Mary Nichols - Lady Lavinia's Match

‘Do I need a reason? I heard you had arrived in town and decided to pay a call.’

‘A mere courtesy call, then. I will tell Stepmama you came. She is out shopping.’

‘I wanted to see you too. I have something to show you.’

‘What is it?’ She turned from her work to face him and a spot of paint-stained water flew from her brush, narrowly missing his pantaloons.

He stepped back adroitly. ‘Vinny, put that brush down or you will ruin my clothes and then I shan’t tell you anything.’

She did as she was told while he picked up one of the cloths from the table and bent to clean the watery paint from the toe of his boot.

‘Come on, James, let me see.’

‘Go to the window.’

She hurried across the polished floor to one of a long row of windows that looked out over the street. The road was busy with the usual traffic of carriages and riders going about their business, but immediately below the window was the carriage James had arrived in, its pair of matched horses being held by a young urchin to whom he had given a copper or two. ‘Oh, James, a high-perch phaeton! Have you just bought it?’

‘Yes. Do you like it?’

‘Oh, I must look at it properly.’ She whipped off her apron and hurried from the room, down the grand staircase, across the tiled floor and out of the front door, followed by a smiling James.

‘My goodness,’ she said, stopping beside the phaeton. ‘Those wheels must be at least six feet high.’

‘So they are.’

‘But it is a horrid colour. Yellow and black is far too ostentatious. It’s the colour a newly rich industrialist would choose to flaunt his wealth.’

He laughed. ‘Probably because I bought if from a newly rich industrialist. He turned it over and his wife made him get rid of it, said it was dangerous.’

‘And do you think it is dangerous?’

‘Not in skilful hands. Would you like to come for a ride in it?’

‘Now?’

‘Why not? You can leave that painting for an hour or two, can’t you?’

Lavinia did not hesitate. She was always ready for mischief and the thought of parading in Hyde Park, head and shoulders above everyone else, amused her. ‘I will go and change. Wait for me in the drawing room. Ten minutes, no more.’ She was dashing back up the stairs to her bedroom before she finished speaking, leaving him to amble slowly into the drawing room to wait.

She was back within the stipulated time, dressed in a blue taffeta carriage gown and matching pelisse, her unruly curls tamed under a fetching straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons tied beneath her chin. That she should have been chaperoned did not cross her mind, or, if it did, was immediately dismissed on the grounds there was no room for more than two in the carriage; anyway, James was like a brother.

He helped her climb up into her seat, sprang up beside her, flicked the reins and the horses began to trot steadily towards Piccadilly.

‘It’s like being on top of the world,’ she said. ‘Papa had a high-perch once, but he didn’t keep it long. When he married Stepmama and little Freddie came along, he decided it was no longer a suitable conveyance. I only ever rode in it once; he said it was vulgar and unstable and he didn’t know why he had been persuaded into buying it.’

‘Perhaps I should not have asked you to accompany me until we had asked him.’

‘We could not.’ She paused, watching him skilfully negotiate the turn into Piccadilly. ‘He is gone to the Lords and like to be there all day. He is being asked to give his advice over the question of the Queen’s coronation, though I wonder at the haste. The Prince Regent—I mean the King, I keep forgetting—has been married to Caroline and living apart from her for years. Why has he left it until now to do something about her?’

‘Because, in case it has slipped your attention, my sweet, she has arrived back in England expecting to be crowned with him. And he is determined that will never happen.’

‘How is he going to prevent it?’

‘Divorce her, I suppose.’

‘But his behaviour has been every bit as bad as hers. Would he dare risk it?’

‘I suppose he thinks the risk worth taking. If he can divorce her, he might remarry and beget an heir.’

She laughed. ‘But he is too old and fat, surely?’

‘He might not think so. And who else is there? His brothers have not been exactly helpful in the matter of legitimate heirs, have they? Plenty of little Fitzes, but none the law can recognise.’

‘There’s the late Duke of Kent’s baby.’

‘Victoria, yes. But she’s a girl.’

‘So what?’ she said sharply. ‘The only reason women are considered inferior is because men have made them believe they are. And I am not the only one to think that. Stepmama believes it too, as you very well know.’

He laughed as they turned in at the gates of the park and turned along the carriage ride. ‘Vinny, are you looking for an argument?’

‘Not at all, unless you are dying to give me one, in which case—’

‘Argue with you! Never! It is more than my life is worth.’

‘Good, because I want you to let me drive.’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Why not? You know I am as good a whip as any man. All you need to do is hand over the ribbons.’ She reached out and laid her hand upon his, hoping he would relinquish the reins. He felt himself tense at her touch, but brought himself quickly under control.

‘No, Vinny. There are far too many people about and it would not be just you and me who might be hurt if you upset us.’

‘Very well,’ she conceded, knowing he was right. ‘We will come out very early one morning when the park is deserted and you shall let me try.’

‘Your papa would not allow it. Nor Little Mama, either.’

‘Then we will not tell them. Oh, go on, James, it will be fun and what harm can come of it when you are there to look after me?’ She looked up at him, dazzling him with her smile. ‘Will you?’

‘I will think about it. Now, I think you had better acknowledge Lady Willoughby before she reports to your mama that you cut her dead.’

From the height of her seat, Lavinia could look down on the occupants of the other carriage and smiling, she turned and bowed to her ladyship. From then on, she was kept busy bowing and bidding ‘good day’ to dozens of ladies out for an afternoon drive and not a few gentlemen on horseback who knew James and envied him his attractive companion.

There was Lord Bertram Haverley, a widower of middle years, known to be looking for a second wife to give him the heir his first wife had failed to do, though she had provided him with two daughters. Sophia, the older, was not quite of marriageable age, and Eliza was two years younger. They were both pretty, bright girls dressed in white gingham. Soon after parting from them, they stopped to speak to Mr Martin Drew, stiffly correct, who only just managed to conceal his disapproval of her going out unchaperoned; and there was handsome Lord Edmund Wincote, who was a stranger to Lavinia, but greeted James so enthusiastically he was obliged to pull up and present him to her.

He was a young man of perhaps four and twenty, fashionably attired in a riding coat of good Bath cloth, a yellow waistcoat, deerskin breeches and tasselled boots. When he swept off his tall riding hat to Lavinia, he revealed short dark hair that sprang into tight little curls.

‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, my lady,’ he said, appraising her with eyes so dark they were almost black. ‘Are you in town for the Season?’

‘Yes, my lord. And you?’

‘Oh, most assuredly, London is the place to be at this moment.’

‘Oh, you mean because of the coronation?’

‘Not at all.’ He smiled into her eyes, making her stomach give a sudden lurch. ‘Because Lady Lavinia Stanmore is here.’