“I merely stepped off the main pathway for a minute,” Arabella said. “You must have walked past before I turned back.”
“I declare I was so deep in conversation with Lady Harriet,” Frances said, turning to smile brightly at the young lady beside her, “that I did not see you. I was not looking for you, of course.”
Frances’ emotions were being pulled two ways, and she had no leisure in which to analyze them. She had come to Vauxhall Gardens determined to ignore Theodore, to show him that there were numerous important personages—particularly gentlemen—with whom she could consort. It had been disconcerting to find him already in Lord Farraday’s box, quite comfortably established with Lady Harriet Meeker and her sister and brother-in-law. Apparently he had dined with them. And though he had bowed to her and greeted her with perfect civility, he had made no move to sit by her or engage her in conversation.
She had somewhat forgotten her chagrin when Sir John Charlton chose to be attentive. And she had felt a stirring of excitement when he showed no desire to accompany Theodore’s group on their walk, but waited until they were out of sight, gave Mr. Hubbard an assessing glance, and then suggested that after all they join the walkers. She had fully expected him to declare himself.
“What a pleasant night it is,” he had said, strolling along the path and making no attempt to hurry in pursuit of the other group. “You must be very impressed with the gardens, Miss Wilson.”
“Indeed I am, sir,” she had assured him. “I never saw anything so enchanting in my whole life.”
“Yes,” he had said, “people who have spent all their lives in the country generally feel as you do. When one has traveled, of course, one sees such pleasure spots more in perspective. Vienna, Rome, Naples, Paris: they all have their own charm, you know.”
“Oh, I am sure they must,” she had said, looking admiringly at him.
“I am thinking of traveling again,” he said, “now that all the tiresome wars seem to be at an end.”
“You are?” Frances had held her breath in anticipation.
“I have some friends who have been begging me to accompany them,” he had said. “I can probably grant them a year or so of my life.”
“Oh,” Frances had said, her heart plummeting. “I am sure it would be well worth your while, sir.”
“Of course,” he had said, looking sidelong at her along his nose, “there are some things in England one must be reluctant to leave behind. Perhaps I should say some persons.”
“Oh.” Frances had flushed and lowered her eyes so that her dark lashes fanned her cheeks.
“Perhaps I will seek out Parkland Manor as soon as I return, and find one of those persons,” he had said, reaching across and covering one of her hands as it rested on his arm.
“Oh!” she had said. “Would you? Would you really wish to, sir?”
“Would I wish never to set eyes on the loveliest lady in London again?” he had said. “I suddenly find this thoroughfare quite annoyingly crowded, Miss Wilson. Shall we try one of these more peaceful side paths?”
But Frances had drawn back in some alarm. “I think we should not, sir,” she had said. “I have no chaperone.”
“Am I not chaperon enough?” he had asked. “Do you not trust me?”
“Of course I trust you,” she had said. “But Lord Astor would be angry if I went off alone with you.”
He had not argued the point. They had walked on, and soon met the other four. And once again she had been irritated to see Theodore with Lady Harriet on his arm. Not that she resented his being interested in other ladies, of course. But not Lady Harriet. She was not even pretty! She had taken Lady Harriet’s arm herself and led the way back with her.
And now she did not know quite how to feel. Theodore had stepped out of the box to talk with Lord Astor and Lord Farraday, while Sir John sat close to her. What would have happened if she had stepped off the path with Sir John? Would he have kissed her? Proposed to her? Had she lost her chance with him by being missish and refusing to go?
Theodore caught her eye and smiled for the first time that evening. Or was he smiling at Lady Harriet next to her?
Arabella sat in Lord Farraday’s box eating a bread roll and the thin slices of ham for which Vauxhall Gardens was so renowned. She might as well have been eating paper, she thought as she swallowed one mouthful. She was listening to Mr. Hubbard, who had begun by apologizing profusely for his boneless legs, and who had then proceeded to tell her with rather slurred speech about his marriage.
“I never was a wealthy man,” he said. “Not poor, mind. And Sonia always seemed contented enough until we met that damned Bibby at Brighton. The man is a Croesus.”
Arabella bit her lip and continued to look at him in polite sympathy.
“She took our son when she left,” he continued. “Did you know that, Lady Astor? Did you know my wife had left me? It wasn’t fair to take the boy, though, was it? My only son, you know.”
“I am very sorry,” Arabella said. The words seemed inadequate, but deep sympathy shone from her eyes.
“I don’t know where they are,” he said. “I could find out, I suppose. Hire Bow Street Runners or something. I could get my son back perhaps. Do you think I should, ma’am? Or is it better for a child to be with his mother even if she is a slut and the man she is with a damned cit?”
“Perhaps your son and your wife will both come back,” Arabella said, reaching out and patting his sleeve. “Perhaps Mrs. Hubbard will realize what she has given up.”
