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‘If I thought you were going to be compelled to supervise me, I would never have asked for Lady Sayleford’s sponsorship,’ Temper continued after he’d set the horses moving.
Giff shook his head. ‘Too late to withdraw now! If I know my godmother, by the time we reach Vraux House she will already have written to summon her great-niece.’
‘I shall be happy enough to proceed, as long as we can convince her not to drag you into the bargain. No point going to market when you aren’t ready to buy anything.’ She sighed. ‘I only wish I didn’t have to spend time in the Marriage Mart, but since I must, I’ll cheer myself with the hope that it might not be for long. With any luck, it will soon be evident that I attract only fortune hunters and fast young men looking to lure the “wanton” into the shrubbery.’
Giff didn’t find that prospect very reassuring. Neither type of man was likely to respect Temper—and the latter could, as his godmother had pointed out, actually pose a danger to her.
Maybe he ought to drop by a few of the entertainments she attended, just to make sure she was safe.
‘It pains me that society will try to paint you in that light. When we both know that neither you—nor your mother, it turns out—possess such a character.’
‘As I told your godmother, people will think what they want, regardless of the truth. But in this instance, I’m glad of it. It should require only a little push to have society confirm that I don’t respect its rules, ensuring that no respectable gentleman will pay me his addresses.’
‘Just as long as you are not targeted by the truly disreputable.’
‘As long as I have a chaperon clinging to my side, I hope I am! Everyone knows disreputable gentlemen are the most charming! Except for you, of course, Giff. You’re respectable and—alluring.’
The change in her tone—from amusement to warmth of a different sort—pulled his gaze from the road to her. The yearning he read in her eyes fired his always-simmering attraction into full-on arousal.
Fierce, intelligent—and so beautiful. He had an almost overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss her.
The curricle hit a bump, jolting him back to the job of controlling the horses. But his palms were sweating and his breathing uneven when he pulled up his team in front of Vraux House.
‘You needn’t see me in,’ she said as his tiger jumped down and trotted over to help her out of the vehicle. ‘I shall try not to be too outrageous, so hopefully your kindness in intervening to help me won’t come back to haunt you.’
He looked at her full in the face this time, struck anew by her beauty—and the softened lips and molten gaze that confirmed the strong current of desire coursing through him was unmistakably mutual. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.
She reached a hand out, as if to touch him, then drew it back again. ‘Thank you, Giff,’ she whispered, then turned away to let his tiger help her down.
Ridiculous, to feel an instant bolt of envy because that skinny, pock-faced boy was touching her—as he wanted to so fiercely and mustn’t.
Fists clenched on the reins, Giff watched her walk into Vraux House—both regretting and hopeful that his part in the launching of Miss Temperance Lattimar’s Season had just been completed.
Chapter Five (#u99a27dcf-481b-5ead-8d49-e037598bf7bf)
A week later, dressed to attend her introductory tea at Lady Sayleford’s, Temper inspected herself in her looking glass. The afternoon gown, one of the new dresses she’d just acquired, was cut with the wide sleeves, narrow waist and belled skirts of the latest style, done up in a deep blue silk that enhanced her eyes. Not the virginal white of a timid debutante, but the colour suited her—both in looks and temperament.
Telling herself she had no need to be nervous, she was walking down the stairs to collect her cloak and have the butler summon her a hackney when the door opened and Gifford Newell walked in. He looked up, saw her—and stopped short.
She froze, transfixed by the intensity of his admiring gaze, for the first time glad that the exaggerated style emphasised the smallness of her waist while the low bodice exposed her neck and shoulders. Then, telling herself not to be ridiculous, she lifted her skirts and continued downwards, ignoring the accelerated beat of her heart and the queer fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
He was, she discovered when she looked up after descending the last step, still gazing at her. ‘Exquisite!’ he murmured. ‘If being the most beautiful lady in the room means society will exile you, your Season will be over before it begins.’
She shouldn’t feel such satisfaction at knowing he found her attractive—but she did. ‘The colour is lovely, although I can’t admire the style. These sleeves and skirts! Impossible to do anything useful wearing something so wide.’
‘Of course not. As a society lady, you’re supposed to be admired and have everything done for you.’
‘In other words, be vacant-headed and decorative.’ She sighed. ‘Heaven help me survive this Season! You’re looking handsome as always, Giff. Come to find Gregory?’
‘No, I came to collect you. To escort you to Lady Sayleford’s. I’m pleased to find you ready. My godmother detests tardiness.’
‘You’re escorting me?’ she echoed. ‘I thought the tea would be a ladies’ affair.’
‘So did I, but when Lady Sayleford commands, one complies. Unless one is prepared to move to the Outer Hebrides, which would be a rather inconvenient location for a sitting Member of Parliament.’
‘I understand carrier pigeons can travel hundreds of miles in just a few hours,’ she offered, smiling. ‘But I agree, the Outer Hebrides would be inconvenient. Though if it is to be just ladies, I can’t imagine why she would require you to escort me. Surely she knows I’m capable of taking a hackney from Vraux House to hers!’
‘I long ago learned never to question my godmother’s inscrutable ways,’ Giff replied. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Yes. Hopefully once you’ve delivered me, she will release you back to your duties. As a sitting Member of Parliament.’
To her relief, Newell had brought his curricle, requiring him to keep his attention focused on his driving, rather than on her. With him otherwise occupied, she could sit beside him and enjoy the delicious frisson of attraction that sizzled between them without any chance of being tempted further down a road she had no business travelling.
The afternoon being busy and the traffic noisy, she made no attempt to converse as they made the transit. A short time later, he pulled up his team in front of Lady Sayleford’s town house, his tiger springing down to help her out.
They walked in, Harris once again showing them into the Grand Parlour where, this time, Lady Sayleford awaited them.
‘Here I am, ma’am, as summoned,’ Giff said as he bent to kiss his godmother’s cheek after the ladies exchanged curtsies. ‘Was that the extent of the service you wished me to render?’
‘You think I would require you merely to deliver Miss Lattimar, who is entirely capable of making the arduous journey from Brook Street to Grosvenor Square on her own? No, I have other plans, which will put all your wit and charm to good use.’
Motioning them to a seat, she said, ‘As you can see, you’ve been summoned before the other guests. I want you to meet my great-niece, Mrs Angela Moorsby, and instruct you, Gifford, on the role you must play. That first.’
‘What, precisely, would you have me do?’
‘I have invited a few of the most important society hostesses. After greeting them all, I wish to speak privately with each one. Your task, Gifford, will be to assist my niece in keeping the other ladies entertained, the conversation flowing brightly, so none are tempted—or able—to eavesdrop on my tête-à-tête.’
‘What part am I to play?’ Temper asked.
‘You, my dear, will be sitting by me, so that each lady gets a...proper introduction.’
And with that explanation, which explained nothing, I will have to be satisfied, Temper thought, suppressing a smile. Very well. She was quite prepared to recite her few lines while Lady Sayleford directed the overall action.
‘I don’t suppose I’m permitted to ask who, what or why?’ Giff said, posing what, from the frown Lady Sayleford returned him, Temper knew had been a rhetorical question.
‘Ah, here she is! Angela, allow me to present my godson, Gifford Myles Newell, and the young lady you are to chaperon, Miss Temperance Lattimar. Children, this is my great-niece, Mrs Angela Moorsby.’
Sucking in a breath in apprehension, Temper watched a small, plump woman cross the room, her rotund form garbed in a slightly out-of-fashion gown.
‘Mr Newell, well met!’ she said, curtsying to them, her pleasant face wreathed in a smile. ‘And Miss Lattimar! So you are the angel of mercy who is enlivening my dull life by providing me a Season in London. And a complement of lovely new gowns, as well! Thank you! I intend to enjoy myself exceedingly—and, I promise you, to chaperon with a very light hand.’
Temper smiled back at the friendly gaze and open, honest countenance of Angela Moorsby, her fear of having to deal with an incompatible chaperon melting into an instant rapport.
And a sharp stab of guilt, to doom this pleasant, innocent lady to the criticism and censure she expected her presentation would heap on the head of her hapless chaperon. Looking over at Lady Sayleford, she said, ‘Have you warned her what my Season will likely entail?’
‘Oh, no, my child. I thought it better to allow you to do that.’
So you can listen to me explain one more time before giving final approval? Temper would not be at all surprised, should she express something to incur Lady Sayleford’s disapproval, to have the offer of sponsorship revoked on the instant and the great-niece sent back to rural obscurity.
‘Are you acquainted with the...circumstances of my family?’ she asked Mrs Moorsby.
‘Yes, Lady Sayleford related to me the...unusual nature of your upbringing and the reason why you are in need of a chaperon.’
‘So you know society expects me to be ill behaved, amoral and capricious. Although I am none of those things, neither am I interested in marriage, so while my behaviour will give no credence to the first two traits, I am perfectly happy to play up the latter. In fact, I may take a few strategic actions to reinforce my reputation as an ungovernable woman no respectable gentleman would have as a wife. Acting as chaperon to such a creature may well be accompanied by...an unpleasantness that may make you wish you had remained in Portsmouth. Are you sure you want to take me on?’
‘So that you can fulfil your father’s requirement that you have a Season and go on to become a lady explorer? What a marvellous thing! If I hadn’t grown so fond of my snug hearth and my comfortable little Portsmouth community, I would almost be tempted to go exploring again myself. I was never the Beauty you are, but I was rather adventuresome myself as a girl, marrying a merchant captain over my family’s objections and going to sea with him.’
‘How wonderful!’ Temper declared, delighted. ‘You must tell me about your travels!’
‘Some other day, perhaps,’ Mrs Moorsby replied.
She looked up to find Lady Sayleford smiling and was struck again by her shrewdness. You sly old lady, she thought. You chose the perfect chaperon for me.
‘I’ve never held with mealy-mouthed females who haven’t the wit to form their own opinion or who constantly look to some man for guidance.’ Mrs Moorsby winked at her. ‘My aunt warned that you will likely kick over the traces. I shall enjoy watching you.’
Temper smiled wryly. ‘I hope it may prove entertaining. However, you may well have your judgement and your competence questioned, or find yourself pitied, when I prove to be...less than conformable.’
Mrs Moorsby shrugged. ‘What do I care for the opinions of people I shall never see again, once the Season is over? As long as you enjoy shopping, theatre, concerts and—’ she winked at Giff ‘—the company of handsome gentlemen, I’m sure we shall get on splendidly.’
Harris returned then, intoning, ‘Lady Spencer-Woods, Mrs Dalworthy, Lady Wentwith and Mrs Dobbs-Henry.’
‘You know what you are to do?’ Lady Sayleford murmured as they all rose to greet the newcomers.
‘Perfectly,’ Mrs Moorsby said with a conspiratorial smile.
‘Welcome, ladies,’ the Countess said after the exchange of bows and curtsies. ‘I wanted you to be the first to meet my protégée, Miss Temperance Lattimar, who makes her debut this Season. Her chaperon, Mrs Moorsby, and my godson, Mr Newell.’
The pleasant smiles of greeting on the faces of the newcomers froze as Lady Sayleford spoke. Four heads turned as one to fix surprised, then horrified, then offended gazes on Temperance.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened and gazed straight back, a smile fixed to her lips. Is this how you do it, Mama?
‘Ah, here is Harris with our tea. Won’t you be seated?’
Under the Countess’s direction, Temper found herself on the sofa next to Lady Sayleford, Lady Spencer-Woods in a chair adjacent to them, while Giff and Mrs Moorsby sat with the other ladies in a grouping of chairs closer to the hearth.
After the initial shocked silence, with a murmur of voices and clink of cups emanating from the group near the fireplace, Lady Sayleford said, ‘So, Elizabeth, I expect you will give your usual ball, now that Parliament is in session.’ She turned to Temper. ‘Lady Spencer-Woods’s Opening Ball is the premier entertainment of the Early Season, attended by everyone of importance in society.’ Looking back at her guest, she continued, ‘You will certainly send Miss Lattimar and Mrs Moorsby a card.’
The guest shifted uncomfortably, shooting Temper a pained, faintly contemptuous glance, ‘Really, Emily,’ she said in a low voice, leaning forward as if speaking with the Countess alone, ‘I know you are somehow...connected to her family, but this is outside of enough! You may amuse yourself, inviting the Vraux woman to your entertainments, but you cannot expect me to recognise a daughter of that...creature!’
Temper didn’t need the Countess’s subtle warning glance to know she must remain silent. As if I weren’t right here, listening to every word, Temper thought, outrage filling her and the tea turning bitter on her tongue. You must accustom yourself to hearing this and worse. Was that what Lady Sayleford meant to teach her, by compelling her to witness this exchange?
‘Leaving aside any commentary on Lady Vraux’s character, the child is not her mother.’
Lady Spencer-Woods gave a thin smile. ‘She might be worse.’
‘I’ll let that indictment of my judgement pass,’ the Countess said mildly, but with a frigid look that saw her visitor’s defiance collapse. ‘It would please me mightily to have you send Miss Lattimar and her chaperon a card. And see that all your friends do, as well. However, if you wish to be...disobliging, I might suddenly recall a certain incident with a dancing master that happened in our debut Season.’
The matron paled. ‘I hardly think society would be interested in...in a silly contretemps from so many years ago.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. When a lady is one of the premier arbiters of society, whose judgements about the character of young ladies have made or destroyed reputations and Seasons, I expect there might be exceptional interest in the story of a—’
‘Never mind,’ Lady Spencer-Woods interrupted, bright spots of colour blooming in her cheeks. ‘I don’t think any further details are necessary.’
Not with a highly interested witness sitting in, Temper thought. Lady Sayleford, how clever you are indeed.
‘For a woman, “incidents” are never truly past and forgotten, are they? Even when one has lived blamelessly for thirty years.’
‘Felicia Lattimar has hardly lived “blamelessly” for thirty years!’
‘She might have, had her idiot of a husband paid her any attention. And might have still, had that cad Hightower not spread his malicious stories all over town. In any event, you will invite Miss Lattimar to your ball—won’t you? Ladies of power and influence should present a united front.’
Lady Spencer-Woods held her hostess’s unflinching stare for a moment, before dropping her gaze. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Then we understand each other. Excellent.’
Lady Sayleford smiled serenely, as if she hadn’t just manoeuvred her outraged guest into checkmate. ‘You need do nothing more than receive Miss Lattimar. I shall not hold you responsible for her ultimate success, or lack of it. Unless, of course, I learn you’ve said or done something disparaging to compromise it.’
‘I shall not forget this, Emily,’ Lady Spencer-Woods said, looking back up at the Countess, her expression a mixture of resentment and reluctant admiration.
‘I don’t expect you will. Now, I know you’d like to become better acquainted with Mrs Moorsby, who will be accompanying Miss Lattimar to all her entertainments.’ She gestured towards the other group, a clear sign of dismissal. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you at your ball.’
‘I shall be delighted to welcome you. And your lovely protégée,’ she added with a resigned glance at Temper. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed. ‘Emily, what a trickster you are! One never knows what outrageous thing you will do. Have no fear, I shall play my part.’
‘I never doubted it. I know just how...ingenious you can be, Elizabeth,’ the Countess replied, amusement in her eyes as her guest’s cheeks once again went rosy.
* * *
And so it went with each matron in turn. Lady Sayleford immediately demanded support for Temper, countered any objections about her and her mother, then moved in for the kill with a hint about some questionable event in the lady’s past the Countess might just happen to recall, should her guest not prove accommodating.
After the guests took their leave, Temper turned to gaze in awe at her sponsor. ‘You really do know everything about everyone!’
Lady Sayleford chuckled. ‘The benefit of a long life spent building such a reputation for discretion, every bit of scandal finds its way to my ear.’
‘Still, I regret that you had to play so many of the trumps you’ve kept close in hand. I hope giving them up—and the animosity you may have incurred for playing them now—won’t come back to harm you.’
‘You needn’t worry, my dear. I have enough other trumps tucked away to be in no danger of losing whatever game I choose. Now you are privy to some of that knowledge, too.’
‘And you made sure all those ladies knew it!’
‘I don’t intend to go everywhere with you. But they all know their secrets will. Shall we join the others?’
‘How well you work your magic!’ Mrs Moorsby said to the Countess as she made room for Temperance on the sofa beside her. ‘After chatting with you, each lady came back to express her delight in making my acquaintance and her hope that my charge and I would be able to attend the entertainment she intended to give later in the Season. Bravo, Aunt Lilly!’
‘One does one’s possible,’ Lady Sayleford said, a satisfied smile on her lips. ‘The two of you did well, too, keeping your group from listening in—though, after each one finished her session, she must have known something similar was being said to the others and been agog to discover what lapse that lady had committed.’
‘Have you made out a social schedule for us yet?’ Mrs Moorsby asked.
‘Not yet. We shall do that together, once the invitations begin to come in.’
