The concern in his pleasant voice restored Laura’s composure. “No, no, I am fine,” she assured him, stepping out of his loosened grasp with a smile. “And you need not reproach yourself with imaginary clumsiness, sir, for the fault was entirely mine. I was running and my mind was wandering, a foolish combination at any time, but I did not expect to meet anyone up here.”
The unknown man’s colour heightened a trifle at her puzzlement as he replied civilly, “I am Martin Trent, Aubrey’s tutor. Would I be correct in assuming you are Aubrey’s cousin, Miss Marsh?”
“Yes,” Laura replied with another smile, dipping a curtsy in response to his bow. “How do you do, sir? Aubrey has spoken of you with enthusiasm.”
“You took those words right out of my mouth.” Mr. Trent’s slow smile added charm and warmth to the artistic perfection of his lineaments. “Aubrey and I often work up here in the schoolroom, so it was likely that we would cross paths at some time. I only regret that it was such a … a violent meeting.”
Laura laughed and shook her head. “Pray do not heed that, sir. I received my just deserts for racing about like a hoyden, but I had to leave the drawing room, where Miss Albright and I are being put through our paces by a martinet of a dancing master, in order to make a quick repair to my gown.” She indicated the torn flounce that she was still clutching in one hand, surprised to see an immodest expanse of limb showing beneath the raisedskirt. Dropping it hastily, she finished, “So I must bid you good day,” on a rather breathless note.
“I hope we will meet again,” he said politely, stepping aside for her to pass on down the hallway.
“I too.” With a little half wave, Laura hastened to her room, all thoughts of the waiting dancing master banished by a lingering image of Aubrey’s tutor before her mind’s eye. If ever the word beautiful could be applied to a man, Mr. Martin Trent was that man. His head was a noble work of art, all proportions quite perfect, the sculpting of his nose and mouth worthy to adorn an heroic Greek statue. Guinea-gold hair, worn rather short to suppress a tendency to curl, gave further credence to the sun god comparison. And yet there was nothing effeminate in his good looks, Laura decided, unearthing a packet of pins from the top drawer, though less fortunate women might well covet his bright, curling hair and large grey eyes fringed with thick lashes. Perhaps it was a certain gravity of expression that seemed to be Mr. Trent’s habitual demeanour, combined with the intelligence animating those oddly light eyes that saved him from being simply a handsome face.
Laura’s brain was as active as the fingers inserting pins into her skirt as she sat in the chair by the window. She had not given a thought to Aubrey’s tutor up to the instant of crashing into him, though, as he had intimated, their eventual meeting was inevitable, given her location on the nursery floor. She’d not even heard voices behind the schoolroom door, previously. Since Aubrey’s lessons were a daily matter, it was in the cards that Sophia and Mr. Trent would sooner or later bump into each other, figuratively speaking.
Laura acknowledged a strong desire to be present at that meeting as she re-entered the saloon a few minutes later, struggling to repress what M. Charpentier would doubtless describe as a smirk.
Mrs. Marsh, glancing up from her place at the pianoforte, recognised the look of sparkling mischief on her daughter’s face and her fingers stumbled momentarily, earning a disapproving frown from the dancing master. She resumed the dance tempo at once, but her playing was mere mechanical proficiency during the remainder of the session, while the better part of her mind was occupied with trying to account for the mischief and for her daughter’s subsequent expression of bland agreeableness as she went through the motions of the dance under M. Charpentier’s direction with increasing success. Her imagination was incapable of supplying a sensible explanation as to how a hasty trip upstairs to repair a tear could have resulted in that rare look of pure impishness. Laura had been a merry child in her early years, but her nature had grown increasingly sober after her father had more or less taken over her education, putting practical matters relative to running the farm uppermost.
Mrs. Marsh had noticed with private delight the gradual return of laughter and spontaneity to Laura’s demeanour in the months following her father’s death, but her daughter’s contented immersion in the day-to-day affairs of the farm indicated that she had given little thought to her future. It was quite the contrary with her parent, whose chief impetus for the past half dozen years had been the need to secure her child’s future happiness. Her worst fears of seeing the girl immured in an unhappy marriage had been removed by her husband’s death, but not until Oswald’s providential need of a chaperone for Sophia had she been able to discern any better opportunity for Laura than a brief visit to her godmother in London sometime in the vague future.
She’d regarded the invitation from her brother as an answer to her prayers, but the issue had hung in the balance even then, with Laura’s dislike of her uncle and an unadmitted — perhaps even un-suspected — fear of her ability to fit into a social milieufor which she’d had no preparation prompting her to refuse this opportunity to try her wings.
Annabelle knew that Laura had agreed to come to London solely for her mother’s sake. For her daughter’s future she had accepted the sacrifice eagerly, though she’d been troubled by Laura’s reluctance and had searched her conscience repeatedly, trying unavailingly to absolve herself from the sin of selfishness, for she had wished to revisit the scene of her own salad days when life had beckoned so promisingly. She’d tried to be inconspicuous in her attention to Laura’s every reaction to London’s unfolding attractions, seeking crumbs of comfort for her conscience in each little display of pleasure or interest from the girl.
As her fingers danced along the keyboard of the pianoforte while she watched two very attractive young women acquiring a graceful accomplishment that would assure them hours of carefree pleasure, Annabelle felt as if a burden were being lifted from her shoulders, and her overactive conscience took a deep breath of relief. Whatever the reason for Laura’s mischievous twinkle, she was at this moment the very image of a light-hearted girl prepared to step fearlessly into the future. Her mother breathed a fervent prayer of thanksgiving as the music and the lesson came to an end.
Laura’s whimsical wish to witness Sophia’s reaction upon first encountering her little brother’s tutor was not immediately granted, but the Mount Street ladies could not complain of a dearth of attractive male callers. Two days after the first dancing lesson found Mrs. Marsh and her daughter ensconced.in the former’s spacious bedchamber, where they were engaged in the homely activity of refurbishing Laura’s old straw bonnet with some teal blue silk flowers they’d discovered in a shop on Oxford Street the preceding afternoon. Sophia, who had called her cousin’s attention to the flowers — claiming, rightly as it turnedout, that they were an exact match to Laura’s newest driving dress — was spending the day with Dolly Chandler.
“Bless Sophie for spotting these flowers among so many,” Laura said, angling her head as she checked the positioning of a spray at the base of the bonnet’s crown in the mirror over the dressing table. “I never would have thought of them in association with my new dress if she had not insisted they were the perfect trim to give this bonnet new life.”
“Yes, Sophie has a marvellous sense of colour,” her mother agreed, reaching out to take the hat as Laura removed it.
“She has a sense of style too, like you, Mama. She seems just to know what will be most becoming without even trying a garment on. I despair of ever acquiring the knack.”
“It is not surprising that you haven’t the knack, or rather the confidence in your own judgment yet, love,” Mrs. Marsh replied, repositioning the flowers and adding two cut from another spray to the arrangement taking shape under her fingers. “After all, fashion has not played a significant role in your life to date. By the same token, Sophie has not yet acquired much knowledge in the area of holding household.”
“Sophie’s prospective husband is in for a rude surprise in that department, although mayhap it won’t signify, at least not at first,” Laura said thoughtfully.
“That is what good housekeepers are for, to prevent that sort of surprise. Sophie was not meant to be the wife of a poor man.”
Laura chortled at the hint of dryness in her mother’s tones, and Mrs. Marsh, glancing up from her project, joined in. Mother and daughter were laughing together like girlish contemporaries when Sukie knocked at the door.
The little maid entered and curtsied. “Mr. Jimson says as how Lord Hastings has called and are you receiving this morning, ma’am?”
“Yes, of course, Sukie. Tell Jimson to show Lord Hastings to the saloon.” Mrs. Marsh abandoned her task when the maid had gone and gave her daughter a quick glance. “Your hair is a bit ruffled from trying on the bonnet, dearest,” she said, tucking a stray curl of her own back under a vastly becoming lace cap as she watched Laura shove impatient fingers through tresses that were nearly identical in their honey colour but thicker in texture and curlier than her mother’s.
And a good thing too,Annabelle mused, noting that the girl’s ministrations had precious little effect on the attractive disorder. Laura’s interest in her appearance was not intense enough to supply the patience required to have straight hair curled and arranged daily in the shorter styles of the present era. Fortunately, the artless disarray that was the frequent result of her neglect was singularly becoming to her daughter’s mobile features and quite reflective of her somewhat turbulent nature. Laura seemed half again as alive as the young ladies one met with in society. There was no point in trying to mould her into a languid lady of fashion, Annabelle concluded as she headed down the corridor with the vibrant creature she and James had managed by some divine intervention to produce from their disastrous coupling.
Laura opened the door and her mother preceded her into the saloon, pleased as always to greet the young man she had liked from their first meeting. The amenities completed and Sophia’s absence explained, they all sat down, the Marsh ladies sharing a sofa while Lord Hastings cautiously eased on to one of the deceptively fragile-looking gold chairs.
“I am in luck to find you at home today,” he said with flattering enthusiasm.
“We were so sorry to miss you the other day,” Mrs. Marsh replied. “Assembling a wardrobe for the girls has meant that weare obliged to be out a good deal, but hopefully we shall soon have a regular ‘at home’ day to receive our friends.”
He leaned forward with a smile for both, but addressed his petition to Mrs. Marsh. “It is a perfect day for driving, and it occurs to me that Miss Marsh, being newly arrived in town and previously much engaged with matters of primary importance, might not as yet have visited many of London’s points of interest. I should be delighted to offer my services as guide in the cause of her introduction to the sights if there is some place you would especially like to see,” he finished, flashing his winning smile at Laura alone.
Laura’s surprise was succeeded by a speculative gleam in her blue-green eyes. “Why, thank you, sir, you are most kind. Aubrey and I have a particular desire to see the effigies of all the kings in the horse-armoury at the Tower, but it would have to be after lunch because he is with his tutor in the mornings.”
