Lord Sidley's Last Season Read online

  Quiet Meg

  The Honorable Marksley

  Sherry Lynn Ferguson

  GGThere are few gentlemen,” Colonel Bassett announced, “as useless as Sidley”

  And because he spoke with such vehemence, and because he had obviously encountered too many useless gentlemen, Marian believed him utterly.

  Her turn at cards was fast approaching. She had contemplated playing her nine of diamonds, but the colonel’s comment caused her to forget her strategy. The whist at hand had become a puzzling mystery.

  “I knew his mother, Colonel,” Lady Moffett offered casually. “An adorable creature-as pretty as they come. A bit flighty, perhaps, but not unintelligent.”

  “Not unintelligent!” the colonel snorted. “The woman may have been brilliant, Lady Moffett, but her son’s attic’s to let!”

  Lady Moffett pursed her lips. “Alicia Marsh’s marriage to the earl in eighty-two was all the talk,” she said. “A most unexceptionable match. There was considerable fondness as well, for ‘tis rumored the earl went quite mad with grief at her death.” Lady Moffett calmly plucked a card from her hand. “Do try to concentrate, Miss Marian.”

  “I’ve not met Lord Sidley.” Sir Howard Napps, the colonel’s card partner, spared a brief, sympathetic smile for Marian. “But he’s reputed to have served with distinction at Salamanca-and then Vitoria last summer. Hardly `useless,’ Colonel. Was he not cited in Wellington’s dispatches?”

  “Hmm. Have you nothing else in hand, Howie?”

  And as Sir Howard hastened to apologize, Marian dared ask, “Is Lord Sidley here tonight?”

  “Good heavens, miss, you have been woolgathering!” Lady Moffett’s eyebrows rose. “Have you not heard a word we’ve said? To think Helen Hempthorne would risk his antics! One leaves altogether too much to chance inviting Sidley. No, he’s more like to be at his clubs, or the theater-or worse! Do remember my lead now,” she warned.

  “Sidley’s parked himself over at the family place on Grosvernor Square,” Colonel Bassett said, “with an army of tailors and boot makers and not a single tradesman to fix the dry rot and plaster. Fine sense of priorities that one has! With Sidley House falling to ruin about his ears! And the old country place in Kent has fared no better.” He slapped a card down and took the trick, which did little to appease him. “Sidley’s no longer a pup, either. Must be nearing thirty. A gentleman’s obliged to show some responsibility, even if he hasn’t the wherewithal. Purse-pinched, they say.”

  “You must own, Colonel, that he’s had little time since returning home,” Sir Howard noted. “Two months at most. Stands to reason he might need a new wardrobe, even to present himself to tradesmen. And then there is-well, the other matter. His circumstances..

  “‘Circumstances’-bah! Life is about changing one’s circumstances! Hearts now, Howard, is it? Well! And a new wardrobe? Word is, Sidley’s attempting to rival Brummell! I hear he’s had ten coats from Weston-each one of ‘em black! Useless, useless! Ah, Miss Ware, I fear you’ll be regretting that very much.” And with considerable relish, Colonel Bassett took the game.

  Marian wished to hear more, but the card party broke up soon after. She was hurried along to make proper compliments and adieus and to depart with her older cousin, Lady Formsby, whom she affectionately called Aunt Edith, and Edith’s children, Edgar and Lady Katherine.

  “Katie,” Marian whispered as they squeezed close in the carriage. They were almost of an age and now shared a lap rug, as the May night had turned distinctly chilly. “Who is Lord Sidley? And why would Colonel Bassett view him with such disfavor?”

  “Oh, Sidley! Why, he’s simply the most–” She caught her mother’s gaze and lowered her voice to a whisper. “‘Tis all the talk, Marian. He’s been in town only this spring after being out of the country altogether for-oh, many, many years. On the Peninsula. And his father took his own life, though Mama says it might have been an accident, since the late earl was so undone after his wife’s passing that he could hardly have known what he was about. She’s reputed to have been mad, Marian, though very beautiful. And then Sidley’s elder brother, who was the heir, was killed last fall, somewhere in the Pyrenees, I think. He’d held title mere months. The Sidleys have always been wealthy, only maybe now not as much as before, and some say that Sidley himself might not be quite to rights in his mind, but it scarce signifies, because everyone knows he’s simply top of the trees! Did I not point him out to you at the Osbornes’ rout? I fear we shan’t see him at any of our events because he is too-too elegant by half and has no inclination-that is, he simply does not appear to care overmuch for society. Still, he would be vastly eligible, if he were not … Well, something is wrong with him. No one is quite certain what that might be, apart from the limp, of course, which is not really so very bad, though one can’t help remarking it. And Mama says we must never anticipate him at dancing, but I would so love to invite him to my ball. Perhaps Edgar might … Edgar!” Young Lord Formsby, seated across from them, yawned as he granted his sister his indifferent attention. “Might you manage to get Lord Sidley to my ball?”

  “Sidley? To your ball? Not likely.”

  Lady Katherine frowned.

  “Edgar,” Marian asked, “why would Colonel Bassett have called Lord Sidley `useless’?”

  “‘Useless’? I should hardly say that he is-no more than any other gentleman, I ‘spose. It’s not quite the thing to be useful anyway, is it? Not for anyone of importance. Bassett might still be fumin’ about the row over his son’s curricle team. Spankin’ chestnut pair. Full seventeen hands high! Sweet goers too. Went for nine hundred pounds at Tatt’s a year ago. Corky Bassett lost ‘em to Sidley last Thursday.”

  “Lost them?”

  “At hazard, Cousin.”

  “Edgar .. ” Edith cautioned.

  “What? D’you think Marian don’t know a thing about gaming, Mama?” Edgar quizzed. “For all she’s fresh from the country, she’s no green girl.”

  “Indeed, I am not surprised, Aunt. I did ask. I knew there must be something…

  “I fear Sidley has been gaining a most dissolute reputation, Marian. Though we are inclined to grant him much, given his-given his affliction and his disappointments. A sad history, indeed. But I have the warmest affection and regard for Sidley’s aunt, Lady Adeline. And I should prefer, Katie, that you not prattle on so about Sidley, though ‘tis true that more than outlandish wagers set him apart. How a gentleman chooses to spend his … his days is, of course, entirely his concern, but he needn’t provoke the rest of us.” Whereupon Edith most intriguingly firmed her lips.

  Marian and Katie shared a frustrated glance. And naturally enough, how Lord Sidley chose to spend his days became a topic of some interest for several of theirs.

  But when the notorious gentleman failed to gratify their curiosity by appearing at the Woodheads’ musicale, or even Mr. Dudley Mandaring’s much touted balloon ascension, they were compelled to consider other diversions.

  Lord Sidley, however, was not to be so easily dismissed. The very next Tuesday, in pursuit of several trifling though necessary articles, Marian and her relations ventured out shopping. A desultory drizzle had kept them from taking the air that morning, and though the rain had ceased, a consequent dullness had overtaken their small company. On reaching the haberdasher’s, Edgar lent Marian an obligatory hand in stepping from the carriage. But that hand was not firm enough, or perhaps not attentive enough, to counter the rain-slicked step. As her boot slipped, Marian also slipped-only to be caught and planted upright by a swift, strong arm.

  “Do keep your baggage from tumbling into the street, Formsby,” a low voice drawled above her. A sharply assessing blue gaze held her startled atten
tion. But that gaze broke abruptly as her rescuer released her and turned instead to plucking with concern at a loose thread upon his otherwise immaculate coat.

  “But-” Edgar protested, “but she isn’t..

  “Baggage? Or yours?”

  “Why, she certainly isn’t baggage!”

  “But she is yours?”

  “M-m’lord! You speak of a gentlewoman! Miss Ware isn’t mine!”

  “Isn’t she?” Again the blue gaze met her own. “Nevertheless, I shall be billing you for my repairs, as you appear to claim … propinquity.” And after the shallowest of bows, her rescuer walked off in the company of two equally elegant, amused fellows.

  Marian noticed that he sported a necessarily long cane, which, though he limped slightly, he utilized not at all.

  “Do not mind him, Marian,” Edith assured her, joining her at the curb. “He is most likely foxed. And for all he looks the gentleman, his manners are wanting. I am most disappointed.”

  “I shall not mind him at all-whoever he may be”

  “That was Sidley,” Katie claimed, her absorbed attention on the departing trio.

  “He knew my name,” Edgar breathed.

  “Why, of course he did,” Lady Formsby advised him sharply. “I suggest you both recall yourselves. Gaping in the street like ninnyhammers!”

  Marian turned away with no small amount of impatience. She was above examining why she should be disconcerted. She had thought of little apart from Lord Sidley since the weekend’s party. Yet now she had met him, Lord Sidley might go to the devil.

  “I do envy you, Marian,” Katie told her, taking her arm and squeezing it. “That Lord Sidley should rescue you! It shall be quite the on dit!”

  “Only if you make it so, Katie. Which I would rather you did not. ‘Twas nothing at all. Though I am grateful not to have fallen.”

  “‘Nothing’! Oh, my dear Marian, how little you know of town !”

  Marian did not aspire to know much more of town. What she had seen of town had convinced her that there was too much to learn to make the effort worthwhile. She had come here to study, after all, not to debate the relative merits of Lord Sidley. And she had only six weeks at most. Her generous cousin Edith had given her this opportunity as a gift, to glean what she might from the Royal Academy’s art masters and to provide some slight companionship to Katie. The girls had been a year at boarding school together, and despite nearly two years’ difference in their ages, Marian felt close to her young relative. Lady Formsby had no doubt intended that Marian’s steadier nature would help temper Katie’s high spirits. At the very least, Katie would be encouraged to accompany Marian to a few cultural events, and that, Edith had told them mildly, must be deemed beneficial to all.

  Ten days gone! Marian had so much she wished to learn and to see. Each day had become precious.

  The greater part of the season had already passed, but Marian, being only too obviously the more modestly sit uated relation, had been rushed to the dressmakers and milliners, so that she might partner Katie in acceptable style. She had attended several evening events, including Helen Hempthorne’s card party, and sampled ices at Gunter’s and toured the Tower. She knew how to locate the different drawing rooms at Lady Formsby’s town house but was quite lost when attempting to navigate much else. She felt ungrateful for spending even a moment missing her home in Northamptonshire and her brother, Michael, newly designated curate in their village at Brinford.

  On Thursday, after spending the morning with the drawing professor and a subsequent four intense hours painting, Marian made a point of stopping in Piccadilly to enter Hatchards before the shop closed. She was most anxious for something to read. Though the Formsbys’ beautiful library boasted every other convenience, it was surprisingly lean of books, other than Great-grandfather Satterthwaite’s sermons and every agricultural treatise of the past century. And Katie’s taste ran to startlingly lurid literature.

  At the bookstore she asked the maid to guard her paint box and keep watch at the window for Lady Katherine and the carriage. Then Marian eagerly sought the histories and biographies of her favorites. But she was drawn instead to the magnificent pages in a displayed volume, the aquatinted illustrations a miniature gallery of London’s sights, and found herself happily and obliviously employed in studying the book’s riches.

  “Young lady.” A most superior voice invaded her perusal. Marian turned to an offended store clerk. “This is not for circulation, but a most precious volume-to be treated with utmost care” He reached to slide the book away from her reverent hands. “It is intended only for serious consideration.”

  “But I am considering it seriously, sir,” Marian objected, making every effort to conceal her outrage. “I have been most respectful. I understood the volumes were for sale, and thus open to review.”

  The clerk’s nose rose farther. “You intend a purchase, then?”

  “Why, no. But I-”

  “I am intending to purchase” A long, polished cane snaked across the table, staying the clerk’s hands, effectively preventing the volume’s removal.

  Marian glanced over at Lord Sidley. Given the abruptness with which he had intervened, his manner was surprisingly easy and relaxed.

  “I am an aficionado of such works, Mr…. T’

  “I am … I am Pinxton, my lord.” The man’s supercilious expression had entirely fled.

  “Pinxton,” Sidley repeated, starting to smile. “The young lady’s opinion of this item is critical to my decision. With your permission, good Mr. Pinxton, I should like her to have sufficient time to examine the volume. ‘Twould be invaluable to me that she ascertain whether ‘tis truly worthwhile. And she must review anything else about that strikes her fancy. You understand? Any thing that she approves, you must send ‘round to me. Tonight.”

  “Cer-certainly, my lord.”

  “But only with her endorsement.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And if anything should so impress her as to qualify for purchase, you will be so good as to deliver it to me yourself, then, Pinxton?”

  “My pleasure, indeed, my lord”

  “She must have all the time she might wish.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Sidley withdrew his cane and dismissed Pinxton with a languid wave of one hand. But Marian was scarcely aware of the clerk’s departure. Lord Sidley held her complete attention.

  At once she understood Katie’s enchantment. He was a tall man, splendidly built, and once again carefully and expensively dressed, without flamboyance or ostentation. His coat was dark-not the black that Colonel Bassett had so heatedly disparaged but a depth of midnight blue. And his hair was dark, and his brows were dark, but his self-satisfied smile was very amused and warm.

  “We meet again,” he said to her.

  The comment reminded Marian of their surroundings and the shop’s too-eager audience of patrons. She glanced self-consciously at Sidley’s companions-both strangers to her-one very young and fair, with an expression of almost comic affability; the other tall and gaunt, of sober demeanor and rather penetrating light eyes. Marian’s gaze sought her maid, who hugged the paint box, her mouth agape. The girl stood stupefied by the steps into the store’s central aisle.

  Sidley understood her dilemma. Glancing casually about, he signaled young Lord Wilfred, one of Edgar’s friends, and Wilfred, looking as though he had been summoned to Olympus, moved with alacrity to the table.

  “My-my lord Sidley,” he stammered, “Er-Lord Benjamin” He bowed first to the fair young man at Sidley’s side, then straightened before bowing to her. “Miss Ware”

  Marian had caught an expression on Sidley’s face that she attributed to weariness or boredom. She did not like him to look so-not in her presence-and determined to execute the civilities most speedily.

  “Lord Wilfred, I should like to thank these gentlemen. If you would do the honors?”

  “With pleasure, Miss Ware. Lord Benjamin, Lord Sidley, Lord Vaughn-ma
y I present Miss Ware, cousin to Lord Formsby and his sister, Lady Katherine.”

  As she curtsied, Marian suspected that the bookseller’s shop had never before seen such an elegantly synchronized salutation. She quickly proffered her thanks before Sidley’s companions neatly drew Wilfred away.

  Sidley fixed his amused gaze upon her. “We meet again,” he repeated. Though his look was warm, he did not quite smile. “And over”-he peered at the volume on the table-“The Microcosm of London.” His instant, backward identification impressed her. “‘Tis beautifully rendered, but I would recommend touring the city’s treasures in person. You have not been here long, have you, Miss Ware?”

  “Just this fortnight,” she said, troubled by her breathlessness. “I am here to study.”

  “And what do you study?”

  “Painting-drawing …”

  “You are an artist.”

  Marian might only have imagined the faint query in his voice, but her chin rose all the same. “I am learning, my lord.”

  Again she read the amusement in his gaze.

  “We cannot all be Van Dycks, Miss Ware,” he conceded, and this time he did smile. “You must have your family-you must have Lady Formsby take you to Ackermann’s on one of their open evenings.” Sidley gestured to the book. “You might see these prints as originals.”

  “I would enjoy that”

  “And perhaps, since you are an expert, I might consult you with regard to my own choice of portraitist. ‘Tis a pressing matter, I assure you. I am informed I must commemorate myself and otherwise leave my mark. Nollekens shall do my bust”-he made a point of yawning over the selection of such a celebrated, and expensive, sculptor-“but I am distracted by choice with regard to my portrait.”

  Marian regarded him closely, and with some skepticism. She wondered if he merely made polite conversation; it was beyond belief that he might truly desire her opinion. Surely he had no end of people with whom he could consult. And in her estimation no competent artist could harm him, for aside from an unusual pallor he looked superb.