Книга - An Unconventional Duenna

An Unconventional Duenna
Paula Marshall


Two young women, up from Steepwood to London for the Season, immediately attract the attention of two highly eligible young men.Tall, dark and confident, Athene Filmer seizes the opportunity to act as companion to her small, blonde and decidedly timid friend when she is launched into the ton. Illegitimate, with no dowry, Athene sees this as her one chance to make a rich marriage. But troubles arise when both young women consider Adrian, Lord Kinloch, to be the ideal husband.It's more than obvious to Athene that his formidably brusque cousin, Nicholas Cameron, is disapproving of her - seeing her as an adventuress on the make - but since Nick has shown no signs of offering her marriage himself, she knows she should dismiss all thought of him! But Nick will not be ignored. . .









“Do I understand that you do not have a partner for this dance, Miss Filmer?”


To Athene’s great surprise, Nicholas Cameron bowed in her direction. “If so, I would be honored to take you on to the floor.”

Athene offered him a small bow. “It would be my pleasure to, sir.”

This statement was not entirely untruthful. Something about Nick Cameron frightened her, but she could not, in decency, refuse him, and if she were honest she was beginning to find him strangely attractive. Besides, it was, after all, a kind offer, for no one would have expected him to squire an insignificant companion.

He was holding his hand out to her.

She took it.

Immediately the strong sensation, which had surprised them before, surprised them again. Nick, stifling his own rapid response, led Athene toward the opposite side of the room where a number of couples were assembling for the dance.




An Unconventional Duenna

Paula Marshall







TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND


Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Paula Marshall for her contribution to

THE STEEPWOOD SCANDAL series.


PAULA MARSHALL,

married with three children, has had a varied life. She began her career in a large library and ended it as a university academic in charge of history. She has traveled widely, has been a swimming coach and has appeared on University Challenge and Mastermind. She has always wanted to write, and likes her novels to be full of adventure and humor.




Other books in THE STEEPWOOD SCANDAL series:


Lord Ravensden’s Marriage, by Anne Herries

An Innocent Miss, by Elizabeth Bailey

The Reluctant Bride, by Meg Alexander

A Companion of Quality, by Nicola Cornick

A Most Improper Proposal, by Gail Whitiker

A Noble Man, by Anne Ashley

An Unreasonable Match, by Sylvia Andrew

An Unconventional Duenna, by Paula Marshall

Counterfeit Earl, by Anne Herries

The Captain’s Return, by Elizabeth Bailey

The Guardian’s Dilemma, by Gail Whitiker

Lord Exmouth’s Intentions, by Anne Ashley

Mr. Rushford’s Honour, by Meg Alexander

An Unlikely Suitor, by Nicola Cornick

An Inescapable Match, by Sylvia Andrew

The Missing Marchioness, by Paula Marshall




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight




Prologue


Spring 1812

Athene Filmer, twenty years old, poor and illegitimate, had only one aim in life and that was to make a good marriage. She fully intended to marry a man who was not only rich but also had a title. By doing so she would settle her mother for life as well as herself. Today, out of the blue, an opportunity had come for her to achieve her ambition and all her mother could do was try to make her reject it!

“For goodness sake, Athene,” she was saying, “if you must accept this offer of a London Season from Mrs Tenison, I must beg you to be careful. It may be my own sad experience which is affecting my judgement, but I should not wish you to end up as I have done—a lonely woman in a country village. I would much rather that you stayed with me than risk that.”

The country village to which Mrs Charlotte Filmer referred was Steep Ride, where she and her daughter lived in what was little more than a cottage, ambitiously called Datchet House. Steep Ride was pleasantly situated in the wooded neighbourhood of Steepwood Abbey, not far from the River Steep and its tributary which ran through the Abbey grounds.

Mrs Filmer was, not without reason, looking anxiously at her daughter. Alas, Athene was not only clever, but she was also determined and wilful—one might almost call her headstrong! In that she was the opposite of her mother, who was gentle and retiring, and whose one lapse from the straight and narrow path of virtue had been cruelly punished. In her first and only Season the young man whom she had loved had betrayed her, and though she called herself Mrs she had never been married. Her one consolation lay in her pride in her beautiful child.

“Dear Mama,” said Athene, leaning forward affectionately and kissing her anxious parent, “I shall only be going as a mixture of a companion and a friend for my dear old schoolfellow, Emma. You may be sure that Mrs Tenison will keep a firm eye on both of us. Depend upon it, she will not allow me to outshine Emma, since her intention is to secure a good match for her.”

“She will have no trouble doing that,” fretted Mrs Filmer. “What I do not understand is why she isn’t engaging some decent, middle-aged woman to look after her rather than trying to persuade you to be her companion. After all, you are not very much older than Emma and might be considered to need a guardian or a chaperon yourself.”

“Now, Mama, you know as well as I do what a timid little thing Emma is. The sort of dragon you are describing would extinguish her, whereas I am her good friend and guardian from her school-days who protected her when she needed protection. I am also old enough for her to look up to me, but not so ancient and stern that I frighten her. I shall stand between her and the Tenisons’ sponsor, Lady Dunlop, who is somewhat of a dragon. Besides, would you deprive me of the delights of a London Season because you were unfortunate? You were young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, whereas I have had the benefit for the last few years of being made aware by you of the traps which await the innocent in the often cruel world of the ton.”

“There is that,” sighed her mother. “Nevertheless…”

“Nevertheless nothing,” said Athene firmly. She had the advantage of always having won her arguments with her mother in the past. Her own internal reaction when Mrs Tenison had called earlier that afternoon with her exciting proposal had been: At last! Here is the chance I have always wished for—and so soon, before I have reached my last prayers.

“You might not wish to take up this offer, my dear, once you have thought it over. You will, in effect, be one of the Tenisons’ servants, little better than a governess. You will be kept in the background. I know that Mrs Tenison said that she would provide you with a suitable wardrobe, but you may be sure that it will not be either becoming or fashionable. I am sure that she will not want you to rival Emma…”

“Now, how could I do that,” wondered Athene, “when Emma is all that is fashionable and I am not. She is blonde, blue-eyed and tiny, whereas I am dark, grey-eyed and tall—an unlikely sort of creature to attract the young bucks of the ton.”

Her mother forbore to say that Athene always caused heads to turn at the dances at the Assembly Rooms in Abbot Quincey and was already noted for her wit and address, even if her hair and her grey eyes were the wrong colour and her turn-outs far from being in the latest fashion. It would not do to over-praise her: she thought quite enough of herself as it was.

Instead she offered in as neutral a voice as she could, “I still think that you should give this whole notion more thought than you are doing. For one thing, if anyone should learn—or suspect—that you are illegitimate you will be ruined.”

Athene tossed her head. “I’ll think about it again tonight, Mama, and tell you in the morning what my decision is.”

She had no intention of doing any such thing. Her mind was already made up. Here was her chance. Somehow, however much Mrs Tenison tried to extinguish her, she would make her mark in London society and hook her rich and titled fish. She remembered one of the older girls saying that immediately before she left Mrs Guarding’s school to go to London for the Season. She had certainly managed to hook her fish: a baronet—admittedly not of the first stare—but a fish with a title nonetheless.

An irreverent Athene had once wondered how much like a fish he had looked. Was he a shark—or a simple-seeming goggle-eyed cod? She hoped that her fish would be handsome, good and kind as well as rich and titled—which might be asking rather a lot, but one ought always to aim for the highest…

Naturally she would not allow either her mother or Mrs Tenison to guess at her true reason for accepting this somewhat surprising offer: she would be as good and demure and grateful as a poor young lady could be. Consequently, when they were both invited to the Tenisons’ to be informed of the details of her employment, Mrs Tenison thought that Miss Athene Filmer had gained a quite undeserved reputation for being outspoken and downright in her manner.

Emma, of course, was delighted. Her face shone with pleasure when Athene and her mother were shown into the Tenisons’ drawing-room, and for once she acted impulsively.

“Oh, Athene!” she exclaimed, running for ward to take her friend’s hand. “You cannot know how pleased I am that you have agreed to come with us! I shall not feel frightened of anything if you are standing by my side!”

“Come, come, Miss Tenison,” said her mother coldly, “that is no way to behave. Thank your friend quietly and in a proper fashion. Remember also that she is to be your companion, almost a chaperon, not your bosom bow, so you will address her as Miss Filmer. You, and only you, are to be presented to the Prince Regent. I trust that you understand what your proper place will be, Miss Filmer?”

Athene bowed submissively. “Oh, indeed, Mrs Tenison. I am to accompany Miss Emma as her support, not her equal in any way.”

“But I shall allow you to call me Emma in private,” exclaimed her daughter eagerly. “After all, we were friends at school, were we not?”

“True,” said Mrs Tenison, still cold, “but you will not refer to that fact in public. I have called this meeting today in order to inform Miss Filmer of her duties, and to make arrangements for her wardrobe to be made in the village before we leave. You, Emma, will have a small number of dresses run up in Northampton, but your best toilettes will be ordered from a London modiste when we reach there.”

It was quite plain, thought Athene, that Mrs Tenison intended her to have no illusions about the humble nature of her post in London. This judgement was immediately reinforced when Mrs Tenison added, “If you have any reservations about accepting my offer, Miss Filmer, pray raise them now. We must not start out on a false note.”

“No, indeed, Mrs Tenison,” agreed Athene, dodging her mother’s rueful glances in her direction, while Mrs Tenison continued to reinforce her subordinate position. “I quite understand the terms of my employment.”

“I hope you also understand,” said Mrs Tenison, “that other than providing you with suitable clothing and bed and board, I am not offering you any money for your services. Your reward is to visit London in the height of the Season as the companion of a young lady of good family.”

She did not, thought Athene cynically, refer to her daughter as an heiress. An heiress who was looking for a husband with a fortune and a title. While the Tenisons were not enormously rich, Emma would be inheriting £15,000, enough to attract at least a baronet—or a Viscount if she were lucky. She also had the possibility of inheriting further wealth from a maiden aunt.

Without waiting for an answer Mrs Tenison turned to Mrs Filmer. “I trust that you, too, mad am, are happy with the splendid opportunity which I am offering your daughter.”

That gentle lady cast another agonised glance at Athene. She was as charmingly pretty and withdrawn as Mrs Tenison was handsome and forthright. A stranger to the room would have thought that Emma was her daughter and Athene Mrs Tenison’s.

Of course, she was not happy—but how could she tell Mrs Tenison that? For was not Athene’s patron the leader of local society in the village of Steep Ride, whose word was law, who had the ear of the parson at Abbot Quincey and the assorted nobility and gentry of the district around Steepwood?

“If that is what Athene wishes…” she began hesitantly.

“Then that’s settled,” said Mrs Tenison loudly and sweepingly taking poor Mrs Filmer’s reply for granted.

She rang the bell with great vigour and demanded the tea board of the servant who answered. She had heard that some members of the fashionable world had been drinking tea in the afternoon instead of after dinner and had decided to lead the fashion as well.

No need to allow her two humble dependants to know how much it pleased her to have gained a companion on the cheap while appearing to be conferring a favour on them!



“Truly remarkable, m’lord!” enthused Hemmings, the valet of Adrian Drummond, Lord Kinloch. “Between us we have achieved a nonpareil!”

He was referring to his employer’s cravat which, after several perilous minutes, he had managed to tie in one of the latest modes. Adrian, not sure that he was totally satisfied with Hemmings’s masterpiece, swung round to show it off to his cousin, Nick Cameron, who was seated in an armchair, watching the pantomime which Adrian made of preparing himself for the day.

“What do you think, Nick?” he asked anxiously. “Will it do?”

If Adrian was tricked out almost beyond current fashion in his desire to be recognised as one of London society’s greatest pinks, Nick showed his contempt for such frivolities by dressing as casually as though he were back at home in the Highlands of Scotland—a country which Adrian had not visited for many years.

“Who,” Adrian always declaimed theatrically when asked why he had never returned to his family’s place of origin since he had left it when little more than a boy, “would wish to be stranded in such a wilderness?”

Now Nick put his head on one side and said in a voice as considered as though he were being asked a serious question about the current state of the war in Europe, “Do you really want my honest opinion, Adrian?”

“Indeed, Nick. I would value it.”

“Then I wonder why you spend so much of your time worrying about the exact way in which a large piece of cloth is arranged around your neck. Would not a simple bow suffice? And also save you a great deal of heartache.”

Adrian said stiffly, for once reminding Nick of the difference in their social standing, “It is all very well for you to ignore the dictates of society, but I have a position to keep up. It would not do for me to go around dressed like a game-keeper.”

“I scarcely look like one,” murmured Nick, examining his perfectly respectable, if somewhat dull, navy-blue breeches, coat, simple cravat and shining boots from Lobbs. “But I do take your point. The Earl of Kinloch must present himself as the very maypole of fashion.”

There had been a time when the two young men had been boys together when such a set-down from Nick would have had them rolling on the ground in an impromptu battle: Adrian struggling to make Nick take back the implied insult and Nick striving to justify it. Afterwards they would rise, shake hands and remain friends. Nick had a bottom of good sense which Adrian always, if dimly, respected and on many occasions had saved the pair of them from the wrath of their seniors.

Hemmings said helpfully, “I think, m’lord, that a little tweak to the left would improve what might already be seen as satisfactory, but which would make it superb. Allow me.”

Adrian turned round; Hemmings duly tweaked. Adrian, admiring the result in the mirror, said to Nick, “There, that is exactly the sort of adjustment which I was asking you to supply. A fellow cannot really see it for himself—he takes his own appearance for granted.”

“True,” said Nick lazily. “May I ask why you are so bent on displaying yourself to your best advantage today?”

“I’m driving us to Hyde Park, of course. There, one must be seen to be caring of one’s appearance, as you would allow, I am sure.”

“We have been to the park before, but seldom after such a brouhaha. May one know why?”

Adrian signalled to Hemmings that, his work over, he might leave, and came and sat opposite his cousin. This was a somewhat difficult feat since he chose to wear his breeches so tightly cut that sitting down became almost perilous. On the other hand the breeches showed off a pair of splendid legs—the whole point of the exercise.

“The truth is,” he said, “that my mother has been besieging me again about marriage. She is becoming so wearisome on the subject that I fear that I must give way and oblige her. She does have a point in that I am the last of the Kinlochs and when I pop off there will be no one left to assume the title if I don’t oblige. I intend to look over all the available heiresses who possess some sort of beauty. I couldn’t marry an ugly woman, however rich, because if I did I shouldn’t be able to oblige Mama over the business of offspring. My wife must be as attractive as my dear Kitty. A pity that I can’t marry her—no difficulty about offspring, then.”

“My dear Kitty’ was Adrian’s ladybird, whom he had set up in rooms in the fashionable end of Chelsea and to whom he was as loyal as though she were his wife. A great deal more loyal, in fact, than many members of the aristocracy were to their legitimate wives.

“Mmm,” said Nick gravely, suppressing a desire to laugh at this artless confession. “I do see your point. Very well, I will come with you and help you to make a list of all those young ladies whom you might consider eligible.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Adrian. “I knew that you would be able to assist me if you put your mind to it.”

He rose. “Tallyho and taratantara! Let’s make a start, then. The sooner I find a wife the sooner Mama will cease to badger me.”

“I would point out,” offered Nick, slipping an arm through his cousin’s, “that the Season has barely started and all the new beauties who will be on offer have not yet arrived. I shouldn’t be too hasty, if I were you.”

“There is that,” agreed Adrian happily. “Besides, what about you, Nick? Shall you join me in this exercise? I know that your parents never badger you about providing Strathdene Castle with an heir, but you really should, you know. After all, it’s years since that wretched business with Flora Campbell—time to forget it. Perhaps I could badger you. It’s time I badgered you about something. You have had your own way with me for far too long.”

“Badger away,” said Nick easily, refusing to rise to Adrian’s comment about Flora. “I am quite happy to remain single. I’ve never yet met the woman I would care to live with—or whom I could trust—but who knows, this Season might be different.”

He didn’t really believe what he was saying. “That wretched business with Flora Campbell’ had inevitably, and permanently, coloured all his feelings about women of every class, but it would not do to tell Adrian that. What he would do was look after Adrian now that the inevitable fortune-hunters were circling round to secure him as a husband for their daughters.

All in all they were as unalike as two men could be. Nick was dark, dour, clever and cynical; Adrian was bright, fair, trusting and relatively simple-minded. Their only resemblance lay in their height: they were both tall. Adrian had once said in a rare fit of understanding, “If I were King, I’d appoint you Prime Minister, Nick. We’d make a rare team.”

So they would, Nick had thought. They were closer than brothers and nothing had yet come between them. Now, he slipped an arm through Adrian’s and they walked to the stables where Adrian’s new and splendid two-horse curricle was waiting.




Chapter One


“For goodness sake, Emma, do stand up straight,” hissed Mrs Tenison at her daughter. “Do not hang your head. Take Athene as your model. She at least is aware of the proper carriage of a gentlewoman.”

“I’ll try, Mama,” faltered Emma, “but you know how much I dislike crowds.”

“Enough of such whim-whams,” commanded Mrs Tenison severely. “Be ready to curtsey to your hostess when you reach the top of the stairs. And you, Athene, remember to stand a little to our rear and refrain from drawing attention to yourself.”

“Of course, Mrs Tenison,” said Athene submissively.

They were at Lady Leominster’s ball which, although it was always held in mid-April, was the first truly grand event of the Season when everyone who was anyone had finally arrived in London, and everyone who was anyone would be present at it. The Tenisons had previously attended, under the wing of Lady Dunlop, who accompanied them everywhere, several minor functions where they had met no one of any consequence and all of the young gentlemen present appeared to be already married.

Emma was looking modestly charming, but provincial, in her pale pink gauze dress, made in Northampton. She was wearing on her blonde curls a wreath of red silk rosebuds nestling amid their pale green leaves. Her jewellery was modest: a pearl necklace and two small pendant pearl earrings. Mrs Tenison possessed enough good sense to realise that the famous Tenison parure made up of large emeralds surrounded by diamonds would have appeared garish if worn by her delicate-looking daughter. The misery of it was that they would merely have served to enhance Athene’s looks had she been entitled to wear them.

She had also made sure that Athene would not diminish Emma by having her attired in a dark grey, high-necked silk dress of even more antique cut than Emma’s. Finally to extinguish her, as though she were an over-bright candle which needed snuffing, Athene had been made to wear a large linen and lace duenna’s cap which covered her beautiful dark hair and hid half of her face. As a final gesture to remind Athene of her subordinate position, her hair had been scraped so tightly back from her face, and bound so severely, that its deep waves had disappeared and would not have been seen even without the ugly cap.

Athene had borne all this with patience, since it was the only way in which she would ever be able to attend anything half so grand as the Leominsters’ ball. Her party was surrounded by all the greatest names in the land on their long and slow walk up the grand staircase. Mr and Mrs Tenison had already spoken to several cousins, including their most grand relative of all, the Marquis of Exford.

Athene liked Mr Tenison. Unlike his wife he always spoke to her kindly, and when he had found her reading in the library of his London house shortly after they had arrived in town he had been pleased to discover that, unlike Emma and Mrs Tenison, she had a genuine interest in its contents.

He had taken to advising her on what to read, and had provided her with a book-list of recommended texts. On those afternoons when Emma and her mother visited friends and relatives, leaving Athene behind, since her guardianship and support was not needed on these minor social occasions, he enjoyed listening to her opinion of her latest excursion into the world of learning. He had already discovered that she had a good grasp of Latin and had lamented to him that ladies were not supposed to learn Greek.

Today, when they had been alone together in the drawing-room before the Tenisons had set off for Leominster House in Piccadilly he had said, “Good gracious, my dear Miss Filmer. Is there really any need for you to wear anything quite so disfiguring as your present get-up?”

Athene had lowered her eyes. She had no wish to provoke the unnecessary battle which would follow any attempt at intervention on her behalf by Mr Tenison. More than that, she was already aware that he always lost such encounters. Worldly wisdom also told her that Mrs Tenison might become suspicious of her husband’s intentions towards her if he chose to become too openly friendly with the unconsidered Miss Filmer.

“It is important,” she said quietly, “that I do not attempt to outshine my dear little Emma in any way, nor lead any gentleman to imagine that I am present in London in order to look for a husband, since I have no dowry. My duty is to look after her and give her the courage to enjoy herself in a crowded room. You must know how distressed she becomes whenever she is in a crowd.”

He had nodded mournfully at her. “Yes, I am well aware of why my wife has asked you to accompany us, but I cannot say that I quite approve of you being made to look twice your age.”

“That is part of the bargain to which I agreed,” said Athene, astonished at her own duplicity and at her ability to play the humble servant so successfully. “I beg of you not to trouble yourself on my account.”

“So be it, if that is what you wish,” he had said, and his wife’s entrance, towing along a reluctant Emma who was suffering from a severe case of stage-fright at the prospect of being among so many famous people, had put an end to the conversation.

Now, looking around the huge ballroom, aglow with light from a myriad of chandeliers beneath which splendidly dressed men and women talked, walked and danced, Athene felt like the man in the old story who said that the most amazing thing about the room in which he found himself was that he was in it.

Stationed as she was, standing behind the Tenisons, who were of course, all seated, she wondered distractedly how she was to begin her own campaign. It was going to be much more difficult than she had imagined. No doubt in his early days Napoleon Bonaparte himself must have had such thoughts, but look where he had ended up—as Emperor of France!

Well, her ambition was not so grand as his, and she would be but a poor thing if she made no efforts to attain it. Perhaps in the end it would all be a matter of luck, and occasionally giving luck a helping hand. Yes, that was it.

One thing, though, was plain. Tonight there was no lack of young and handsome men, many of whom were giving young girls like Emma bold and assessing looks—doubtless wondering how large their dowry was and whether they were worth pursuing. Thinking about dowries made her more than ever conscious that not only did she not possess one, but she also had the disadvantage of ignoble birth to overcome—if anyone ever found that out that she was illegitimate, that was.

To drive away these dreary thoughts she peered around the room from beneath her disfiguring cap, trying to discover if there was anyone present whom she might find worth pursuing.

There were a large number of men of all ages in uniform—was that where she ought to look for a possible husband, or should she try for one of the many beaux present? Perhaps an old beau might be more of an opportunity for her than a young one? The very thought made her shudder.

Emma looked over her shoulder at her and said plaintively, “I wish that you were sitting beside me, Athene. I should not feel quite so sick.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs Tenison robustly. “You ought to be on your highest ropes at being here at all. Besides, I think that you may already have been found a partner. Cousin Exford expressly told me that he would introduce us to some suitable young men and here he comes with two splendid-looking fellows.”

Emma gave a small moan at this news. Athene, however, turned her grey eyes on the approaching Marquis of Exford and his companions to discover whether Mrs Tenison’s description of them was at all apt.

Well, one of them, at least, was splendid. He was quite the most beautiful and well-dressed specimen of manhood she had ever seen, being blond, tall and of excellent address. The young man with him, however, could scarcely be described as splendid-looking in any way: formidable was a better word. He was tall, but he was built like a bruiser—as Athene had already learned boxers were called. He was as dark as his friend was fair, his face was strong and harsh, rather than Adonis-like, and his hair and eyes were as black as night.

Indeed, Athene found herself murmuring, “Night and day.”

Mr Tenison overheard her and, turning his head a little in her direction, remarked in a voice equally low, “Acute as ever, my dear—but which is which?”

This cryptic remark would have set Athene thinking if the Marquis had not already begun his introductions when the Tenison party stood up. Athene, already standing, wondered what piece of etiquette was demanded from her which would acknowledge the superior social standing of the Marquis and his guests. A small bob of the head might suffice, so she duly, and immediately, bobbed.

The slow dance of formalities began. It appeared that the fair young man was Adrian Drummond, Lord Kinloch, from Argyll, and that his companion was Mr Nicholas Cameron of Strathdene Castle in Sutherland. Emma blushed and stammered at them. The lowly companion was introduced as an afterthought. Nick and Adrian had spent the early part of the evening discreetly inspecting those young women present whom they had not seen before. As usual they had found little to please them. Nick indeed had gone so far as to mutter to Adrian, “I don’t think much of the current crop of beauties if this is the cream of it.”

Adrian had replied dolefully, “Lord, yes. Mother is going to be disappointed again. Not one of them is a patch on Kitty.”

His cousin could not but agree with him, and when their mutual relative, the Marquis of Exford, had come up to them saying enthusiastically, “There’s a pretty little filly here tonight that I think you two rogues ought to meet. That is, if you’re both determined to marry, which Kinloch here says that you are,” Nick had groaned, “Let him speak for himself—I’m in no great hurry to acquire a leg-shackle.”

Exford smiled mockingly. “They’re taking bets in the clubs that both of you will be hooked by the Season’s end. If you really meant what you said, Cameron, I’ll lay a few pounds on you not being reeled in. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Nick was not sure that he cared for being the subject of gossip and bets made by bored and light-minded men. Adrian, however, had smirked a little, much as he was now doing at Emma.

“Charmed to make your acquaintance,” he was saying, and he was not being completely untruthful. She was after all one of the best of the poor crop which he had so far encountered, being blonde and pretty if a touch pale. He thought that if he married her, providing himself with an heir was not going to be too difficult a task. Exford had also told him on the way over that she had a useful, if not a grand, portion.

Not of course, that that mattered overmuch. Owning half of Scotland—only the Duke of Sutherland was richer than Adrian—meant that he was able to indulge his fancy where a bride was concerned.

Athene realised from Emma’s flutterings that she was finding this gorgeous specimen overwhelming: he was so different from the callow young men whom she had met at Assembly dances at home. When he bent down from his great height and said softly, “I am already claimed for the first few dances, Miss Tenison, but I should be enchanted if you would stand up with me in the quadrille,” she went an unlovely scarlet, looked frantically first at Athene and then at her beaming mama, before saying, “You do me too great an honour, Lord Kinloch.”

“Not at all,” he swiftly, and gallantly, replied. “It is you who are doing me the honour, Miss Tenison.”

At this, Emma blushed again and agreed to stand up with him. Satisfied, Adrian said, still gallant, “You will forgive me, I trust, if I leave you now. I must find my partner for the next dance. I shall be sure to visit you in good time for ours.”

Nick said to him when they strolled away to find their partners, “I thought that she was going to faint when you asked her to dance. Are you sure that you wish to pursue such a shy creep-mouse? I will allow that she is pretty enough for you, but she would not be my choice for a wife.”

“Oh, I like ’em shy,” said his cousin, “while you, you dog, like them talkative and striking—or in need of assistance in some way. I half-thought that you might have offered the companion a turn on the floor—it must be a great bore to stand up all night watching out for her charge.”

“You mean grey-eyed Pallas,” said Nick. “One can only just detect the colour of Miss Filmer’s eyes under that horrendous cap. She has a good figure, though, and by the cut of it she is not much older than her charge. Odd, that.”

“Pallas?” queried Adrian, puzzled. “I thought that Emma’s father said that her name was Athene.”

Nick laughed. It was patent that if Adrian had learned anything about the mythology of the ancient Greeks while he was at Oxford he had promptly forgotten it. “Athene was the goddess of wisdom in the ancient world,” he said, “and one of her names was grey-eyed Pallas. She had an owl as an attendant, too. I wonder if Miss Filmer sports one.”

“Should think not,” complained Adrian, “not much use at a ball, owls. Nor at the theatre, either,” he added as an afterthought. “You do come out with some weird things, Nick.”

Behind them Mrs Tenison was busily reproaching Emma for being so backward in welcoming Lord Kinloch’s advances.

“I wonder at you, child, I really do. A handsome young man of great fortune makes a fuss of you and all that you can do is blush and stutter. Here is your great chance. Be sure to talk to him if he chooses to talk to you, and if he wishes to meet you again then by all means accept any invitation he cares to make.”

“But I really do feel sick, Mama,” faltered Emma. “It is very hot in here—and he is so…so…”

She wanted to say that Adrian frightened her because he was like a prince in a fairy tale and surely he could not be interested in a country girl like herself.

Athene, listening to this, wondered why Mr Tenison did not defend his daughter a little. She thought wryly that if Lord Kinloch had asked her to dance with him she would have accepted his offer with alacrity—charming alacrity of course. While she felt sorry for Emma, she could not help feeling impatient with her. Now had the dark man, Nicholas Cameron, offered to stand up with her she could have understood her charge’s reluctance.

She had not liked the assessing way in which he had looked at them. He had even examined her carefully—not that he could tell what she really looked like beneath her appalling turn-out. Was it possible that this whole business was a great mistake? How in the world was she ever going to be able to charm anyone while standing like an ill-dressed scarecrow, mute behind her unkind patroness?

Emma said again, “I really do not feel very well, Mama,” to which her mother replied angrily, “Stuff, Miss Tenison, stuff!”

Mr Tenison put in a gentle oar. “Do you not think that you ought to take note of what our daughter is telling you, my dear?”

His wife turned on him angrily. “No, indeed, Mr Tenison. You ought to be aware of her whim-whams by now. It is time that she grew up. I do not hear Athene whining and wailing about her situation. If we give way to Emma every time she whimpers we might as well not have visited London at all.”

Mr Tenison subsided, and no wonder, thought Athene. He said not another word until Lord Kinloch returned with Nick in tow. He had cajoled him into offering the companion a turn on the floor. “I need to get to know the family better,” being the bait he had offered his cousin. “It would be as well to have the young dragon on my side.”

Nick had refrained from pointing out that judging by the dominant mother’s behaviour the whole family would be on his side if he began to court Emma so that there was no need to humour the companion. But for all his good looks and self-assurance Adrian was basically modest.

In any case the poet Burns had once written that “the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley”. Those of Adrian and Mrs Tenison certainly did. Adrian had scarcely had time to bow a welcome to Emma before she sprang to her feet, and face grey, fled from the ballroom, her hands over her mouth, wailing gently.

Mrs Tenison sprang to her feet also and charged after her. Athene was about to follow, but Mr Tenison now also standing exclaimed, “No!” with unusual firmness and held her back. “Her mother must care for her since it was she who has ignored her pleas for help.”

Adrian was completely nonplussed by this sudden turn of events which left him stranded on the edge of the ballroom floor, the centre of curious eyes. Nick had not yet had the opportunity to ask Miss Filmer to join him in the dance, nor was he to be allowed to do so.

With great address Mr Tenison sought to smooth over the unhappy situation created by Lord Kinloch’s sudden loss of his partner, by saying, “I am sure, Lord Kinloch, that you would wish to make up your set in the dance by taking Miss Filmer for your partner instead of Miss Emma. I am sure that my wife—and Emma—would prefer you not to be discommoded.”

To his great credit Adrian said, “But, sir, what of your daughter? I should not like to entertain myself while she is ailing.”

“She rarely suffers these turns, but when she does they soon pass,” he said dryly. “Athene, you would consent to partner Lord Kinloch, would you not?”

Would she not! Much though she regretted Emma’s sudden collapse, Athene could not help but be delighted by this opportunity to get to know a rich and handsome young peer, a true Lord of All. Adrian hesitated a moment before offering her his hand, and saying, “I would be grateful if you would oblige me, Miss Filmer.”

Her answer was to curtsey to him, bowing her head a little when she did so—at which juncture her over-large cap fell forward on to the floor at Adrian’s feet.

Deeply embarrassed, she had retrieved it and was about to resume it when Mr Tenison took it gently from her hand.

“Come, come, my dear, you do not need to take that disfiguring object with you into the dance for it to trouble Lord Kinloch with its misbehaviour. Is not that so, sir?”

Adrian did not hear him. He was too busy staring at the vision of beauty which was Athene Filmer now that she had lost her cap. She had, after entering the ballroom, visited one of the cloakrooms on a pretext and had loosened her hair from its painful and disfiguring bonds—which was why the cap had fitted so badly that it had come adrift. Even the horrid grey dress could not dim her loveliness. She reminded Adrian of the beautiful female statues he had seen on the Grand Tour which he had taken with Nick.

Nick was also staring at her. Grey-eyed Pallas, indeed, the very goddess herself. No owl, of course, but a pair of stern and dominant eyes which she was turning on the moonstruck Adrian above a subtle smile.

Now, what did that smile mean? Nick was a connoisseur of the human face. When he was in Italy he had come across an old folio containing drawings which purported to show that facial expressions almost invariably revealed the true thoughts and motives of those who assumed them. Experience had taught him that these very often slight indicators usually told him something important about those who displayed them.

He didn’t gamble very often—he considered it a fool’s pastime—but his ability to read the faces of those against whom he played gave him a marked advantage over them whenever he chose to. In the case of the one beautiful young woman whom he had hoped to make his wife he had ignored some revealing signs, only to discover later that they had told him correctly of her lack of virtue—thus adding to his suspicion of women’s motives.

So, what was the true meaning of Miss Athene Filmer’s smile? It was not at all the smile of a woman dumb-struck by Adrian’s physical beauty. Miss Emma Tenison—and many other women—had worn that smile, but not this particular woman. Unless he were mistaken, it resembled nothing less than that of someone who has achieved something important: it was the smile of a man who was winning a game of tennis, or that of an angler who was about to land a large fish.

Oh, she was a dangerous creature, was she not? A true beauty with her dark hair, her grey eyes and her glorious figure…And what the devil was he doing, standing there, drooling over such a fair deceiver, even if she were named after the goddess of wisdom herself?

He shook himself to restore his usual cold self-possession and began to pay attention to Mr Tenison, who was asking him to sit by him for a while since both of them were now abandoned while Adrian cavorted with Pallas Athene on the dance floor. Nick was only too ready to oblige him. He wanted to know more about this unlikely beauty. At first he and Mr Tenison spoke of general matters: the Season, the news from Spain, the wretched business of Luddism in the Midland counties.

It seemed that his family, and their companion, lived not far from Steepwood Abbey, where, if Nick were not mistaken, there had recently been yet another major scandal concerning its owner, the debauched Marquis of Sywell. He had taken some nobody for a wife—presumably no one else would have him—and the nobody had suddenly, and mysteriously, disappeared. It had even been suggested that Sywell had done away with her, which, considering his reputation, was a not unreasonable assumption.

Since nothing further had occurred, either in the lady’s reappearing, or Sywell or someone else being accused of disposing of her, the scandal had finally died down, and would only be revived if there were any further, exciting revelations.

“Are you acquainted with Sywell, sir?” Nick asked. “Is he such a monster as rumour says he is?”

“Worse,” said Mr Tenison briefly. “No, I am not acquainted with him—who is? I am at present, however, disputing some boundary lines with him. He has seen fit to enclose a large portion of my lands, not that he intends to do anything useful with it, of course, just to be a thorough nuisance to yet another of his neighbours.”

Nick nodded; so Sywell was the miserable scoundrel which the on dit said he was, and a bad neighbour into the bargain. He thought that now was the time for him to find out a little about Pallas Athene. So, while he was apparently idly watching her busily charming his cousin whenever they were joined in the dance, he said, “Your daughter’s companion seems strangely young for her post. They are usually middle-aged, or elderly, dragons. This one seems scarcely older than her charge.”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr Tenison, responding to this apparently reasonable statement. “As you have seen, my dear little Emma is of a nervous disposition. My wife thought that the usual stern creature we might hire would overwhelm her. Fortunately she was able to find someone sensible who would guard her and whom Emma would not be afraid of but would obey. Miss Filmer was a few years ahead of Emma at her school and protected her from those who sought to bully her because of her timidity. It also meant that she was doing Miss Filmer a kindness by giving her the opportunity to come to London for the Season, something her widowed mother could not otherwise afford.”

If Mr Tenison was crediting his wife with a benevolence which she did not possess, Nick was not to know that. He had, however, learned something useful. The poor girl from the provinces had been handed an unlooked-for opportunity to make the acquaintance of one of the United Kingdom’s richest young men. Hence, of course, the smile.

He might be doing her a wrong but he thought not. His instincts, finely honed over the years, told him that he was correct, particularly when Mr Tenison added innocently, “Miss Filmer is a most unusual girl, since she is not only beautiful, but remarkably clever, something which my dear Emma is not. We have had some interesting conversations in which she has shown an intellectual maturity far beyond her years. I consider that we are fortunate to have her as Emma’s companion—something of that must surely rub off on her.”

Nick, from the little he had seen of Miss Emma Tenison, sincerely doubted that! Mr Tenison’s revelations told him that Athene was well-named, but only time would reveal whether or not he was judging her too harshly in believing her to be husband-hunting for herself.

On the dance floor Athene was busy doing exactly what he thought that she was about.

At first she was pleasantly demure, but when Adrian said in his cheerful way, “I do hope that you are allowed to enjoy yourself a little, Miss Filmer. Standing around keeping an eye on that timid little thing must be dull work.”

“Oh, Mr Tenison has been extremely kind to me,” she ventured prettily. “Did he not ensure that I have not lacked for a partner tonight by recommending me to you? I trust that by doing so when Emma had her crise de nerfs just now he has not discommoded you.”

Adrian, who was not at all sure that he knew what a crise de nerfs was, and hoped that it was not catching, said artlessly, “Dear Miss Filmer, I was absolutely charmed by my first sight of you when you lost your ugly cap, and was delighted to have you for a partner instead of the mouse.”

Suddenly aware that in being so gallant to Athene he had impolitely slighted her charge, he added hastily, “Not that I meant anything wrong about Miss Emma, not at all…” He rapidly ran down, aware that anything he said might make matters worse.

“Oh, quite,” said Athene. “Poor little thing, it is quite an affliction with her. Crowds always seem to depress her.”

“But not you, I’ll be bound,” offered Adrian. The dance temporarily parting them, he spent the next few moments thinking up compliments which would not offend and congratulating himself on having found a real beauty. No chance of not being able to provide Clan Drummond with the wanted heir if he married, and bedded, her!

By the time the dance ended Athene had managed to convey that if Lord Kinloch was charmed by her, she was charmed by him. She had given him the address of the Tenisons’ town house after he had informed her that he wished to further their acquaintance. He was not so stupid as to be unaware that the only way in which he could see more of Athene was by showing an interest in the mouse.

Or perhaps he could persuade Nick to appear to pursue the mouse whilst he cultivated Athene. On second thoughts that was not a good idea. Nick would never agree to deceive a woman by pretending to admire her. He was too stupidly honest for that.

Nick, meanwhile, was further cultivating Mr Tenison by discussing with him Plato and his notions about morality, until Mrs Tenison returned, a somewhat recovered Emma in tow.

“A drink of water with a little brandy in it has restored the dear child,” she announced, before looking around her to discover that Athene and Lord Kinloch were both missing.

“Where in the world has Filmer disappeared to, Mr Tenison? I trust that she is not ailing, too. That would be the outside of enough. Emma needs her protection.”

Mr Tenison allowed apologetically that he had suggested that Lord Kinloch having lost his partner, he might still enjoy his dance if Miss Filmer acted as a substitute for Emma.

“Indeed,” said Mrs Tenison frostily. She looked at Nick and decided that he would not do as a partner for Emma. He was not a lord, and she had never heard of him. He was not on the list of eligible young men which she and her sponsor, Lady Dunlop, had drawn up between them.

Nick was saved by the return of Adrian and Pallas Athene from asking Emma, to whom he had offered his chair, to be his partner in the next dance. Athene, delighted that Lord Kinloch was so obviously taken by her, adopted a suitably demure manner when he gallantly insisted on handing her to a chair instead of restoring her to her usual humble station behind the Tenisons. She had no wish to offend Mrs Tenison more than was necessary. If she were to do so she might find herself sent back to Northampton.

That lady took one look at her radiant face—so different from Emma’s pale one—and barked at her, “Where is your cap, Filmer? What have you done with it?”

To Athene’s amusement, Adrian, wounded a little on his beauty’s behalf, said tactlessly, “It fell off, madam, because it did not fit Miss Filmer properly, and she is not a dull old thing who needs to wear something to hide her lack of looks!”

If this reproach both pleased and amused Athene, it stung Mrs Tenison, who now had the task of placating the young man whom she had mentally marked down as a prospect for Emma.

“Oh, quite,” she said, while looking to her husband for guidance, something which she rarely did. “Most proper of you, Lord Kinloch. You may leave it off in future, Miss Filmer.”

Oh, so she was Miss Filmer now, was she? And Lord Kinloch had just saved her from the humiliation of wearing her dreadful cap. She had barely time to take in these two momentous concessions when she registered that Mr Cameron was looking at her with the oddest expression on his face. If Nick was experienced in the art of reading other people’s expressions well, Athene, who was a novice just acquiring this necessary skill, was already acute enough to grasp that, for some reason, Mr Nicholas Cameron did not approve of her.

Well, pooh, to that, he was not the man in whom she was interested, although judging by the manner in which the cousins spoke to one another it would be as well not to antagonise him.

She had scarcely had time to think this before she was astonished to find Nick bowing to her, and saying in his deep, gravel voice, quite unlike Lord Kinloch’s charming, light tenor, “I trust that you will do me the honour of standing up with me in the next dance, Miss Filmer.”

Here was another splendid opportunity to cement her new-found friendship with Lord Kinloch and all his hangers-on.

“I should be delighted, sir,” she replied, casting her eyes innocently down.

If she was not fooling herself in her pursuit of Adrian, neither was she fooling Nick. He could scarcely suppress a grin when he put out his hand to take her on to the floor.

“Athene,” he said to her charming profile. “Grey-eyed Pallas. May one ask if you own an owl as well?”

He wondered if she were educated enough to catch the allusion. Athene turned towards him, and if grey eyes could ever glitter, hers glittered. Conversation with Mr Cameron was obviously going to be of quite a different order from that with his cousin. She wondered what Mr Tenison had been saying to him.

She decided to be honest and not pretend charming innocence. “I only possess the name of the Greek goddess of wisdom, Mr Cameron, not her attributes. Owls are in short supply in our part of Northampton.”

“But not wisdom, I suppose. Tell me, does your young charge frequently suffer from these fits?”

There was something slightly cutting in his tone. They had reached their set, so she turned to face him before the dance began.

“They are not fits, Mr Cameron,” she told him coolly, “and I am sure that when you and Mr Tenison conversed he spoke to you of them. I am merely her companion, not her physician, but they are, I am sure, nervous only and when she becomes more confident will pass in time.”

“And do you intend to help her to be more confident, Miss Filmer? I would have thought that the presence of another young woman as much in command of herself as you seem to be might have the effect of distressing, rather than helping, her.”

“Then you thought wrongly again,” she told him, sure now by his tone of voice and his expression that he was her enemy, although why she could not imagine. “I happen to be able to comfort Miss Tenison. I have done so since we were at school together. It is others who have the opposite effect on her.”

She did not say, most of all her dominant mother, for that would have been neither proper nor polite. She was surprised that Mr Nicholas Cameron, who seemed a perceptive young man, had not noticed how much Emma’s mama extinguished her.

“We are,” she went on, “likely to make a spectacle of ourselves if we do not end our conversation immediately and ready ourselves for the dance as everyone else in our set has done.”

Oh, bravo, Miss Filmer, was Nick’s internal reaction to this. You are all and more what I thought you were: a resourceful adventuress on the make. One thing is also certain: cousin Adrian will be no match for such a determined creature as you are proving to be.

Later he was to ask himself why he felt such hostility to the mere idea that Athene Filmer would trap his cousin into marriage, but at the time he was not yet able to consider her, or her apparent wiles, dispassionately.

The dance passed without further conversation, leaving Nick to discover that Miss Filmer’s body, beneath her disfiguring grey gown, was as he had already supposed, as classically lovely as her face. He could not be surprised when, on the way home, his cousin Adrian spent the whole journey talking enthusiastically of Miss Filmer’s beauty and charm.

“A stunner,” he kept exclaiming. “A very stunner—don’t you agree, Nick?”

Yes, Nick did agree, but although he also distrusted Athene’s motives in pursuing his cousin, he didn’t think that it was yet politic to be critical of her. Like many not over-bright young men, Adrian could be extraordinarily obstinate, and Nick knew from experience that to oppose him at this point would make him even more determined to admire this new beauty to grace the London scene.

All he said was, mildly, “I wonder who her people are? Listening to Mrs Tenison I gained the impression that she would not have approved of a total nobody being her daughter’s friend and companion.”

Adrian snorted. “She’s a poor little creep-mouse, the daughter, isn’t she? Not a bit like my Athene.”

My Athene! Goodness, thought Nick, amused, one dance and an hour of her company and he’s really taken the bait to the degree that he thinks of her as his.

“I can’t remember you having been so besotted with a female before on such a short acquaintance,” he ventured. “We really know nothing of her.”

“Only that she’s in good society, is beautiful and says jolly things,” riposted Adrian. “I noticed that you were chattering away with her before the dance started. What in the world did you find to talk about if you weren’t impressed by her looks and address?”

“Owls,” said Nick gravely. “Owls. Apparently they are rather scarce in the wilds of Northampton.”

“Owls!” exclaimed Adrian. “That’s not what pretty girls like to talk about. If that’s all you could think of to interest her, it’s no wonder she didn’t impress, or charm you.”

Nick refrained from telling him that he didn’t think that Miss Athene Filmer was trying very hard to charm him, and that he, far from charming Miss Filmer himself, had been rather short with her.

Yes, the less said the better. Perhaps Adrian would grow bored with having to keep up mentally with the clever creature which he judged Miss Filmer to be. He would be far better off with the creep-mouse who would make no intellectual demands on him and who had spent the rest of the evening staring adoringly at him, but was unhappily aware that Lord Kinloch only had eyes and ears for her beautiful companion.

In the meantime he would keep careful watch over them both, for he felt certain that the besotted Adrian would be chasing as hard as he could the beauty who he hoped would rescue him from his mother’s reproaches by consenting to marry him and thus give Kinloch lands an heir.




Chapter Two


“If you are to accompany us to Madame Félice’s, Filmer, then you must wear your cap, but you may leave it off when you go into society since it seems to distress Lord Kinloch.”

Of all things Mrs Tenison wished to please Lord Kinloch. He was quite the grandest young man who had been presented to Emma since she had arrived in London, and Mrs Tenison took his wish to be allowed to call on them as soon as possible to mean that he was showing an interest in her daughter.

Lady Dunlop had told Mrs Tenison that if she wished Emma to cut a dash in London society then she must be dressed by the fashionable modiste, Madame Félice. Mrs Tenison had seen at once that Emma’s clothes, whilst considered charming in the provinces, were by no means fit for a young woman who wished to be admired when she was presented to the Prince Regent.

Madame Félice’s shop was in Bond Street, that Mecca of the rich and the pretentious. The lady herself was famous not only for her taste, but for her beauty. She had arrived from nowhere: the on dit was that she must have a rich protector, because only that could explain how she had managed to find the money, not only to buy such prestigious premises, but also to furnish them in the best possible taste.

Athene was walking sedately behind Emma, her mama, and Lady Dunlop, who was again acting as their patron in this matter, for Madame Félice, it appeared, did not make clothes for everyone, but chose her customers carefully. She could only look around her and marvel since, except for a few long mirrors, strategically placed, they might have been in one of the drawing-rooms of the ton. A pretty young woman showed them to a long sofa before which was an occasional table graced by a bowl of spring flowers. There was no sign of either Madame Félice or the clothes which she designed and sold. Their escort offered them lemonade from a silver pitcher before departing to notify her of their arrival.

“The workrooms are at the back,” said Lady Dunlop reverently. She was another large woman, like Mrs Tenison and possessed, if possible, even more address. She was the widow of a one-time Lord Mayor of London and was consequently immensely rich. “You will understand that French is Madame’s first language but she speaks tolerable English. Ah, here she comes.”

Madame was as elegant as one might have expected. Her day gown was pale blue in colour, high-waisted and classically cut. Its small ruffled linen collar was tied with a simple bow. Emma, who had been a little worried that she might be expected to wear something outré, was relieved to see that Madame’s toilette was of the plainest. Indeed, she would have worn it with pleasure herself. For her part, Athene could only wish that Madame was going to design clothes for her.

It was only when she drew near, greeting them all with a bow when they rose to meet her, that Athene had the oddest sensation that she had met Madame before. This was of course, a nonsense, since Lady Dunlop had told them that Madame had come from Paris via the Low Countries some time during the last two years, but had only recently set up in Bond Street.

“Pray be seated,” she told them in prettily accented English, before seating herself in a high-backed chair after Lady Dunlop had carried out the necessary introductions. “I understand that it is Miss Tenison I am to dress. It will be both a challenge and a pleasure, since I must retain her charming innocence and yet create something which will be sure to attract attention. A difficult feat, that, but I am sure that it can be managed.”

Her eyes roved over Athene when she added, “I am not required to dress Miss Filmer also?”

Mrs Tenison, having beamed at Madame’s description of Emma, now bridled a little at the mention of Athene.

“By no means. I fear that Miss Filmer cannot afford the fees you will be charging.”

“A pity,” said Madame sweetly. “No matter, we will concentrate on Miss Tenison’s requirements.”

She proceeded to do so. A bevy of young women were summoned and came in carrying pattern books, bolts of silk, satin and gauze, lengths of ribbon and made-up silk posies of a kind which she said that she would create for Emma. A small sketchbook and pencil was handed to Madame, who began to draw very rapidly a series of elegant garments for Emma. She showed the sketches to Emma and asked her opinion of the style and the colours which she had chosen.

Mrs Tenison, always dominant, objected to this as firmly as politeness would allow, saying, “I would prefer, if you please, to select my daughter’s coming-out gowns myself. I am not sure that she is necessarily the best judge of what will suit her.”

Emma, who had been enjoying herself immensely, and had once or twice called on Athene to help her, hung her head a little at this and looked frantically first at Madame and then at Athene, who was the amused spectator of Madame’s manipulations and who had also just remembered where she had seen the modiste before.

From the moment that Madame had begun to draw, Athene had recognised her. She knew at once where it was that she had last seen that intent and highly concentrated expression and who had worn it.

Yet, could it be possible? Could it be that Madame Félice, so fine, so polished, who had recently arrived in London from Paris via the Low Countries, was in reality harum-scarum, fly-away, country-bred, ill-dressed Louise Hanslope with whom she had played as a child? Louise, the daughter of a mysterious never-seen French émigré, who had been adopted by the Hanslopes in place of the child it seemed that they could never have.

Later she had been sent away to Northampton to be apprenticed to a dressmaker, and she and Athene had corresponded with one another even though Louise was some years older than she was.

Now she knew that the lonely child which Louise had been had taken delight in befriending another lonely and unhappy little girl. Later when she had returned to become the Marchioness of Sywell their friendship had been renewed and the two of them had roamed the Abbey grounds enjoying its neglected, but wildly beautiful, scenery.

The last time she had seen Louise before she disappeared had been at the old Rune Stone, set in a stand of trees which was always known as the Sacred Grove. They had been painting it from different angles and she had looked up to see that Louise was lost in the world which she was creating on paper. Athene’s own efforts, although creditable, showed nothing of the great talent for colour and design which Louise’s possessed and which she was now turning to good account in her profitable business.

Perhaps she was mistaken. Athene thought not. She was sure that she, and she alone, had discovered that the missing Marchioness was not dead, not starving in a garret, but was a rich and successful modiste serving the wives of the great ones of the world of society!

And now little Louise Hanslope was saying smoothly to Mrs Tenison, “You may offer me your opinion, madame, but I must remind you that it is Miss Emma who will wear my clothes and she will not be happy in them if they are not to her taste.”

“But they are so extremely simple,” protested Mrs Tenison.

“It is charming innocence that I am dressing, remember?” countered Madame Félice. “If you are not happy with what I am proposing then I suggest that you go elsewhere,” and she began to close her drawing-book.

Lady Dunlop shook her elegantly coiffed head at Mrs Tenison, who said hastily, “Oh, no, madame, I am in your hands. Do as you think fit.”

Athene could scarce repress a laugh at this abject surrender by the tyrant. She gave a little cough, while Emma, released for the first time from the bondage of her dominant mama, said eagerly, “Oh, Madame Félice, I have the most splendid notion. Would it be possible for all my gowns, however they are cut and in whatever material, to be white in colour? I think that it would suit me, particularly if you make me some sprays of lily-of-the-valley, white crocuses and small freesias to wear with them. I have always wanted to wear white.”

It was the first occasion on which Emma had ever asserted herself, and Athene could not fault her taste, so far removed from the dull and often garish toilettes which had been her mother’s choice.

“But…” began Mrs Tenison, only to meet Madame’s stern eye, and mutter, “Oh, very well.”

After that, all went swimmingly. Madame and Emma, between them, finished with a splendidly simple wardrobe. Athene, still amused, managed to catch Madame’s eye when she was inspecting a length of white silk which one of her minions was holding against Emma. Since she was out of Mrs Tenison and Lady Dunlop’s line of sight she indulged herself in a daring wink, which had been one of her and Louise’s jokes in the old days. Madame did not wink, but gave her a slow and meaningful smile.

Oh, yes, she had not been wrong! She had found her old friend, strangely changed. Now all that was left was to renew their friendship, although how she was to do so in front of the two harpies, as Athene naughtily thought of them, might be difficult.

She had not allowed for Madame Félice’s resourcefulness. Before their session was over, that lady, on some pretext, retired to the workrooms at the back of the shop, returning a little later with some small sprays of white silk flowers, already made up as specimens of what she could do, and a pile of paper. After a short interval she handed Athene the paper to hold, having first made sure that none of her minions was near her.

“You will oblige me, I am sure,” she said to the poor companion who had stood, unheeded, throughout the lengthy morning. “They are some sketches I have made which might it amuse you to look through while we conclude our business.”

Her French accent was stronger than ever when she came out with this. Athene duly obliged her by taking the papers and looking through them.

The first one was, as Madame had said, a drawing of a walking dress which would have suited Athene down to the ground, as the saying had it. Beneath it Madame had written, “You would look well in this.”

The second paper had no sketch drawn on it. Instead a short note in Madame’s fine hand said, “I see that my old friend is not deceived. Is it possible that our friendship could be renewed? Surely the slave has some time of her own and could visit one who is a slave no longer?”

The note was unsigned, but its message was plain. Madame Félice, or rather, Louise, the Marchioness of Sywell, wished to meet her, away from her charge and the harpies.

Unobserved, Athene spent the remainder of the visit looking through the rest of the papers, which were all drawings of the most elegant gowns, coats, bonnets, gloves, and even parasols. Occasionally, she showed one to Lady Dunlop to admire. Mrs Tenison was too busy agonisedly watching Emma being fitted out in what she privately considered to be the most unsuitable clothing to be able to take note of anything else.

Eventually everyone but Mrs Tenison was satisfied and prepared to leave. Athene handed the papers back to Madame Félice, saying, “My thanks, Madame. They were most instructive and I shall be sure to follow your advice.”

Madame smiled sweetly and said, “I am delighted that I was able to offer you assistance. It has been a pleasure to dress Miss Emma—I think that she is someone who will improve when her confidence grows. I trust, Miss Filmer, that you will be of equal assistance to her.”

Athene nodded, guiltily realising that in her efforts to attract Lord Kinloch, far from helping Emma, she was taking his attention away from her! On the other hand, there would be many young men who would be only too happy to court Emma—or “make a leg at her,” as the current fashionable slang had it, so she was not really depriving her of anything serious.

Nevertheless, what her old friend had said had made her feel uncomfortable, and she tried to console herself with the thought that if she did not look after herself, no one else would.

She took that thought with her into the drawing-room that afternoon when Lord Kinloch—with his attendant cousin—paid his promised visit to them. She had already decided that during her one afternoon off she would visit Bond Street and renew her friendship with Louise—or rather Madame Félice as she must now think of her.

She wondered crossly whether Lord Kinloch ever went anywhere without his interfering shadow: she was unhappily aware of Nick’s sardonic eye on her, even though she sat, all prim and proper, a little away from the main company. She was not wearing her cap, for after some strong—and private—words between Mrs Tenison and her husband, she had been informed after nuncheon that she was to leave it off in future.

Adrian was on his high ropes at the prospect of seeing Athene again, although for form’s sake he had to address most of his conversation to the Tenisons.

“I have the most interesting news for you,” he announced jovially. “I have decided that now that I have acquired a curricle I shall waste no time in racing it to Brighton. I intend to make it known that I am ready to accept any wager from anyone.”

“A reasonable wager, I trust,” said Nick sardonically.

“Of course,” said Adrian grandly—although no such proviso had entered his head. “I am not so green as to waste my fortune on it.”

Nick refrained from pointing out that his cousin had had little or no practice in driving his new toy, and to race it before he was fully ready to do so might be unwise, if not to say dangerous.

It was left to Mr Tenison to say reflectively, “I believe that curricle racing is not without danger, Lord Kinloch. Only the other week two reckless young men were racing at full speed towards Brighton and found themselves side by side on the road in the way of a large cart being driven by a farm labourer. All three vehicles ended up in the ditch. One of the young men broke his arm and the other his leg.”

Athene could not resist asking, “What happened to the poor labourer?”

“History does not relate,” said Nick. “It dealt only with two feckless idiots, and had little to say on the matter of the one poor soul trying to earn a living and who had been deprived of the ability to do so.”

“I think,” said Adrian, “that you may safely rely on me not to do anything foolish.”

Nick, knowing Adrian’s cheerful, if not to say feckless, optimism, doubted that very much. But he did not wish to give his cousin a put-down before the Tenisons.

Emma, however, remarked anxiously, “It sounds very dangerous to me. I beg of you to take care, Lord Kinloch, if you engage in anything so adventurous.”

“It’s little more so than riding a horse,” declaimed Adrian, who had already had this argument with Nick and was determined not to be put off something which was so dear to his heart. “Lots of fellows have raced to Brighton without coming to grief.”

Athene privately thought that Adrian was hardly the man to succeed in a venture which needed both skill and judgement beyond the common run, but she decided to say nothing, until Nick came out somewhat provocatively with, “And you, Miss Filmer, what do you think of Lord Kinloch’s engaging in this tricky pastime?”

“That it is not for me to question his judgement in the matter, since I have not yet seen him driving his curricle. If and when he feels that he is ready to take on all comers, then we must respect his decision.”

Nick could not help thinking, his expression growing more sardonic than ever, that Miss Filmer ought to be a man and then her talent for tactful and double-dealing answers could be put to practical use. His respect for her intellect grew as rapidly as his dislike for her apparent duplicity!

“Bravo, Miss Filmer,” said Adrian, who was quite unaware of the nuances in Athene’s answer. “So happy to see that not all of my friends are killjoys. You will be sure to cheer me on when I do decide to race.”

“Indeed, Lord Kinloch.”

“Come, come,” he said, beaming around on them all, “since you are now my friends I must be Adrian to the ladies and Kinloch to you, sir,” he ended, addressing Mr Tenison.

Such gracious condescension was meat and drink to Emma’s mother. Unaware that Athene was M’lord’s real target and not Emma, she drowned him in effusive thanks, already thinking of the happy day when she would be able to speak of Emma to her friends as “My daughter, Lady Kinloch”. She had, however, already added Nick to her lengthy list of people whom she disliked.

Mr Tenison remarked dryly, “Nevertheless, Kinloch, I am bound to support Mr Cameron’s reservations about the wisdom of your trying to race after such a short period of practice.”

His wife said sharply, “It is just like you, Mr Tenison, to throw cold water over young people’s pleasures. I am sure that Lord Kinloch knows what he is doing. We shall certainly cheer you on whenever you do race you may be sure of that, m’lord!”

Conversation, which had been general, now became particular. Adrian addressed himself to the three women, while Mr Tenison quietly continued his conversation of the previous evening with Nick, which had been interrupted by Emma’s return.

“If the others would not consider it impolite, I would like to invite you to take a short turn in my library. I have a rare edition there of Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, of which we spoke last night and which you might like to inspect.”

Adrian, overhearing this, said benevolently, “By all means, sir. Take Nick to the library. Grubbing among the books will restore his high spirits.”

Nick said slowly, “If our hostess agrees…”

Mrs Tenison rapidly interrupted him. “By all means, Mr Tenison. We must keep our guests happy.”

She was delighted to learn that she and Emma—and Filmer, of course, but she didn’t count—were to be left alone with Adrian. She was even more delighted when Nick, the spirit of mischief moving in him, added, “On one condition, sir: that Miss Filmer accompanies us. I gather from something you said last night that she is something of a bookworm, too.”

Now, what’s his little game, thought Athene inelegantly, and furiously. Oh yes, I have it, he’s moving me from Adrian’s orbit so that he is compelled to concentrate on Emma, and not me.

There was no way, however, in which she could refuse such an offer, which was enthusiastically seconded by Mr Tenison who thought—wrongly—that it would be a great opportunity for Athene not to have to join in the vapid conversation which would surely follow when the only persons of sense were removed from the room.

Nick, a subtle smile on his face, held out his arm to what he knew was the reluctant Athene, who was compelled to present a smiling face to the world at being singled out for such an honour. He knew that on the way home Adrian would roast him mightily for removing Athene from a place where he could see and worship her from afar. After all, had she not virtually approved of his decision to race to Brighton when everyone else had been so dashed dispiriting over the matter?

Adrian would like to bet that if ladies were encouraged to race curricles Athene would be a splendid performer. The image of her urging her team on entranced him so much that he barely heard what the two Tenison women were saying to him. Or rather, Mrs Tenison, for Emma merely sat there, silently worshipping his handsome presence much as he had been worshipping Athene’s.

Athene, meanwhile, was listening to Nick and Mr Tenison talk about Burton, whose book she had not yet read although Mr Tenison had recommended it to her. He had fetched it from its shelf and laid it on the big map table which stood in front of the window for Nick to inspect it.

After a short—and enthusiastic—examination of it, while Athene stood by, Nick said, “I fear that we may be boring Miss Filmer.”

Athene returned, a trifle sharply, “Not at all. I find it most interesting to listen to Mr Tenison—he offers me an education which I would not otherwise have achieved.”

Mr Tenison smiled at this and murmured, “You see, sir, she is truly named Athene, and like the great Pallas herself no one could call her a bluestocking.”

“No, indeed,” agreed Nick. “Miss Filmer is neither plain nor noisy—a very model of rectitude.”

Athene could have hit him. She now knew him well enough to know that he was roasting her. Mr Tenison was taking Nick’s words at face value, and nodding vigorous agreement.

He removed the copy of Burton, reached down to a low shelf on which stood a run of giant folios, and lifted out one which he laid reverently on the table before opening it and saying to the pair of them, “I’m sure that you would find this splendid volume of great interest. It contains the most wonderful engravings of all the Greek gods, including Athene who is pictured here with her owl.”

That owl again! For the first time Nick and Athene exchanged a smile at its reappearance. The smile’s effect on them both was electric. Nick’s harsh face, which Athene had always thought of as sour, was strangely softened when the light of humour danced in his eyes. Its sternness disappeared, and his attraction grew as his smile widened. Athene’s face, too, changed. The touch of hauteur, which was the consequence of her feeling that she needed to defend herself in the face of a cruel and critical world, disappeared from it.

Each recognised in the other a similar understanding of the true nature of that world, and each of them was disconcerted to discover that the other possessed it, too. To cover their confusion both of them put forward a hand at the same time to point out something which interested them in the portrayal of the goddess—and their hands met.

The effect of this simple touch, coming as it did on the heels of the smile, surprised them both, since neither of them had experienced anything similar when they had danced together at the Leominsters’ ball. It was as though a fire ran through them. For a moment they were locked together in a universe where only the other existed.

Mr Tenison, unaware of their strange epiphany, or moment of understanding, continued to speak, taking his hearers’ silence for an appreciation of what he was showing them. Athene was the first to recover from the odd bodily sensations which touching Nick had induced. She wrenched her hand away and began to rub it, wondering why in the world she had responded in this strange manner to someone whom she disliked and who plainly disliked her.

Nick was in no doubt as to what had happened. Good God! Of all wretched things! He had fallen in lust with the siren who was chasing after his cousin! He was self-knowing enough to ask whether that was why he resented her so much—that he was jealous because he was not the object of her pursuit. No matter. He sternly told his unruly body to behave itself, for once he had had this dreadful thought arousal had not been long to follow.





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