Mary Nichols - The Incomparable Countess

‘Oh, do not stop on my account,’ he said, coming forward. ‘I can sit and watch you both at work.’

‘We have been getting to know one another,’ Frances said. ‘There has been little work done.’

He picked up Lavinia’s book and flipped it open. ‘I can see that,’ he said. ‘A child of six could have done this in three minutes.’

Frances smiled. ‘A child of sixteen did it in one.’

‘Lavinia…’ he began.

‘Oh, I know what you are going to say,’ the girl said. ‘You are going to tell me that is not what you are paying Lady Corringham for.’

Frances took the book from him. ‘Your Grace, we have both learned a great deal this afternoon, though it might not be obvious. Your daughter has a natural talent, which we must encourage. Scolding her for doing what I asked her to do will not make her any more willing.’

‘You asked her to do this scrawl?’

‘I asked her to draw the pergola. And she did. Her imagination added the rabbit, but as she has pointed out to me, I sometimes use my imagination to enhance an image…’

He gave a wry smile. ‘I heard her. It was insufferably impertinent of her and I apologise on her behalf.’

‘Oh, do not do that, sir. If any apologising needs to be done, Lady Lavinia will acknowledge it and do it herself. And perhaps I should crave her pardon for being too condescending.’

‘Fustian! If you are going to collude with her in her mischief, she will only become worse.’

‘Let me be the judge of that, my lord. Now, if you do not wish me to continue giving lessons to your daughter, then please say so. I shall not be offended.’

‘Of course I wish you to continue.’

‘Then she shall come again next Thursday, if that is convenient to you.’

‘It is perfectly convenient.’

She stood up and collected together the drawing equipment. He reached out to take it from her and between them they dropped the sketchbooks. They both stooped at the same moment to pick them up. Their hands touched and she felt a shaft of something akin to fire flash from his fingertips to hers and course along her arm and through her whole frame. She lifted her head and found herself looking into his eyes. His expression puzzled her. It was as if he were trying to convey something to her. Was it reproof? Sympathy? Desire, even? She held his gaze, unable to look away, almost mesmerised by those deep golden eyes.

It lasted only seconds, which seemed like a lifetime before he stood up and held out a hand to bring her to her feet. ‘My lady.’ His voice was perfectly normal.

She murmured ‘Thank you, your Grace,’ and led the way indoors.

Five minutes later, he and his daughter were gone, leaving her breathless. Never, never could she have foreseen the effect he would have on her. Had he noticed it? Had it given him a feeling of satisfaction, that, after seventeen years, he could still put her in a spin?

How was she going to deal with seeing him every time he brought his daughter to her? And if he really was looking for a second wife, he would undoubtedly be out and about, attending functions which she was also expected to attend. She could not shut herself away, her friends would wonder what was wrong with her. And why should she? It behoved her to bring all her self-control to bear and behave with indifference. She would be indifferent.

Frances was called upon to exercise her indifference sooner than she expected. The Duke of Loscoe was invited to the ball which she had helped to organise in aid of the orphanage. She and a committee of ladies had been planning it for some time and it was to be as grand an affair as they could manage to which all the ton had been invited. He had already made a generous donation to the cause of the orphans and it would have been unthinkable to exclude him.

The choice of venue had been the subject of great debate; should it be held in Almack’s Assembly Rooms, at an hotel, or in a private house? The Assembly Rooms were considered stultifying and there was hardly a hotel with large enough rooms, and besides, their owners would not wish to turn away their ordinary customers to make room for them. If it was to be a private house, then it must have a ballroom big enough to accommodate all the guests they hoped would pay for the privilege of attending.

‘It had better be Corringham House,’ Frances had said.

‘But, Lady Corringham, are you sure?’ Mrs Butterworth had asked. ‘There might be people wishing to come who might not be quite top of the trees. You never know how they might conduct themselves.’

‘If they are prepared to pay, then I am sure we can handle any problems of behaviour. After all, beggars cannot be choosers.’

‘My lady!’ Lady Graham, another member of the committee, cried in horror. ‘We are not beggars. Never let it be said that we are begging.’

Frances had smiled. ‘No, but we are going to ask an exorbitant amount for a ticket, are we not? They deserve Corringham House for that.’

It was some time since Frances had entertained on such a lavish scale; usually she gave small intimate suppers at which conversation, listening to music and playing a few hands of whist were the main ways of passing time. There had not been a ball at the house since Augusta’s come-out five years before and the ballroom had not been used since. She thought she would enjoy the challenge.

And so, on a warm Saturday evening in May, when London was just beginning to fill up for the Season, Corringham House was ablaze with light. Extra servants had been busy all day, polishing the ballroom floor; others were scurrying about carrying chairs, tables, plates and glasses to wherever they were needed. The dining room had been laid out with one long table covered with a pristine damask cloth, ready for the food to be set upon it, and dozens of smaller tables were arranged round the room for the guests to eat supper in small intimate groups. In the over-heated kitchen an army of specially contracted caterers were frantically preparing food, getting in each other’s way and cursing volubly. By early evening, banks of fresh flowers were in place and the musicians had arrived.

Frances made one last tour of the rooms, including one on the first floor for those who did not care to dance and preferred cards, and two others set aside for gentlemen and ladies to leave their hats and cloaks and refresh themselves. There was an attendant in each. Satisfied that all was in readiness, she went up to her bedroom on the second floor, where Rose was waiting to help her dress. She felt hot and sticky and glad to soak in the bath which had been put on the floor of her dressing room and filled with warm, perfumed water.