The Earl Plays With Fire. Isabelle Goddard
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Christabel returned early that night from a supper party and sat quietly in front of her mirror while her maid carefully untangled the knot of auburn curls. The evening had been insipid and she’d been glad of the excuse of a headache to leave for home. Although her face had maintained a calm detachment throughout the day, her mind was troubled. Ever since hearing his name that morning, she’d not been able to put Richard out of her thoughts. There’d always been a part of her, buried deep, that held his memory, but the passage of the intervening years had soothed the raw pain of his departure and the collapse of the world she’d trusted. She’d done all she could to forget him. Now a random conversation between two unknown women had brought his memory throbbing back to life.
She scolded herself. He would be so changed that she would hardly know him, nor he her. In all probability he would sail into Southampton with a new Lady Veryan on his arm. They were bound to meet again at some time in the future, given the proximity of their homes, but not for many months. He would be certain to post down to Cornwall as soon as he could, to be with his mother. And she, where would she be? No doubt by the end of the Season preparing to be Lady Edgerton, and packing her valise for a protracted stay at Sir Julian’s Berkshire estate. She sighed involuntarily and Rosa stopped brushing her hair for a moment, thinking that she had hurt her mistress. Christabel was smiling at her reassuringly when the bedroom door opened.
‘I’m so glad I’ve found you still up. I wanted a brief word with you, my dear.’
She nodded dismissal to her maid and looked warily at her mother. She knew well the likely nature of the brief word.
‘I was so pleased today at the gallery to see you on such good terms with Sir Julian. You do like him, darling, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course, Mama, what is there not to like?’
‘I mean,’ her mother said doggedly, ‘that it’s not simply a case of not holding him in aversion—you do positively like him?’
‘I think so.’
Lady Harriet tried to restrain her irritation with this lovely but obdurate daughter. ‘You don’t sound very certain.’
‘That’s because I’m not. Sir Julian is kind and charming and obviously a very good person, but perhaps he’s just a little too good for me.’
‘Stuff,’ her mother exclaimed unexpectedly. ‘How can you talk so, Christabel! You deserve the very best.’
Her daughter remained silent, gazing gravely at her reflection in the mirror.
‘Are you still thinking of that business with the Veryans?’
Even her mother, she noted, did not dare to speak Richard’s name. Lady Harriet came close and put her arms around her daughter.
‘Bel, my darling, that’s over and has been for years. It’s nonsense to let it determine the rest of your life. It was a bad affair at the time, but you must put it out of your mind and make a fresh start.’
Whether it was her mother’s hug or simply because she’d had a jarring day, she couldn’t say, but Christabel found herself dissolving into tears.
Lady Harriet soothed her lovingly and then spoke to her as if to a weary child. ‘The time has come, Christabel, to make a sensible decision which will affect the rest of your life. You have received many offers of marriage and have refused them all. In a few months you will be twenty-five and in our society that is not a good age to be single still. If you really dislike the idea of marriage to Sir Julian, you know we will not try to persuade you otherwise. Your father and I have profited from painful experience. But if you feel you could live comfortably with him, then I would urge you not to wait too long. He is obviously deeply in love with you and you have only to “throw the handkerchief”—a vulgar saying, I know, but a perfectly true one none the less—and he will pick it up with alacrity.’
‘I know, Mama.’ Her daughter’s woebegone expression raised a smile on Lady Harriet’s face.
‘Do not look so miserable about it. You will have a splendid life. You will never want for anything and will have a man by your side whose only wish is to make you happy.’
How to tell her mother how she felt? How to explain it even to herself? Her head told her that a tranquil life with Sir Julian was the best possible compromise she could make, but her heart murmured traitorously that tranquillity would not satisfy. What did she want, then? Gaiety, exhilaration, adventure even? But she knew her mother was right. She was a mature woman and she must behave like one. That meant making a sensible decision about her future.
Thinking that her homily had gone home, Lady Harriet continued. ‘Promise me, my love, that when the moment comes you will listen to whatever Sir Julian has to say and consider his words favourably.’
‘I promise, Mama.’
She made the undertaking in good faith. She must try not to disappoint Sir Julian, nor let her family down again.
Her pledge was put to the test the following Saturday morning. She was quietly engaged with Rosa, selecting dresses from her wardrobe that needed attention and listing the new gloves and slippers she must purchase now that the Season was well advanced, when the second footman appeared at her bedroom door.
‘Milady would like to see you in the drawing room, Miss Christabel.’
She wondered what was toward and made haste downstairs. Her heart sunk when she saw Sir Julian perched rather unsafely on one of the decorative but spindly chairs her mother had recently hired for the drawing room.
‘Miss Tallis, how good to see you. And how well you look in that ensemble.’
She looked blankly at the old dress she was wearing and wondered if her potential spouse needed glasses.
‘But then,’ he continued, ‘you always contrive to look amazingly elegant.’
Her mother beamed appreciatively. ‘Sir Julian has been speaking of the new floral exhibition in Hyde Park. It sounds truly magnificent and has been especially designed as part of the celebrations arranged for the French Royal Family.’
‘In fact,’ Sir Julian interjected eagerly, ‘they are actually to celebrate the Prince Regent’s own assumption of power, but since his father is so very ill, it would be bad form for him to broadcast it, I dare say.’
Christabel looked from one to the other in some puzzlement, wondering where she fitted into this conversation. Her mother was at hand to help.
‘Sir Julian has very kindly called to discover if you would care to see the display. I know you have no engagements this morning, my dear.’
Sir Julian added his voice to the petition, ‘I hope I do not importune, Miss Tallis, but I would welcome your company. And I am sure you will be charmed, knowing your highly developed sense of beauty. The southern tip of the park is a sheer blaze of colour.’
Christabel had no alternative but to agree, only stopping to change her gown and unpack the new bonnet which had just been delivered by Celeste, her favourite milliner. It was a charming confection, a light-green cottager style tied beneath the chin with an enormous chiffon bow. It set off to perfection a gown of pale primrose silk. If she was to be wooed, and she had no doubt that this was Sir Julian’s plan, she would at least look the part.
Hyde Park was unusually busy for a Saturday morning and for some time they had little leisure to converse, their attention distracted by the need to avoid a constant parade of slowly moving barouches and their elderly occupants, baby carriages with their nursemaids and schoolboys bowling their hoops. It seemed the whole world and his wife had come out to play this early April morning. And it wasn’t hard to see why. The sun streamed down from an almost cloudless blue sky and spring was in the air.
Richard was also in the park that morning, carefully shepherding Domino through its north gate towards Rotten Row, which was already busy with riders. It would be a good opportunity, he thought, for the young girl to experience one of the more popular pursuits of London