Anne. "Merely walking?"
"Yes, indeed!" replied Anne, and she nudged her sister. "Weren't we merely walking, dear?"
"It's true, Arthur," said Nerissa. "And I don't really see that we have done anything wrong."
Arthur frowned slightly. "Walking down Piccadilly unattended? Standing at the corner of St. James's Street as if you were common vendors of some sort? My dear Anne, what were you thinking?"
"Please don't scold Anne, for it wasn't her fault at all," said Nerissa, eagerly rushing to her sister's defense. "The whole business was my idea. You see, I was following a man in a curricle and Anne was merely lending me her escort."
Anne clasped her sister's hand in a deathly grip to warn her against saying more, but her effort came too late.
Arthur, his attention kindled, looked from one to the other. "You were following a man? A stranger? On a public street? Good God, madam, have you lost all sense of propriety?"
"I am sorry," said Anne, divining most correctly that his last question had been directed toward her. "It was just a lark, and I alone am to blame. Please don't be vexed with Nerissa. She didn't know! /could have put a stop to it but didn't. I—I promise it won't happen again."
"I should heartily think so," he said, fixing a stem eye upon her. She wilted a bit under his gaze, and he relented slightly, saying in a much gentler tone, "My dear Anne, this sort of thing will not do—especially now, when my work in the House of Lords is of the greatest import!"
"But it wasn't Anne's fault," said Nerissa, ignoring the urgent tattoo of Anne's fingers squeezing hers. "The whole escapade was my idea entirely. You see, I saw the curricle driver and I simply had to follow him, for he was the very image of—"
Arthur raised one gloved hand from the hilt of his cane to halt her words. "I beg you will not trouble yourself further, for there could be no acceptable explanation for your conduct," he said in an even but compelling voice. "It is insupportable. My position simply will not bear such conduct. Have I not explained all of this to you before, Anne?"
Anne nodded slightly. “Yes, you did try, but I understood only half the things you said. I'm .afraid I have no turn for politics!"
"One needn't have a turn for politics to understand that my conduct and the conduct of those about me must be of the highest order. Like it or not, you have married a politician, madam, and you must conduct yourself as a politician's wife. And you, my dear sister-in-law," he said, directing a very stem glance toward Nerissa, “must conduct yourself with the utmost propriety during your stay with us."
Nerissa did her best to look contrite. "I understand," she said solemnly.
"Mark me, I shall be watching you at the reception tonight," he warned. "At the first hint of nonsense, I shall insist we leave!"
“You needn't worry, Arthur!" Nerissa assured him quickly. "I shall be the pink of decorum! After all, I wouldn't want to miss any part of my first London assembly. Shall we meet anyone famous there? The Regent, perhaps? Or Lady Caroline Lamb? She's a particular favorite of mine, because of her splendid book!"
Arthur frowned again and said in a slow, measured voice, "The reception is being hosted by Lord and Lady Kendrew—very high in the instep!—and they would no more consider inviting Lady Caroline Lamb than they would a goat As for the Regent—no, I doubt very much you shall find him attending tonight's reception. It is enough of an honor that we find ourselves invited."
"Lord Kendrew," said Anne informatively, "has been a particular critic of Arthur's since he was first named junior lord of the Treasury. He believes Arthur is too young and does not have the proper political connections and family alliances."
"You understand, then, there can be no foul-ups of any sort tonight," said Arthur. "No rash conduct. No chasing strange men about the place."
"I shan't disappoint you, Arthur," Nerissa promised. "Tonight at the reception I shall be propriety itself."
Arthur looked at her appraisingly for a moment and seemed to be satisfied by the sincerity of her words. He relaxed and smiled kindly upon the ladies as their carriage continued to wend its way through the streets of London.
But Nerissa could not relax. She wanted very much to ask Arthur if he was at all acquainted with the curricle driver, but a pressing desire to sustain Arthur's good humor and avoid another lecture caused her to think better of it. For then.
But just because she didn't mention the man in the curricle didn't mean that he wasn't foremost in her thoughts. A vision of him, assured and aloof as he maneuvered his magnificent horses through the carts and pedestrians along St. James's, teased her. His image swam before her eyes as she tried to rest on her bed that afternoon, and as she dressed that evening in preparation for the reception, she couldn't help but wish that rather than standing at a receiving line, she could stand at the corner of St. James's Street on the chance that the curricle driver sweep past
Just as Nerissa was entertaining such thoughts, her elusive curricle driver was sweeping instead up the grand staircase of Kendrew House.
He cut an impressive figure as he ascended the steps, and several guests who just happened to be on hand in the grand hall stopped in their tracks to watch his approach. He was dressed in the first stare of fashion, to which he had somehow managed to lend a style all his own. His coat had been cut by a master and fitted him like a glove; his neck cloth was perfectly arranged; and from his starched collar to the high polish of his evening shoes, he presented a lesson in elegance.
Lady Kendrew was installed at the top of the stairs with her son, Lord Crompton, at her side, ready to welcome her guests. Under any other circumstance, she might have swelled with pride at seeing such a leader of fashion present himself at one of her functions. Instead, she watched his approach with mounting annoyance.
He cleared the last step and she greeted him with a voice of ice. "Nephew! What, pray, are you doing here?"
“You invited me,'' he said, one brow flying with interest. "In fact, you wrote my sister-in-law and begged her to persuade me to come, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I didn't intend that you should arrive now! You are much too early! And if you arrive early, you shall surely leave early!"
"That is exactly my intention!" He saw her color rise and smiled slightly. "Aunt, you know I have no interest in this sort of thing."
"But if you leave before most of my guests arrive, no one shall know you were ever here!"
"That suits me just fine. I can't have it put about town that I've taken an interest in politics, can I?"
"Oh, no! Not you!" retorted Lady Kendrew, her temper rising along with the tenor of her voice. “You would rather feed the flame of rumor that you're nothing but a worthless fribble! Never mind what damage such talk may do to the family!"
He had been about to move on, to greet Lord Crompton, who had been standing by, watching with growing concern the interplay between aunt and nephew. But at this, the curricle driver stopped and cast a look back at Lady Kendrew.
"You give me more credit than I deserve, Aunt. As you have so often reminded me, we Davenants are above reproach. Aren't you always fond of telling people that we have a duke, a marquess, and two earls in the family? With such a noble bloodline, I doubt I could ever do the family very much harm—although I feel it my duty to try!"
Lady Kendrew took a deep and steadying breath. "If you have an ounce of affection for me, you shall go home now and come back again later."
"Can't," he said bluntly. "I've got an engagement later." He threw a negligent glance over his shoulder and added, "And you've got guests arriving, I see. Crompton, be good enough to direct me to the champagne!"
Lord Crompton thought it a very good notion to put as much distance as possible between his mother and his cousin. He led him away toward the reception hall, saying, "I'd ask what the deuce you meant by speaking to my mother so, but I dare say I can guess the answer!"
"Can you?" He looked at his cousin down the length of his nose.
"You came—and early too—just to cut up my mother. She'll have a storm in her bonnet the rest of the evening because of you."
"Then she shouldn't have invited me—or applied to my sister-in-law to pressure me to come," Mr. Davenant said simply.
Lord Crompton was a young man who would have very much liked to cultivate his cousin's good opinion. Mr. Davenant was, after all, a rather feared leader of fashion, and he had been known to make or break a reputation merely by lifting his eyebrow. The only other person Lord Crompton could think of whose opinion might have carried more weight was very likely Mr. Davenant's sister-in-law, the present Marchioness of Pankhurst. Between the two of them, they held the fashionable world in thrall—one by means of an arrogant recklessness toward convention that had vanquished even the most determined hostess, the other with a regal graciousness and beauty that had been her trademark since she first made her entrance in society as a girl.
Lady Kendrew was certainly a member of the very same family that had produced two such shining beacons of fashionable light, but Lord Crompton was very well aware that his mother would never soar to the same societal heights as Mr. Davenant or Lady Pankhurst. While she still enjoyed the cache of being a Davenant, she would never be able to claim the same degree of social success enjoyed by those two members of the family.
He had often felt a little sorry that his mother and her efforts would go so unrewarded, and he didn't think his cousin was being at all helpful in the matter.
Unlike his mother, his lordship was neither dependent upon Mr. Davenant nor afraid of him. But he lacked a good deal of Mr. Davenant's confidence and often found himself being made to feel the fool whenever they were in company together. So far, this evening had proved to be no exception.
"My mother," said Lord Crompton, "would give her eyeteeth to own the kind of influence over society you or your sister-in-law wields. If my mother applied to the marchioness to force you to come tonight, it is only because she wants the evening to be a success. She wants to be seen in your company."
“It wouldn't do you any harm either," said Mr. Davenant with unnerving directness. He accepted a glass of champagne from a bowing servant. “I shouldn't worry too much about your mother, Crompton. I shall do my duty by her: I shall nod and smile at her guests, and when I become intolerably bored—as I assure you, I shall!—I'll make certain to hide my yawns behind the back of my hand."
"Then—then, do I have your promise you shall stay long enough to ensure the success of her party?"
"I promise nothing of the kind—unless, of course, there is to be cards or some sort of entertainment got up?"
Lord Crompton frowned. "But—but this evening is a political reception, for heaven's sake! The only entertainment to be had is conversation!"
"I can't think of anything that could be less entertaining!" said Mr. Davenant with distaste.
"I suppose I could speak to my father. We might set up a card table or two in one of the saloons . . ." said Lord Crompton thoughtfully.
"Manage it. Cousin! In the meantime I shall see what I can do to occupy myself in your mother's reception hall."
"You'll promise not to leave, won't you? I'll expect to find you here when I return!"
Mr. Davenant allowed his gaze to wander over the clutch of guests assembled in the long hall. Almost he refused; almost he announced that he had changed his mind and had decided to leave after all; but as his eyes scanned the assembly, his attention was caught by a face that was familiar to him.
On the far side of the room, he recognized a woman, an old flirt—he couldn't quite recall her name—he remembered very vividly, having a lively wit and an undeniable charm.
He took a fortifying sip of champagne. "Yes, I promise! And when you have a card table arranged. Cousin, you shall find me here. I see a familiar face in this crowd, and I think I shall pass a very agreeable time renewing our acquaintance. Yes, a very agreeable time indeed!"
Chapter 3
It wasn't until later that evening, when the Bridgewater party arrived at Lord and Lady Kendrew's town house, that all thoughts of the curricle driver were at last pushed from Nerissa's mind. She had never before attended a gathering of any kind among the London Fashionables, and she found herself quite dazzled by the splendors of Kendrew House.
Upon their entrance, Nerissa and Anne were escorted to a small room, where they divested themselves of their cloaks and bonnets, and set about repairing any wrinkles and creases to their gowns before they presented themselves to their host and hostess.
"Will there be dancing here tonight, do you think?" Nerissa asked as she checked her appearance in an over-sized looking-glass that stood in one comer of the room.
"No, this is a reception, not a ball. Even more important, it is a political reception. I'm afraid Arthur attends quite a few of these gatherings, and, of course, as his wife, I must attend too."
"It doesn't sound as if they are very entertaining," said Nerissa, interpreting her sister's rather forlorn expression.
"They're not, believe me! Arthur shall spend the entire evening speaking of this bill or that law, and I must remain by his side and smile and pretend to understand what everyone is saying. I wish I were more clever about these things!"
"Nonsense! You are quite clever, Anne. The problem, I fear, is that Arthur is rather dull."
Anne accepted this pronouncement as one she herself had often conceded. "I know," she said rather dismally. "But he does treat me with kindness. This morning, for instance, he might have raved over our conduct and read us a curtain lecture, but he didn't. He has always been very gentle with me, I think, and yet . . ." Anne gave the matter a moment's thought before she went on. "And yet I should so like him to be a bit more romantic! A bit more like your curricle driver."
Nerissa laughed slightly and gave her sister an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "There are times when I fear you are even more of a romantic than I am! Perhaps one day Arthur shall learn to behave with a bit more flair!"
"Then I must hope that day is not far off. In the meantime, I shall do my duty and try to enjoy being a politician's wife," Anne said as she and Nerissa joined Arthur, and together they entered the reception hall.
The greetings they received from Lord and Lady Kendrew were cordial yet cold. Lord Kendrew welcomed them in a very formal, stately way that invited no conversation. Lady Kendrew, upon her introduction to Nerissa, favored her with a hard stare that swept appraisingly over her person, and she held out her hand with only two rather limp fingers extended.
Nerissa touched her fingers briefly, dipped a curtsy, and said, "I am very pleased to meet you, ma'am. Thank you so much for including me in your invitation."
Her hostess responded with a rather rigid "How do you do" before she turned in a rather deliberate fashion to greet another guest.
Nerissa was left with the distinct impression that Lord and Lady Kendrew would wish her otherwhere than in their reception hall. The notion was rather upsetting. "Do you think I shouldn't have come with you?" she hissed into Anne's ear as they made their way into the sea of guests.
Arthur overheard her and said, "Why? Because of Lord and Lady Kendrew's demeanor? Don't consider it."
"Lady Kendrew always behaves that way," said Anne. “She has never been any other but cold to me or to Arthur. She rather frightens me."
"But if they don't want you here in their home, why do they invite you?" Nerissa asked.
"This is politics," said Arthur reasonably. "Lord Kendrew must invite me because I hold too much influence to be ignored. And I must accept his invitation because Lord Kendrew has too much power for me to do otherwise."
"It seems a very unhappy way to spend an evening," said Nerissa, divining that her immediate future would hold little opportunity for entertainment.
Anne slipped her arm about her sister's shoulders and gave her a quick hug. "It's not so bad. After all, we have to endure only one evening of Lord and Lady Kendrew's treatment. Why, tomorrow they shall not deign to recognize us because we are not of their circle and they mean to keep it that way. You'll see! The next time Lady Kendrew spots us, in the shops or out driving, she shall behave as if she doesn't even recall the acquaintance!"
Nerissa was rather stunned. "Do you mean to tell me Lady Kendrew snubs you?"
Arthur nodded. "Rather dreadfully, I'm afraid. And Lord Kendrew speaks to me only when he must in the Lords. Still, this reception tonight is important because of the other guests who are in attendance. Anne and I shall do our best to enjoy ourselves, and accomplish some political good while we are here."
"You must try to enjoy the evening too, dear Rissa," said Anne encouragingly.
"I shall," replied Nerissa pessimistically, "although it would be very helpful if there were dancing. It seems a bit odd to invite such a great number of people to a reception, only to have them merely stand about and talk of politics."
"Lord and Lady Kendrew don't usually host dancing parties, but they do hold this reception every year," said Anne as Arthur turned away to speak to a political ally. "It's the first social event in December, and it starts off the Christmas season of parties for the politicos. It's all terribly dull, but it's good for Arthur's career." She saw that her husband's attention was captured in conversation with yet another gentleman, and she whispered rather urgently, "Promise me you shall stay close by me tonight. I shall need your liveliness to keep me from withering away from boredom!"
"I'm sure you overexaggerate," said Nerissa with a smile. "No reception can be as tedious as you describe!"
But within half an hour of so saying, Nerissa was caused to revise that opinion. Anne had spoken nothing but the truth. Every person standing about the long reception room was speaking of political matters. Nerissa understood little of the various topics that were being discussed. More important, she had no interest in anything that was being said, and she was quite heartily bored.
She overheard another guest mention that a card room had been set up in one of the small parlors just down the hall from the reception. She longed to escape there, but when she whispered that intention to Anne, she received a sharp look in reply.
"Certainly not!" hissed Anne in a voice low enough that the other guests might not hear. "The card tables are for the gentlemen only. How can you possibly think to join them?"
Disappointed yet obedient, Nerissa remained with Anne at Arthur's side. A little while later, Arthur introduced her to Lord and Lady Kendrew's son. Lord Crompton. He was dressed to a wicket in a coat of blue superfine and a waist-coat of dazzling design. His fobs, rings, and pins were displayed in perfect arrangement, and he projected, for all purposes, the very image of a fashionable man-about-town.
Nerissa thought him quite a handsome young man, but she noticed, too, that his manners, while correct, fell just short of pleasing. Like his parents, he greeted the Bridgewaters most coolly, and when Arthur made him known to Nerissa, he barely nodded and uttered only a mildly convincing welcome.
Arthur attempted to engage him in conversation and made some very general observations to which Anne added at intervals her rather shy but enthusiastic agreement But to everything they said, Lord Crompton replied in a politely tolerant manner that did more to hinder the conversation than encourage it.
To watch her brother-in-law strive so diligently to engage him in conversation and to see her sister smile so hopefully upon his lordship, only to be treated in such a fashion, made Nerissa most uncomfortable and rather angry.
As soon as Lord Crompton moved away to speak to another guest, she said in a lowered voice, “'Must you suffer such treatment from everyone in London? Or just the people of this household?"
"Please don't be upset by the behavior of the Kendrews or Lord Crompton, Rissa dear," said Anne.
"We warned you that we were not of their set," said Arthur quite reasonably. “And while Kendrew had to invite us tonight, he and Lady Kendrew mean to warn us off expecting any other invitations."
"But why? Why do they dislike you so?" asked Nerissa, deeply confused. "After all, you're a very clever man, Arthur, and Anne is sweetness itself."
"As I said before, this is politics," said Arthur. "You see, I was appointed to the treasury bench instead of the man Kendrew would have chosen. Mine is a position of power and influence and, I am sorry to say, I have had to wield that influence one or two times in a manner Kendrew would have had otherwise."
"So he snubs you for it!" said Nerissa, a good deal disgusted.
"He can do little else. Truly, no harm is done—to me at any rate. But I think your sister suffers more than I do," he said with an insight that surprised his wife.
She blushed slightly. “It is true. Lady Kendrew has closed all society's doors that might have been opened to me. I should love to attend the very best parties and balls, but without Lady Kendrew's countenance, I am afraid my social circle is rather limited."
Nerissa considered that if all Lady Kendrew's balls and parties were as tedious as this one, she would not be at all disappointed to find herself excluded from the guest list. But there was no denying that Anne was more deeply hurt by Lady Kendrew's cruelty than she was willing to admit
In fact, the entire evening was proving to be very uncomfortable, what with ungracious hosts and tedious conversation. Nerissa was beginning to believe there could be no expedient end to her suffering, and she cast her wide brown eyes about the room, as if seeking out possible avenues of escape.
That's when she spied him. The curricle driver. She was sure it was he, and her attention flared.
He was standing at the far side of the room, engaged in conversation with an elegant woman of great beauty and impeccable fashion. In the candlelight of the reception room, his hair shone a deep rich brown and his skin was a trifle dark, as if he were no stranger to the sun and its warmth. The color of his eyes was indistinguishable, but his gaze was firmly focused upon the woman by his side.
Nerissa watched him lean closer to the woman and murmur something of unmistakable intimacy that caused the woman to playfully swat her fan at his thick, well-muscled arm. The woman laughed gaily and made a brief reply.
Nerissa's heart swelled. How elegant he looked! How roguish his behavior! Watching the curricle driver set the beauty to blushing convinced Nerissa more than ever that he was the true embodiment of Count du Laney, the hero in her novel.
She watched the curricle driver take the woman's gloved hand in his and bring it to his lips with a grace that sent Nerissa's own heart to quickening.
He gave a cursory glance about the room. Nerissa's heart thudded against her ribs at the mere thought that for just one brief moment his eyes might meet hers. However, his glance was as quick as it was fleeting.
He directed a slight bow toward the beautiful woman at his side before he left her to make his way about the perimeter of the room.
Before she could give the matter any thought, before she could lose her nerve, Nerissa uttered a hurried and strangled excuse toward Anne and Arthur and set off in pursuit of the curricle driver.
It took some moments for her to gain the other side of the room, for she had to wend her way through the clutches of conversing guests. Then, once she had managed to present herself at the very spot in which she had last seen him, she found that he had moved away yet again.
Nerissa glanced quickly about and saw him striding purposefully toward a door just a little farther on. She had a sudden notion that he was off in search of the card game or some other equally masculine diversion. How like Count du Laney he truly was! Of course he was bored! Surely, she reasoned, a man of his heroic qualities would not tolerate such an insipid reception as this.
Impulsively, she slipped through the very same door behind which she had seen him disappear a mere moment before.
The doorway gave off onto a short hallway, but the curricle driver was nowhere to be seen. Nerissa hesitated a moment, unsure whether to return to the reception hall or continue her search for him. A sudden vision of Anne, standing at the side of a husband she didn't love, and smiling bravely through her boredom, rekindled Nerissa's resolve. To her mind, the elusive curricle driver was her best hope for seeing her book published. If she ever wished to escape the fate Anne suffered, she simply had to find him.
She opened the first door off the hallway. Beyond the door was a small salon. She slipped inside the room. No lamps were lit, but a fire was burning in the hearth, and it lent a soft glow to the cozy room. She moved toward the fire and held her hands out against its heat, contemplating the wisdom of following the curricle driver farther down the hall.
She hated the thought of giving up her pursuit of him now, when she was so close to learning his name, so close to observing his very hero-like behavior. But she knew that if Arthur were to discover her actions, she would be punished indeed. When the thought occurred to her that Anne, too, might suffer because of her actions, she realized how foolishly she was behaving.
She decided to compromise. She resolved to look for him just once more, to investigate only one more room that let off the hall. If he wasn't in the next room, she promised herself, she would quit her search for him. It would break her heart to do so, but she would quit her search.
No sooner had she reached that decision than she heard the door slam shut behind her. She turned quickly. Her brown eyes widened with shock and a small mewl of surprise escaped her lips.
Lounging against the closed door, wearing an expression of almost palpable anger, was the curricle driver.
Chapter 4
It took a moment for Nerissa to recover from her initial surprise at finding herself alone with the curricle driver but her confusion quickly gave way to the heady realization that she was at last face-to-face with the man who had so haunted her thoughts for an entire day.
In the close confines of the small sitting room, he was taller than she had supposed he would be, and he wore his finely tailored evening clothes with an unmistakable air of careless sophistication. His complexion was rather dark in the dim light. The dancing flames from the fire in the hearth did not bum bright enough for her to distinguish the color of his eyes, although they did chisel lines of high living across his handsome countenance. His mouth was straight and, at that moment, very grim. His expression was one of daunting anger as he looked at her down the length of his straight nose.
Nerissa drew a long breath and regarded him with deep appreciation. Everything about him—his manner, his dress, his hard, threatening expression—exactly fitted the notion she had formed of a true gothic hero.
There was also about him a ruthlessness to his manner and an unforgiving gleam to his eye that set her nerves flurrying. She thought of the way he had slammed the door shut and realized, too late, that she was very much alone with a very dangerous-looking man.
She summoned her courage and said with a false show of bravado, "Be so good as to open the door, sir. I—I cannot think it is a wise thing for me to be alone with you."
"You should have thought of that before you came in here," he said in a low, resonant voice. He used his broad shoulders to lever his body away from the door, and he took a few steps toward her.
That simple action set her heart racing. There was an unmistakable air of danger that surrounded his movement and a certain swashbuckling arrogance to his stride.
She had no idea what he intended to do, but she resolved to stand her ground if he should have a notion to advance upon her and prove himself to be more of a bounder than a hero.
"If you think you shall startle or frighten me, you are very much mistaken!" she said in a voice that was more breathless than brave.'' Stay where you are and don't come any farther into the room until you have told me what you mean by such uncommon behavior!"
He ignored her words and said instead, in a tone that was just as harsh as his countenance, "Who are you? And why have you been following me?"
Nerissa felt a hot flush of embarrassment fan across her cheeks. So he had noticed! And she thought she had been so careful to have observed him without being discovered. She felt like a schoolgirl caught in some foolish misdeed and gave a falsely bright laugh to cover her discomfort. "Follow you? Why, sir, what—what can you mean?"
He moved a little closer to the fire. Nerissa was at last able to determine the color of his eyes. They were a very light gray color that underscored the coldness of his glance.
"You followed me this morning all the way to St. James's," he said in a low, accusing tone. "You followed me again this evening in the reception hall. Don't trouble yourself to deny it."
"I think you mistake coincidence for design," she said, forcing a light note to her voice. "Heavens, what possible reason could I have for following you?"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "That is exactly what I would like to know. You can either tell me the truth now, young lady, or I can drag you back into that reception and hold you up before the crowd, demanding that someone claim you and tell me your identity."
Her eyes widened slightly. The look he cast her was quite ruthless. She didn't doubt for a moment that he was capable, of such a deed.
"There is no need to resort to threats, I assure you! Perhaps I was following you," she said a bit reluctantly, "but I did so only with the best of reasons!"