The Incomparable Countess Read online

  ‘Not yet, but they are watching him. They think he is involved with the frameworkers’ agitation.’

  ‘Fudge! He was my head groom, nothing to do with frameworkers.’

  ‘I’m only telling you what I have been told.’

  ‘And Mrs Poole? And the child?’

  Donald shook his head. ‘The Runner didn’t know anything about a woman and child. He was only concerned with Poole. It seems he’s become something of a tub thumper, inciting the mob to join in with the knitters’ grievances. There’s to be a meeting tonight in a tavern in Seven Dials. I thought I would be there.’

  ‘I can’t see how that will help us to find Mrs Poole.’

  ‘It will if I follow him home afterwards. At least we will know then if he has found his wife.’ He paused to take a mouthful of brandy before going on. ‘If Mrs Poole is with him, what then? Do you intend to separate her from him?’

  ‘Good God, no! The child is my only concern.’

  ‘You would forcibly drag it from her arms?’

  ‘No, but I am convinced Poole would not countenance the child, even if he forgave his wife. He would accept money to be rid of him and I doubt she would object.’

  ‘So, you agree we should find out how the land lies?’

  ‘I cannot go in these clothes,’ he said, indicating his evening coat and tall hat lying on the table beside him. ‘Come home with me and I’ll change.’

  ‘I do not think you should come at all. You are too well known, even by the lower orders, and if Poole sees you…’

  ‘I can disguise myself. I used to love charades as a boy. My brother and I would often dress up in clothes we had found in the attic.’

  Which was how Lavinia, hearing her father come home and then go out again only half an hour later, went to the window and saw a shagbag walking away from the door. If it had not been for his gait, she would not have recognised him and even then, she was not sure because he suddenly developed a bent back and a limp. Puzzled, she went back to bed and did not hear him return.

  However, he was in his place at the breakfast table when she went down next morning.

  ‘The Countess was wrong,’ he told her with a smile. ‘She said you would be at the breakfast table before me.’

  ‘She was not to know you would not even go to bed.’

  ‘Of course I went to bed. Whatever gave you the idea I did not?’

  ‘I heard you go out again.’

  ‘Oh. I was not gone for long. I had to meet a friend.’

  ‘Are we going riding this morning?’

  ‘No, we have to go to Corringham House and there isn’t time. Tomorrow, perhaps.’

  ‘But I am not in the mood for drawing or sitting still.’

  ‘Nevertheless we will go. We are expected.’

  ‘You only take me there to save you from having to take me out and about with you.’

  ‘Fustian!’ He was dog-tired and in no mood for arguing with a recalcitrant child. ‘You know I would spend more time with you if I could, but I have important business—’

  ‘Business that keeps you out all night.’

  ‘That is enough, Vinny. I can see that I have allowed you too much freedom to express yourself. Children, especially daughters, should not question what their parents do, it is unbecoming and shows a lack of breeding…’

  ‘And breeding is all, as Mama said.’

  ‘Vinny, be silent when I am speaking to you.’ He wondered in what circumstance Margaret had spoken to their daughter about breeding, but he would not ask, for that would only encourage her outspokenness. ‘The next year or two are going to be very important for you and I want you to be up to the mark and that means adopting the social graces, learning to curb your tongue, as well as being proficient in dancing, music and drawing.’ He drained his coffee cup and stood up. ‘Now, finish your breakfast and fetch your pelisse and bonnet. We do not want to be late.’

  His daughter went off, muttering about the politeness of kings. He smiled ruefully. She was a handful and he was dog-tired, but he loved her.

  Dearly as she would have loved to plead a headache or fatigue in order not to receive Marcus and his daughter, Frances knew it would not do. She must at least maintain the appearance of normality, she must hold her life together, to be the calm, mature widow everyone believed her to be.

  As soon as she had breakfasted she went up to her studio to prepare for the lesson. Somehow she must engage Lavinia’s attention, give her something to do which interested her so that she could finish that portrait. It was beginning to be something of a burden and she was not satisfied with it. It was flat, the animation was lacking and, though the features were certainly those of Lady Lavinia Stanmore, the personality, the fire were missing.

  Fire! That was a word Marcus had used about her. It was apt, because she had been on fire with love and in those days she had made no attempt to hide it. She had been so confident of the outcome, encouraged by her mother. How could she have been so gullible? And now he was back and her brain and her heart were at war with each other. Sleeping or waking, she could not get him out of her head and it did not help to keep reminding herself of how he had hurt her, that he would do so again if she let him.

  She heard the door knocker, counted the seconds as Creeley went to open it, more as he admitted the callers, more as he progressed steadily up the stairs and scratched on the studio door. She took a deep breath and settled her face in a welcoming smile, as Creeley entered. ‘Lady Lavinia Stanmore, my lady.’

  He had not come! His daughter was alone. She let out her breath, relieved and disappointed at the same time. She smiled at the girl. ‘Lavinia, how prompt you are!’

  ‘Papa brought me and he is never late. He asks pardon for not stopping. Pressing business, he said. He will fetch me at noon.’

  ‘Then let us begin,’ she said, becoming businesslike. The confrontation had been averted for the time being and she must put him from her mind. ‘Shall we start with a lesson or the portrait?’

  Lavinia shrugged. ‘It is of no consequence.’

  ‘Then we will begin with the portrait.’ Lavinia could not be relied upon to sit still for more than a few minutes and it would be best to take advantage of it while she could. ‘Take up your position.’

  After a few minutes, it became obvious it was not going well. Frances was ready to give up for the day when she had an idea. ‘I have it,’ she said. ‘Wait here a moment.’

  She hurried down to the kitchen and took the rabbit out of its box. Its leg had healed and it would soon be time to set it free but, in the meantime, it could be useful. She carried it up and put it into Lavinia’s lap.

  ‘Oh, you kept it!’ The girl’s face lit up with delight. ‘I thought you would do as Papa said and have it killed and cooked.’

  ‘No, I promised I would not, didn’t I? Andrew will want to see it next time he comes. Now, if you would hold it…’

  She did not need to pose the girl. Lavinia sat perfectly still with the rabbit in her arms, stroking it gently and murmuring softly. The animal seemed to understand and did not struggle. Indeed, it seemed soothed by the quiet voice. Frances dipped her brush in paint.

  An hour later, nearer eleven o’clock that ten, Creeley came to announce the arrival of the Earl of Corringham. Absorbed as she was, Frances had forgotten he was coming and was almost resentful of the interruption. It was the best sitting they had had and the portrait was really beginning to take shape, but an hour was long enough; she was surprised that Lavinia had remained still so long. She stood up to clean her brushes. ‘Tell him I shall be down directly,’ she told Creeley.

  When he had gone she told Lavinia to put the rabbit back in its box and finish an exercise she had given her the previous week and then went down to the drawing room where James was waiting for her, dressed in full frockcoat, nankeen breeches, yellow stockings and high-heeled, buckled shoes.

  He executed a flourishing leg. ‘You see, ma’am, I am come as a dutiful son at your command.’<
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  She smiled and indicated a chair with a gesture of her hand, seating herself opposite it. ‘And why do you have to wait for a command?’ She paused to watch his face. ‘Especially as I know you to be in dun territory.’

  He flipped up the skirt of his coat and sat down. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Never mind how I know. Is it true?’

  ‘A gentleman is always in debt, you know that. It is the nature of the beast.’

  ‘Maybe, but it is profligate of you to allow it to reach such a pass that everyone is dunning you. What is it—gaming, or a little bit of muslin?’

  He sighed. ‘A little of both. But I shall come about.’

  ‘How? More gaming. That is a downhill road, James. I have told you so before.’

  ‘Yes, and said I was not to apply to you again, so why ask me about it?’

  ‘How deep are you in?’

  He shrugged. ‘Can’t say exactly.’

  ‘Then try a guess.’

  ‘There are gaming vouchers out to the tune of two and a half thousand—’

  ‘James! I cannot believe it.’

  ‘Why not? You gamble, ma’am, you know how it is, the next hand is always the one which will recoup. Only, of course, it does not.’

  ‘What else? Tradesmen?’

  ‘Well, debts of honour have to come first, don’t they, so the tradesmen have to be left. I owe Weston for a coat and Tattersall’s for my new hunter, a real goer that is. Then there is Rundell and Bridge for jewellery…’

  ‘Which I saw about the neck of Miss Franks, if I am not much mistaken.’

  ‘Well, you have to give presents, it is expected. Trouble was, I had bought a watch and a bracelet the month before and they were dunning me like mad. The only way I could put them off was to give them more business on expectation…’

  ‘James, you have not been giving out post-obit bills?’

  ‘Why not?’ He stood up and began to pace about the room. ‘I am already the Earl and everyone knows I am to come into the whole inheritance before the year is out.’

  ‘If you go on like this, by the time it is in your hands, you will owe the whole amount,’ she said with a heavy sigh. ‘Then what will you do?’

  ‘Oh, it is not as bad as that.’ He stopped to face her. ‘All I need is something to tide me over, just to get them off my doorstep…’

  ‘I seem to recollect telling you not to apply to the trustees again. They already think I am too lenient with you. And where am I to get nearly three thousand pounds?’

  ‘Oh, that’s doing it too brown. You are earning a mint of rhino with your painting, especially now the Duke of Loscoe has become your patron. Everyone will be flocking to have their portraits done.’

  ‘I am not paid in advance, James.’

  ‘Ask the Duke for a down payment.’

  ‘I cannot possibly do that,’ she said, aghast at the suggestion.

  ‘Too proud?’ he suggested with a quirky smile. ‘Or too independent. Everyone knows he is dangling after you…’

  ‘James, it is not true. And I’ll thank you not to repeat rumours like that when you hear them.’

  ‘It is not the only rumour I have heard, Mama. It is all over the ton that his mistress has run out on him and taken their child with her and he is combing London to find them…’

  She was so taken aback, she could not speak for a moment. She remembered thinking only the day before, when Lavinia had spoken of the Duke’s nocturnal excursions, that he might have a mistress tucked away somewhere, but she had assumed it was a simple dalliance. But a child!

  ‘Wherever did you hear such fribble?’

  ‘Oh, it is not fribble, I do assure you. He was overheard telling a friend all about it.’

  ‘Some friend!’

  ‘Oh, it was not the friend who squeaked, but the listener. Sir Joshua Barber—do you know him? A big fat man, made his money from cotton…’

  ‘I have met him. He was at the charity ball. I did not know you were acquainted with him.’

  ‘Now, why should I be acquainted with a mushroom like that? No, he told Mrs. Harcourt and she told Lord Graham and he told Annabelle.’

  ‘So, you share your mistress with Lord Graham.’

  He shrugged. ‘He has more blunt than I.’

  ‘Is she worth getting into debt for, James?’

  He sighed and sat on the sofa beside her. ‘I knew you would somehow bring me round to that again. Is it any wonder I do not visit as often as I ought?’

  ‘Well, is she?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘I will find the money for you, but there are conditions.’ Her jointure had been invested to bring in a fair return; she would draw on that until she had finished the portrait of Lavinia, and she would take the commission from the Royal Academy she had been offered. If the worst came to the worst, she would have to give a little less to the orphans. After all, her own stepson must come first.

  ‘I must give her up.’

  ‘Yes, she is too expensive. And stop gambling.’

  ‘The first is no hardship, there are plenty more fish in the sea, but as to the second… How is a man to pass the time if he cannot play a hand of cards, now and again?’

  ‘I am sure you will find a way. Take a repairing lease to the country, pay more attention to the working of the estate. After all, in a few months’ time, you will have the running of it.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he muttered morosely, just as the door opened and Lavinia came tripping in with the rabbit in her arms.

  He shot to his feet, his face creased in a huge smile. ‘Why, Lady Lavinia, I did not know you were here. How do you do?’ And he swept her a bow.

  She responded with a slight bending of the knee and an answering smile. ‘My lord.’

  ‘What are you doing with that rabbit?’

  ‘I found it injured and Lady Corringham has been looking after it for me. Is it not beautiful? Look at its eyes, they are so blue. Stroke its fur, see how soft it is.’

  Frances watched in alarm as he reached out and did as she asked and their hands came into contact. She saw them look up and their eyes met and held, just as they had in the theatre. Much as she loved James, she was not at all sure she trusted him with the highly charged emotions of a sixteen-year-old.

  ‘Lady Lavinia,’ she said sternly. ‘I left you with an exercise to do.’

  ‘Oh, I have done it long ago. And I was bored.’

  ‘You could have found something else to occupy you.’

  ‘There is nothing in your studio, my lady, but pictures. Besides, the rabbit is hungry. I was taking it to the kitchen to beg food for it.’

  ‘Then do so, while I say goodbye to the Earl. Then return upstairs to the studio.’

  Lavinia turned to James and curtsied, he bowed and, with a last lingering look at him, she left the room.

  ‘My word, Mama, she is a fetching chit, is she not?’

  ‘Yes, but too young for you and too well nurtured.’

  ‘Whatever I am, I am not a rakeshame, ma’am,’ he said in offended tones. ‘I do not seduce innocents. How can you think I would?’

  ‘No, of course not. I am being too sensible of my responsibility when she is in my care. Now, you may take your leave and I will settle your pressing debts for you.’

  ‘Oh, Little Mama, you are a sweetheart! I will be good, I promise.’

  He left the house with far more alacrity than he had entered it and she smiled, knowing he had turned her round his thumb—that was nothing new. Sighing, she made her way upstairs to her studio. Marcus would be here soon to collect his daughter and she did not know how she was going to survive the encounter.

  Chapter Seven

  It became evident as soon as Frances entered the room that Lavinia had been moving the portraits stacked against the wall. The girl was standing at the window, holding the picture of her father as a young pugilist.

  ‘What are you doing with that?’ she said sharply, annoyed that her privacy had bee
n invaded.

  ‘I was bored and wanting something to do, so I began looking at your pictures. I thought I might learn something from them.’

  ‘And have you?’

  Lavinia smiled as Frances took the picture from her hands. ‘Oh, yes, I have learned you knew my father before this year. That is a picture of him as a young man, is it not?’

  ‘It could be any young man.’

  ‘It could, but it isn’t. My lady, you are too good a portraitist for your sitter not to be instantly recognisable. Besides, no one could mistake the way Papa’s hair grows from his brow. Mine is the same.’ And she pulled up the curls that fell on her forehead to reveal a pronounced widow’s peak. ‘Not to mention the shape of the brows. Like little wings, they are, outspread to fly.’

  Even in her anger at the girl’s impudence, Frances appreciated the imagery. It was, she realised, very apt. ‘So, the picture is of the Marquis of Risley as he was then,’ she said, putting it back against the wall. ‘What is that to the point? You should not have moved it.’

  ‘Why was it turned to the wall?’

  ‘It is not the sort of picture young ladies should be looking at.’

  ‘Me, you mean? Because he is my father?’

  ‘Not at all. Any young lady. You are not my only pupil, you know.’

  ‘It is very intimate. How well did you know him?’

  ‘I do not think your papa would be pleased to hear you quizzing me, Lavinia.’

  ‘Oh, do answer me. It is the only way I shall find out about him. Duncan and I hardly saw him when we were children; he was almost a stranger to us.’

  ‘You had your mama. Questions like that should have been addressed to her.’

  ‘Oh, she was never in good health. We had to creep about the house like mice so as not to disturb her. Miss Hastings looked after us, but she was not very fond of exercise, so Duncan and I used to go off on our own, until he went away to school. I miss him.’

  ‘I am sure you do.’

  ‘I suppose that’s why I am such a hoyden. Mama despaired of me. Papa has tried to be kind to me since Mama died, but he is so distant and so strict, as if that will cure me. It would be nice to know that he can be human.’