Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife. Mary Nichols
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for the more select of London’s inhabitants, simply because the admittance was more than that at the New Spring Garden at Vauxhall. The entrance fee of two shillings and sixpence or five shillings on firework nights was beyond the means of the honest poor and they had to content themselves with viewing the show from boats on the river. The price of entrance did not deter robbers, pickpockets and passers of counterfeit money who used the shadows and the letting off of fireworks to ply their trade. But in spite of that, the gardens cultivated an air of respectability and the haut monde happily mixed with the middling sort to enjoy a night out.
Rosamund had said all along she would not go. She was in mourning and it was unseemly and the last thing she wanted was for Lord Portman to think she was pursuing him, to all of which Max had an answer. No one knew her, so being in mourning did not signify; she could go in half-mourning, grey or mauve, and if his lordship were to show an interest, then she should be glad and cultivate him in so far as it was in her ability to do so. ‘Do you want to work for Lady Bonhaven?’ he demanded, when he arrived to escort her and found her unprepared. ‘She is an inveterate gabble grinder, out and about everywhere, and you will have to tag along behind her like a pet pug. Worse than that because a pug is not expected to work for his keep.’
‘Do you think I do not know all that?’
‘Then seize what opportunities are offered.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘I doubt I shall be offered an opportunity to seize.’
‘Then let us go to enjoy the fireworks.’
‘Oh, very well.’ She didn’t know why she agreed, except that sitting at home alone was something she had been doing so often of late, she felt she needed a little diversion. Perhaps, if she could put her problems to one side for an hour or two, her subconscious might come up with a solution.
She went up to her room to root about in her half-packed trunk for another dress and found a dove-grey silk she had worn when she had gone from mourning to half-mourning after her mother died. It was sadly out of fashion, having a wraparound bodice, narrow oval hoops and wide, stiffened cuffs to the sleeves, but it was a change from unrelieved black. A white kerchief served to fill the neckline. She scooped her hair up under a wide-brimmed hat she thought might hide her face and returned to her brother.
He looked her up and down. ‘Is that the best you can manage?’
‘Yes. If you do not care to be seen with me, I beg you to go alone.’
‘No. Come along. We shall be late.’
He had hired chairs to take them, so there was no opportunity for conversation until they were set down at the entrance. Max bought two tickets at five shillings each, paying for them with a guinea and receiving four half-crowns and a shilling in change, then he took her arm and hurried her inside.
The gardens were crowded and they were jostled several times as they made their way forwards, heading for the magnificent circular building in the centre of the garden, where the patrons could listen to the orchestra from its many boxes, or parade the central floor, sometimes drowning out the music with their chatter. There were booths selling tea, coffee and chocolate, as well as others containing gaming tables. Some booths were privately hired and here Cyprians and demi-reps and even apparently respectable ladies, would meet their lovers. Max ignored them as he hurried her along.
Rosamund supposed he was in a rush to meet Lord Portman and wished she had not agreed to come. What, in heaven’s name, could she say to the man? Half of her hoped he would not come, the other half began to look forward to seeing him again and wondering if her first impression of him as a strange mixture of the empty-headed exquisite and the perspicacious man about town would still hold good.
As they neared the Rotunda, Max slowed his pace and they walked more sedately. ‘There they are,’ he said suddenly. ‘Do put on a smile, Rosie. I never saw such a Friday face in my life.’
Harry had not expected to see her there and was at first surprised, but then he saw Ash’s grin and knew he had been hoaxed. There was nothing for it but to greet the lady with his usual gallantry. ‘Miss Chalmers, how do you do?’ His hand, holding his hat, swept forwards over his foot as he bowed to her.
She noticed his burgundy silk coat, pink waistcoat and pink small clothes as she bent her knee and bowed her head in acknowledgement. He was nothing if not colourful. She straightened herself to meet cool blue eyes regarding her with amusement. She felt herself blush at his scrutiny. Was he, like her brother, deprecating her gown? ‘I am well,’ she said, taking a firm grip on herself to answer him. ‘And you?’
‘All the better for seeing you, ma’am.’
She laughed at this preposterous lie. ‘Then you must have been feeling singularly out of sorts before that. Has your friend been roasting you again?’ She turned to Ash and dropped him a small curtsy. ‘Sir Ashley, I bid you good evening.’
‘It is a very good evening now you have arrived,’ he said, bowing to her.
‘I do not know which of you is worse,’ she said. ‘Pray do not try your flummery on me, sir. I am immune to it.’
‘Then you are the first lady I have met who is,’ Harry said, looking at her through his quizzing glass. It was an affectation; his eyesight was perfect. He saw that she had changed out of the dreadful black silk, but the grey she wore was only marginally better. It was a great pity because he felt sure she would repay a little spent on a wardrobe, even in mourning. ‘Surely you are not averse to being told your company is a pleasure?’
‘Not if it is true, but I suspect the contrary. I vow you had no idea you would meet me tonight.’
‘That does not signify. Shall we walk a little?’ He abandoned the idea of catching anyone passing counterfeit coins and instead offered her his arm and she laid her fingers on his silk sleeve. The path was so crowded all four could not walk abreast and Max and Ash fell behind.
‘I came to view the fireworks,’ Rosamund said, feeling she ought to have a reason for her presence.
‘I did too, so we can view them together.’
‘My lord, please do not feel you have to entertain me or even be polite to me. I am well aware of what my brother is up to and if I were you I would pay neither him nor me any heed and go about your business.’
‘It is not in my nature to be impolite,’ he said. ‘And what do you suppose Sir Maximilian is up to?’
‘Would you put me to the blush by asking me to speak of it when you could not help but know what he is about?’
‘I beg your pardon. I was not sure you perfectly understood.’
‘To be sure, I understand. He does not wish to give me house room himself and yet he is averse to his sister lowering herself to go to work, especially as Lady Bonhaven’s companion. He has other ideas, which are even more embarrassing.’
That was what she had been doing in Brook Street when he had met her and her aunt; he had guessed as much. Poor thing, he would not recommend Lady Bonhaven as an employer to anyone. Her ladyship had been a friend of his late mother and he knew her to be a tyrant to her servants. ‘And do you think you will like working for her ladyship?’
‘I know I should hate it.’ There was no point in trying to hide her dilemma from him, since her brother had already been more than frank. ‘If I could find congenial work or set up a business, do something useful that will earn me enough to live on, I would not need to.’
‘What could you do?’
‘I do not know. I have been educated. I could teach. Or help someone catalogue a library, or write book on household management. Or do fine embroidery.’
‘Ugh!’ he said with a shudder. ‘It would ruin your eyes. And such lovely eyes too.’
She ignored the compliment. ‘It is all very well for you to belittle such occupations, but you are not in my shoes.’
‘I do not think they