“And did you waltz at those balls, Aunt Matilda?” Boris asked.
Alas, no. The waltz had not been invented until long after she was young.
“We stamped about barefoot to the beating of drums,” Charles answered for her, actually grinning for a moment.
Matilda laughed aloud and then felt horribly self-conscious. For though the young people and most of the adults were laughing too, Charles’s eyes were fixed upon her, and suddenly he was not laughing at all. His eyes had even stopped twinkling.
Ah, but she wished, wished,wishedthe waltz had become popular thirty years or so before it had. It was surely the most romantic dance ever. She wished there was the memory of waltzing with him, even if only once.
“It was decent of you to offer to accompany our party,” Adrian said the following morning as he rode his horse alongside his father’s through the streets of London.
“I shall enjoy seeing Kew on my own account,” Charles said. “I just hope you will not feel constrained by my presence.”
“Not at all.” Adrian grinned. “If I wish to become amorous, I am sure I will discover some bushes behind which to slink while you are looking the other way.”
“You fancy one of the ladies, then, do you?” Charles asked.
“Lady Jessica Archer has a court of admirers large enough to fill our drawing room,” Adrian told him. “I would be totally lost in the crowd. And I do notfancyLady Estelle Lamarr, though she is exceedingly pretty and I like her. I do not believe I have met Miss Rigg, though I may recognize her when I see her. I have no intention of fixing my interest for many years yet.”
The group was to gather at Archer House on Hanover Square, home of the Duke of Netherby, Lady Jessica’s half brother. They were to take one carriage, provided by young Bertrand Lamarr’s father. The ladies would ride in that. The men would accompany it on horseback. And they had perfect weather for the excursion. After a few cloudy, blustery days, the sun was shining and the wind had died down at last. It was going to be a warm day, though probably not oppressively hot.
Why the devilhadhe made the offer to accompany the young people? Obviously he could not be the sole chaperon of a group of unmarried young ladies. Yet without them there would have been no need of chaperonage at all. He could fulfill his role only if there were an older lady with him, yet he had no wife. Had he imagined the shocked silence with which his offer had been received? He knew why he had made it, of course, for he had already had a lady chaperon in mind.
Strangely, he had not really thought of the implications of his suggestion until later. It had been such a spur-of-the-moment thing. It had hardly occurred to him that he was dooming them both to spending the day in company together. He had thought only thatMatildawas free to go with the young people, that she would probably be well accepted by them all since she was the mother of none of them. He had thought that she would probably enjoy a day out with young people, free of her own mother. He had thought that she would enjoy a day at Kew. She had enjoyed it thirty-six years ago. And yes, Adrian, there were bushes there behind which a couple could slink for a quick kiss.
He had wanted her to bevisible.They were a decent lot, the Westcotts, but they had one collective shortcoming that had irritated him all evening. None of them saw Matilda. Oh, they did not ignore her. She was a part of their family and was included in all their activities and conversations. But none of themsawher. None of them, with the exception of her mother, had seen her, lovely and graceful, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with animation, dancing a minuet. None of themknewher. A presumptuous thought, no doubt, when he had had no dealings with her for well over thirty years and had known her even all that time ago for only a few brief months.
But she was aperson, by God, even if she was past the age of fifty. Even if she was a spinster. She deserveda life.
But now he was stuck with being in company with her all day. It was not a happy thought, though he had found himself dressing with greater than usual care this morning—to his great annoyance when he had realized it.
“I think I want to meet him,” Adrian said abruptly.
Charles turned his head to look at his son.
“Lieutenant Colonel Bennington,” Adrian explained.“Gil.”
“He lives in Gloucestershire,” Charles told him. “I doubt he will want to meet you, Adrian. He has no desire to see me ever again.”
“A man can travel,” Adrian said. “A man can knock on a door. It can remain closed to him, of course, but he can do those things.”
Charles frowned. “And will you?” he asked as they turned their horses into Hanover Square.
His son shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”
There was no further chance to consider what Adrian had just said. Dorchester’s traveling carriage as well as a cluster of horses was drawn up outside Netherby’s house. A chattering group of young people was gathered on the steps and out on the pavement while the young Duchess of Netherby and the dowager duchess, Lady Jessica’s mother, looked on from the top step, presumably preparing to wave them on their way. Lady Matilda Westcott was standing by the open door of the carriage.
He had once told her, Charles remembered suddenly, that pale blue was her color, that she should wear it as often as possible. Where the devil had that memory come from? She was wearing it now. It might have been thought to be too youthful a color for a woman of her age, but the dress and the spencer she wore over it were smart and elegant, neither youthful nor dowdy. She wore a small-brimmed navy blue bonnet, neat, with no added frills or flowers or feathers. She had spotted him and inclined her head, rather prim mouthed. He wondered if she regretted agreeing to his suggestion. But she had done it without hesitation. And then she had made that light, humorous answer about living in caves and wearing animal skins to the question one of the young people had asked about life when they were young. And then, when he had added his own silliness, she had laughed aloud with what had sounded like genuine glee.
And, ah …
She had been Matilda in that moment, as she had once been. As though all the years between had fallen away.
“Mr. Sawyer,” Lady Estelle Lamarr cried gaily, addressing Adrian as they rode closer. “There you are. You are almost late. And you see? We have added two more members to the party. Mr. Ambrose Keithley and Dorothea, his sister, have agreed to join us.” Miss Rigg and the Keithleys were identified and made their bow and curtsies.
“How do you do, Lord Dirkson?” Bertrand Lamarr called, grinning up at Charles. “Both Mrs. Rigg and Lady Keithley accepted you without question as a chaperon for their daughters.”
“I believe, Bertrand,” the dowager duchess said, “it was the fact that Matilda was to go along with the group that persuaded both of them. Good morning, Lord Dirkson, Mr. Sawyer.”
