Miss Lindel's Love Read online

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Miss Menthrip patted Maris’s hand. “You’re a sensible child. I shan’t waste sleep over you. If you’d care to scribble a line or two to me from time to time, just to tell me how you are getting on, I shan’t mind paying the postman for it. Now you go along and talk to the young ones.”

  Maris stood up thankfully and dipped a little curtsy, then, moved by some impulse, she bent down and dropped a swift kiss on the old woman’s cheek. “I promise I’ll be as commonsensical as I possibly can.”

  “Mercy, child,” Miss Menthrip said, startled, patting her cheek. “Run away, run away.”

  When Maris looked back, Miss Menthrip was smiling, even as she was waving her cane at another victim.

  Chapter Three

  No one, not the most experienced adult, not the most well-informed friend, had prepared her for the enormity that was London. Napoleon, the hobgoblin under Britannia’s bed, the dark shadow in the garden, the terror of every maiden lady, was banished forever and London’s relief made for the gayest, giddiest Season since the Romans left.

  Every time Maris walked out from their fashionably placed hired residence, her head turned as though on gimbals until Mrs. Lindel had to give her a hint. “Nothing marks a girl out as being from the country more than gawking at all the sights. A true London lady never pays any attention to the things she sees. Pointing and staring is expected of common idlers, not ladies.”

  After that, Maris tried to see everything out of the corners of her eyes. It was thus, while riding in an open carriage to the milliners, that she saw Lord Danesby striding along Bond Street. He wore the latest mode of gentlemen’s attire, complete with curly brimmed hat, yet it was unmistakably he. Though she would have sworn she made no overt sign of startlement, Mrs. Paladin noticed at once.

  “What is it, dear Maris?” she asked, turning her feathered head to look behind them.

  “I thought I saw someone I—I know.”

  “Ah. A friend?”

  “An acquaintance. No, not even that. We have never actually met.”

  “You intrigue me. Doesn’t she intrigue you, Lilah?”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I wasn’t attending.” Lilah Paladin was a girl whose beauty depended very much on the angle at which one saw her. From some views, she was remarkably pretty, with a straight nose, good cheekbones, and a rather sweet brow line. From other angles, her nose appeared too large, her jawline too full, and over all entirely too much like her formidable mother. From all views, her thick honey-colored hair was her finest feature.

  This was Lilah’s second Season. Maris had already had the full tale of last year dinned into her ears by Mrs. Paladin and had begun to be quite curious how Lilah would describe it. Yet amid the whirl of shopping and fittings there’d hardly been a moment to investigate Lilah’s character. She already admired her taste. Though she apparently dressed to please her mother, always deferring to her ideas of fashion, Lilah had dropped a hint or two which had much improved Maris’s new gowns. Maris felt as if they might yet prove to be great friends.

  “Come, come,” Mrs. Paladin said. “Don’t be bashful or I shall begin to suspect a love affair.”

  Maris was loath to mention Lord Danesby by name. Mrs. Paladin claimed acquaintance with half a dozen or more notables, yet Maris had noticed that her invitations and letters never seemed to bear any grander names than Mr. Dash, Esquire, or Mrs. Blank of Here-and-There. Yet after a few moments, Mrs. Paladin’s arch banter all but forced Maris to give up his name.

  Mrs. Paladin sat back against the cushion of her job carriage, her face blank. Then, like a candle catching flame, she brightened. “Your mother never told me she knew Danesby. Danesby, of all people.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Maris demanded.

  “Wrong? Who said there was anything wrong about him? On the contrary, he could lead the fashionable world if he would but bestir himself to do so. Half the young bucks in town follow his lead as it is. Thank heavens they do so. Once Brummel left, the eccentric began once more to appear in gentlemen’s clothing. As if a man need wear fine feathers.” As if reminded, she stroked her hand over one of the egret feathers nodding in her bonnet.

  Maris hoped that Mrs. Paladin would let the subject drop, yet after a moment’s thought, she continued. “Do you think he will call upon you?”

  “I don’t know why he should.”

  “He is a gentleman. If he knows you are in town ...”

  “We are only his tenants, ma’am. We hold the lease of Finchley Old Place from him, or rather, from his father. But we are not on calling terms. As I say, I have only been in the same room with him once.”

  “But so pretty as you are, my dear, once is surely enough?”

  “I pray you, ma’am, not to imagine that Lord Danesby would know me from ...from Eve.”

  Lilah spoke from her side of the carriage. “We are here, Mother.”

  Mrs. Lindel and Sophie had not accompanied them to the milliner’s shop. The journey to town had been unexpectedly difficult, thanks to the very bad roads. It had taken three days instead of two. Sophie had been much tired even before they’d left home, so excited had she been over her part in the trip. The extra night they had spent at a small inn where the sheets had not been properly aired. Between that and her already weary state, Sophie had succumbed to a bad head cold almost immediately after their arrival. While she recovered her health and spirits before journeying on to Uncle Shelley’s, her mother preferred to stay beside her.

  Maris’s head was soon spinning with cornettes, Scotch bonnets, caps, and toques, tall, short, and those seemingly worn slightly sideways as though put on by a tipsy lady’s maid. She could tell she’d soon be completely at a loss, liable to wear evening headdresses with morning gowns and vice versa.

  “However did you keep all this straight last year?” Maris asked during a moment when Mrs. Paladin was giving orders to the milliner herself.

  “My mother is a great help. Her taste is unerring.”

  “You’ve inherited it, I’m sure. Still, I live in terror of making some fatal mistake in dress.”

  Lilah smiled with real warmth for the first time since they’d met. “Never fear. I will catch you if you stumble.”

  Maris couldn’t help wishing Lilah meant it literally. Both the Paladins moved with a straight-backed, easy grace that seemed languidly elegant. Maybe it was their longer limbs. They were taller than the Lindel women. The assured way they handled their skirts and shawls filled Maris with an envy that, alas, failed to inspire emulation. She never seemed able to drift, float, or glide. Her impatience to be up and doing every day seemed to communicate itself through her feet.

  Taking in the sights, as every young visitor must, she whisked through museums and fine homes. While the Paladins paused in front of the latest admired work, Maris would race through galleries, absorbing impressions at a furious pace. Not even Westminster Abbey could slow her down. But when she entered St. Paul’s, something about the grandeur made her laugh aloud for sheer pleasure.

  “Hush,” Mrs. Paladin said, shocked. Maris, noticing a few heads turning her way, turned from contemplation of the enormous gilded dome to the glossy paving of marble at her feet.

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” she murmured.

  “So I should think,” Mrs. Paladin retorted. “What could there be in this magnificent edifice to make you laugh?”

  “Nothing. Only...” She glanced up to find Mrs. Paladin gazing at her, one thin brow raised. There was but little kindness to be found on those aristocratic features at the best of times, but she seemed to take Maris’s reaction to Wren’s work as a personal affront. “Nothing at all, ma’am,” she repeated.

  Mrs. Paladin sniffed. “Certainly not. Now do try to stay with us, Maris. You are too impetuous. You kept us waiting quite fifteen minutes at Westminster Abbey.”

  “I was looking at the Grand Pavement,” Maris said, the memory of all that swirling marble mosaic making her smile agai
n.

  “Hardly reason enough to keep your hostess waiting.”

  “Mother,” Lilah said. “Isn’t that Mrs. Armitage over by the choir stalls?”

  “No,” Mrs. Paladin said, staring shortsightedly down the huge nave. “Or is it? Yes, I believe it is. Come along, Maris. We shall introduce you.”

  Mrs. Armitage was gracious yet a line between her brows seemed to say that she was not as happy to see the Paladins as she claimed. She unbent a trifle more when introduced to Maris. “Your first visit to London, Miss Lindel?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Maris said, glad to know she need not blush for her appearance. She had chosen to wear one of her new day dresses.

  “But you have some acquaintance in town?”

  “Very little, except for the Paladins,” she answered. “My mother knows a few people, I believe.”

  “Ah, your mother is with you? I shall look forward to meeting her.”

  “You are very kind, ma’am.” A flash of gold in a sudden beam of sunlight caught her eyes and she looked past the two young men strolling by to see what it might be. Mrs. Armitage followed the direction of her glance and her smile grew a little warmer.

  “Not at all. It was not so long ago that I too was a young girl making my first appearance. You are more fortunate than I. There was a passion for dark girls when I first came. Blondes are all the fashion this year, but beauty is always a passport to fortune.” Mrs. Armitage seemed to think she was offering Maris a compliment, though Maris herself was not certain where it lay. She thanked her anyway.

  The other women began to discuss persons they knew in common—who was in town, who had not yet arrived, and who would not be making their appearance this Season and why. From there, it was an easy step down to scandals, old and new. Maris wanted to be off exploring the architecture. She’d heard one could go onto the roof and gain an unparalleled view of the city. She tried to be patient, perhaps unsuccessfully.

  Mrs. Armitage turned to her with an understanding gleam in her eye. “You’ll soon discover the faces to go with these names, Miss Lindel.”

  “Oh, it’s all most interesting, ma’am.”

  “But you are afire to look about you, are you not?”

  Maris realized her lack of interest in the conversation must have been more apparent than she’d believed. “It’s only that I’ve never seen anything like it before,” she said, to explain her rudeness.

  “You are at liberty to be amazed. Such an eager student of... art must be encouraged.”

  Maris wondered at the hesitation in Mrs. Armitage’s voice and surely she’d imagined the slight wink that accompanied her words.

  “Wander about at your leisure, my dear.” Mrs. Paladin made a move as if in protest, but Mrs. Armitage chuckled. “What harm can come to her in St. Paul’s?”

  After gazing around in wonder at the porphyry and gilt beauty of the cathedral, Maris noted that the building seemed quite busy for a Tuesday. Many of the people wandering about in ones and twos were dressed in the first stare of elegance. Perhaps it was the fashion to visit St. Paul’s early in the Season. If that were so, however, surely Mrs. Paladin would have; mentioned it. Also, it seemed queer that so few people seemed to notice the blazing glories of the building. She soon noticed how many couples seemed present.

  She, on the other hand, was absorbed in the delights of exploration. Emerging much moved and sobered from Admiral Nelson’s tomb, she saw that Mrs. Paladin was now engaged in talking to yet another person—a middle-aged gentleman. Lilah stood beside her mother, that distant expression once more upon her face.

  Still at liberty, though promising herself she’d soon return to her friends, Maris was drawn to a large carved screen at one end of the nave. Scenes from the life of St. Paul covered the tall rectangles of wood, picked out in dim colors. Maris was trying to remember the details of each episode when she heard a masculine sneeze. “Bless you,” she said without thinking.

  Thank you.” The voice sounded slightly hoarse, as if with a head cold like Sophie’s.

  Looking down, she glimpsed the toes of a large pair of brightly gleaming black boots. Now any sex might wear boots of such color. Maris herself had purchased a pair so she might ride. Yet even though she could only see as far as the arch of the foot, there was something obviously, even aggressively, masculine about this footwear. Nor could an ordinary man, shining his own shoes, achieve such a brilliant gloss. Only a fashionable valet could make it so one could see one’s face in the leather.

  Advice against talking to strange men had been one of the first discussions she’d had with Mrs. Paladin upon arriving in town. “Country ways won’t do,” she had admonished. “Men will try to take advantage of a young lady on her own. You must be on your dignity, always.”

  Maris moved down a little to study an image of St. Paul on his way to Damascus. The expression of awed fear on his face when the light broke upon him was very well done. The husky male voice seemed almost to issue forth from the carved and painted image. “Young lady ...”

  Mrs. Paladin had been right, it seemed. A little more hurriedly, Maris stepped farther away from the black boots. She didn’t want to give offense yet it hardly seemed fair that she should be annoyed like this just because she wanted to look at a piece of religious art.

  “Young lady, why did you laugh?”

  “I think I hear my friends... I beg your pardon?”

  “When you came in, you laughed. Why did you laugh?”

  Maris wondered if the voice belonged to a member of the cathedral’s clergy. It was deep and warm enough to sway a congregation and coax tribute of knitted socks and embroidered vestments from half the maiden ladies in London. She’d heard that some clergymen followed fashion. Perhaps he’d chosen to wear such boots in order to fit in with the young men he shepherded. Yet, if he was a clergyman, he didn’t sound at all offended by her inappropriate response to the grandeur around them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just so beautiful; I couldn’t help laughing.”

  “For joy?”

  “Of course. No one could think it funny.”

  A smile: seemed to come into the voice. “I first came here when I was fourteen years old. The Dean himself was my family’s guide. When I walked in, I disgraced myself by laughing uproariously.”

  “For joy?” Maris asked daringly.

  “I’d never seen a place that made me so happy. It remains the most extravagant expression of Christianity I have ever seen. I suppose I fell in love at first sight.”

  “That’s how I feel. It’s not at all like I expected. It’s more solemn than Westminster and yet it makes me happy.”

  “Did you laugh at Westminster?”

  “No. Did you?” She began to wish to see the man behind the screen but didn’t want to seem bold.

  “No. I’ve always preferred St. Paul’s.”

  “And now you serve here? What a wonderful outcome.”

  “Serve here?” The boots disappeared and Maris heard the measured tread of his steps as he came around the end of the screen.

  Dressed in the best of men’s fashion, shoulders broad, waist narrow, Lord Danesby was every inch the gentleman. Yet his expression lacked the haughty remoteness, proof of his superiority over ordinary mortals that was a nobleman’s surest birthright. Instead, his smile seemed tentative, his eyes asking her a question that she could not understand, let alone answer.

  From surprise, Maris’s lips formed the syllables of his name, though she was certain she did not speak aloud. He seemed at once to remove to a distance, his hand, half raised as though to touch her, dropped to his side. “Have we met before?”

  Belatedly, Maris dipped a curtsy. “Only in passing, Lord Danesby. My mother is your tenant.”

  “Tenant?”

  “Mrs. Lindel. She holds the lease of Finchley Old Place from your father’s time.”

  He nodded but hardly seemed enlightened. He glanced over her shoulder. “Is she here with you now?”

  “
No. She is staying with my sister, who finds herself not entirely well today.”

  “I’m most sorry to hear it. But you surely are not here alone?”

  “Certainly not. My friends are waiting for me.”

  “So you weren’t merely saying that to be rid of an importunate stranger?”

  Maris silently shook her head, knowing her cheeks were an unbecomingly hectic shade of pink.

  “I had best return you to them.” He offered his arm, holding his hat in his left hand. Controlling her quivering excitement, she rested her hand lightly on his forearm. The fabric of his dark blue coat was as smooth as silk and she wondered if it was. Her head came to the top of his ear but she didn’t feel too tall or too awkward. Their steps seemed to match.

  Sir Christopher Wren could have made his church twice as long and pleased Maris very much, for all too soon they were approaching Mrs. Paladin and Lilah. Lilah tapped her mother’s arm to make her turn.

  Her reaction made Maris realize the enormity of wandering around alone and returning with a man. “There you are, you bad girl,” she said, though with a smile. “We were wondering where you’d gone. Thank you very much, sir, for returning our strayed lamb to us.” She extended a languid hand in Lord Danesby’s direction.

  Maris instantly let go of his arm, having hardly realized she still touched it. Yet he took an instant to smile at her before bowing over Mrs. Paladin’s fingertips. “The pleasure is mine, madam. I have rarely met a more charming student of architecture.”

  “Ah, young girls are always so serious when they first arrive in town. May I have the pleasure of my dear Miss Lindel’s rescuer’s name?”

  Considering that Mrs. Paladin had seemed to know all about Lord Danesby when they’d glimpsed him on the street, this rang falsely in Maris’s ears. But she was willing to accept that a lady should feign incognizance until etiquette permitted her to have knowledge. At least, that’s the way her life had been so far. A girl was always presumed to be ignorant of even the most elemental human understanding until some magic hour when illumination would be shed.