Holly and Hopeful Hearts Read online

  George chuckled. “You might just have something there.”

  “Unquestionably,” said Nicholas. “Don’t all gentlemen have a weakness for pretty flowers?”

  And so it happened that George and Nicholas found themselves at the Royal Vauxhall Gardens on the night of the Grand Masquerade.

  * * *

  Vauxhall Gardens, Lambeth, London

  Five hours later

  “Over there, Vanessa, under the tree next to the Orchestra. Is that not the Regent dancing with Lady Jersey?”

  Eugenia shouted in the direction of her elder sister’s ear while she waved an arm toward the couple in question.

  Vanessa, wincing at the combined intensity of the lively music and her sister’s exclamation, glanced briefly at the couple in question and shook her head.

  “I shouldn’t think so, Genie. The Regent is far sturdier of figure. In any case, the woman is too young to be the dowager, and the current Lady Jersey would never look so pleased to be dancing with him.”

  The younger sister, pretty and blue-eyed with sleek copper hair, and flushed with excitement, sighed deeply. “I suppose not. Sally doesn’t seem to care for him much, does she?”

  Lady Philippa Hooper, the third member of the party, deliberately raised an eyebrow. “Not after the scandalous affair he had with her mother-in-law.” Her Pomona green mask revealed brown eyes that mirrored the color of her chestnut hair. “Although Anthony saw her give the dowager the cut-direct once, which she would never dare with Prinny.”

  Eugenia giggled somewhat nervously, and Vanessa grinned. Although married for two years and the mother of a year-old son, Genie still occasionally displayed the naïveté of the nineteen-year-old she was.

  “Don’t worry, little sister. Mother is not present to hear your improper assertions. In any case, as a married woman, you are no longer accountable to her.”

  Eugenia shook her head. “She doesn’t seem to know that, however. Why, the squire is afraid of her and I suspect Reese is as well. In her presence, he acts the perfect son-in-law. Attentive to her every word.”

  Vanessa snorted. “No doubt he feels obligated, since she had her heart set on a title for you, Genie. I still can’t fathom how the two of you managed to convince our parents to consent to the marriage.”

  Eugenia shrugged. “I suspect it was Papa.” Seeing Vanessa’s eye roll, she continued, “He follows her lead, I know, and never gainsays her, but I do believe he has a way of exerting his influence.”

  Vanessa bit her lip and nodded. Perhaps that was so. She’d long suspected that to be the reason her mother had withdrawn her objection to Vanessa’s involvement with the Foundling Hospital. Not that she didn’t still complain about it, though. Mrs. Sedgely’s character was what it was, and dissatisfaction with everything and everyone was firmly ingrained there.

  The music ceased suddenly, and Mr. Hook announced that a brief intermission while the musicians took refreshments. The ambience reverted to the usual babble associated with crowds of people in public, and Vanessa took a deep breath of relief. As much as she enjoyed music, the sheer volume of the brass and drum instruments was beginning to get on her nerves. Not to mention that it was nearly impossible to conduct a conversation over all the fanfare.

  “As for refreshments,” interjected Philippa, who had been listening in amusement to the two sisters’ banter, “I have to wonder what has happened to our husbands. Surely they have had more than sufficient time to return with our food. I am famished.”

  “No doubt they have happened on some acquaintance or other,” complained Eugenia. “Reese loses all notion of time when he talks about farming.”

  “Anthony as well,” confessed Philippa. “Although his repertoire is not limited to farming. But here in Vauxhall, I suspect he’s found a magic act of some sort. He does consider himself an accomplished magician, you know. Amateur, of course,” she added unnecessarily.

  Vanessa shrugged. “In that case,” she said, waving a hand in the direction of a waiter, “let us order the food ourselves. We don’t require husbands for that.”

  “Aside from paying the bill,” grumbled Eugenia as the three ladies pooled the contents of their reticules in order to locate enough coins to pay the reckoning, “I might agree with you.”

  “Pish posh,” said Vanessa while they waited for their order to arrive. “Reese is so besotted he will give you whatever you wish.”

  “I’m just not accustomed to carrying coins around. Reese pays when he’s with me, and everything else is set down to his account.”

  “That is the last of my allowance,” said Philippa with a deep sigh as she watched the waiter depart with their order—and their money. “More than a month left in the quarter and I haven’t a feather to fly with. Anthony will be furious.”

  Vanessa snorted. “Ladies! What has happened to your sense of independence? Your ability to make your own decisions and stand by them? Your gumption? You are fully-grown women and not children. Genie, you are a mother as well. Little Richard needs you to be able to stand up for yourself—and him.”

  Eugenia stiffened. “I am a good mother.”

  “Of course, you are—” began Vanessa, stricken by remorse.

  “Stop this, Vanessa,” Philippa ordered. “This isn’t about Genie or me. We are both fully capable of managing our own lives and husbands. This is about you, because you are unwed. And, in spite of all your posturing, I don’t believe you are happy about that.”

  Vanessa flinched. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  Eugenia glared at Philippa while she took Vanessa’s hand and squeezed it. “She didn’t mean it, Vanessa. Of course she didn’t. Did you, Philippa?”

  A flush crept across Philippa’s face. “I-I,” she began, before being interrupted by the arrival at their table of the master of ceremonies, Mr. C.H. Simpson, dressed for the occasion in a gold-buttoned, navy blue frock coat, buff-colored knee breeches, and a cocked hat trimmed in gold braid.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he intoned while making the exaggerated courtesy for which he was well-known, extending his right leg back on tip-toe while he raised his hat high with the left arm. “It is a great pleasure to see such fine ladies as yourselves enjoying the festivities this evening.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Simpson.” Vanessa surprised herself by managing to recoup her composure before her companions. “It is a fine evening to celebrate our brave soldiers’ victories on the Peninsula. We are forever indebted to them for their service.”

  “Indeed we are. Indeed we are,” agreed the obsequious gentleman. “So unfortunate that the greater part of the brave souls cannot be present to see it, but no doubt their family and friends will be sure to apprise them of it.”

  At that point, two waiters appeared, carrying trays with covered dishes, plates, glasses, and bottles. Mr. Simpson, acknowledging their presence with a curt nod, moved aside and waved them toward the ladies’ supper-box.

  “I see your refreshments have arrived, so I shall leave you to enjoy your meal. Bon appétit, dear ladies! The evening is young yet, and the Royal Gardens have many more pleasures to offer you. The Turkish band will be playing at ten o’clock in the Rotunda, and, of course, you will not want to miss the fireworks at half-past eleven.” He did another of his spectacular bows, and moved on to the guests in the adjoining box.

  “Mr. Simpson is truly a gentleman,” Eugenia mused as the waiters set out the tableware, poured the wine, and removed the covers from the platter of cold sliced chicken, ham, and cheese, and the bread and butter. “I know some scorn him for a buffoon, but I always look forward to seeing him. I believe he is sincere in his efforts to make the visitors feel welcome.”

  Philippa welcomed the food with gusto. “I’m famished. I do wish the proprietor would allow thicker slices, however. I rather wish I had ordered a custard, or even a Shrewsbury cake.” She removed her mask and set it on the table next to her plate before spearing slices of chicken and ham with her fork to deposit on her plate and
cut into slices.

  The waiter who had brought their order halted. “Would you like me to bring you a sweet, milady? We have some lovely strawberries and the freshest cream to be had in the kingdom.”

  Philippa stopped chewing for a moment, and then shook her head. “Not for me, thank you,” she answered after swallowing. “I put on weight far too easily.”

  Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I shall have a plate of strawberries,” she declared. “Assuming it is not terribly dear,” she added, fumbling in her reticule.

  “Three shillings,” volunteered the waiter.

  “Ah, yes, I can just manage it,” she said as she handed him the coins.

  “What?” she queried when she saw the mirth on her companions’ faces. “What did I do to amuse you so?”

  Philippa, who had just taken a sip of the claret, fought to refrain from spewing it all over the table.

  “Vanessa, dear, you don’t really want strawberries, do you? You ordered them because you wanted to prove you don’t give a fig what anyone thinks,” said Eugenia, when she had stopped laughing.

  Heat flushed through Vanessa’s body. “That’s ridiculous! Of course I wanted the strawberries. I love strawberries!” Then, narrowing her eyes, “I have nothing to prove. Nothing at all.”

  “Now, now, don’t be angry,” begged Eugenia, lightly rubbing her sister’s arm. “We are all three friends. What is a little teasing among friends?”

  Vanessa closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back wall of the supper-box. They were right. She was far more disturbed by her spinster status than she wanted to admit… even to herself. Nearly every lady her age—four and twenty—was married and settled, including her younger sister, who already had a son and heir.

  As she would have been, too, had her betrothed not eloped to Gretna Green with a dairymaid and, by so doing, made her the laughingstock of the ton.

  As it had been an arranged marriage, her heart had been more bruised than broken, but being the subject of society’s cruel jokes proved to be devastating.

  “There she is, that girl whose fiancé left her for a milkmaid. Can you imagine?”

  “She’s pretty enough… I wonder what could have turned him off her?”

  Of course, that was a very long time ago, and Vanessa was no longer a naïve, impressionable eighteen-year-old, but the armor of indifference she’d affected to protect herself had become a wardrobe staple over the years. One that had effectively protected her from receiving any further offers of marriage, to the mortification of her mother.

  But was that what she really wanted?

  She’d long ceased to care about the comments about being “on the shelf” or “at her last prayers.” Although she’d resist going to caps until her last breath. Her dark blonde hair was one of her best features, and she was vain enough to wish to show it off as long as she could. Until it turned gray, that is.

  Her shoulders slumped. In her mind’s eye, she saw an image of herself in thirty years: capped gray hair, face wrinkled with pasty white skin, wearing a dull brown gown of a fashion long abandoned. Her mother, bedridden and crotchety, finding fault with everything as she always did, but especially badgering her about her failure to find a husband to support her. No children. No grandchildren. And a lifetime of being the victim of her mother’s taunts.

  “Bloody hell,” she said aloud. “I suppose I do wish to be married after all.”

  What a disappointing realization to come to. For the entirety of the two years of her involvement with the Foundling Hospital, she’d deluded herself into believing that these efforts would lead to a sense of satisfaction and well-being that would compensate for her lack of a husband and family. And she had indeed found it satisfying to intercede for the poor and unfortunate. In spite of that, however, she was still obliged to live under her mother’s thumb because she’d been born a female.

  Her companions’ feasting paused only long enough for smirks and giggles.

  “Of course you do,” Philippa said matter-of-factly. “Have some wine. It’s more or less drinkable.”

  Vanessa took a sip of the claret and sat up straight in her seat. “That’s debatable.”

  “Eat, Vanessa. The chicken and ham are quite good, if you can get some before Philippa finishes the plate.”

  Vanessa ate. And eventually she began to feel better.

  The waiter returned to take their plates, and then a large bowl of berries and cream was set before her.

  “Three spoons,” she told him. “We shall all share it.”

  Philippa’s eyes lit up, and even Eugenia, tiny in stature and always a light eater, smiled in anticipation.

  As they enjoyed the sweet treat, Vanessa finally got up the courage to broach the topic that was troubling her.

  “So,” she said, eyeing her friends with a pensive expression on her face, “I need a husband. Not just any husband, mind you. One who will not try to rule me or give me grief every time I turn around. How do you suggest I find one?”

  Philippa wiped cream from her lip with her handkerchief and looked at Vanessa with narrowed eyes. “That should not prove difficult, so long as you do not have your heart set on a love match. Many successful marriages began as arranged marriages.”

  “As well as many unsuccessful ones,” observed Eugenia. “But I do agree that it would be wise to determine in advance what sort of gentleman would suit you. Age, for example, or appearance. Social and financial status. That sort of thing.” She tilted her head and aimed her gaze at her sister.

  Vanessa stared blankly at her sister. Up until that point, she hadn’t considered what she wanted in a husband beyond someone she could tolerate who wouldn’t try to rule her. A love match seemed too much to ask—and she wasn’t sure she could trust any man with her heart, in any case.

  “I shan’t be overly particular, so long as he is honest, fair, and rational. And a gentleman, of course.”

  Philippa snorted as she put down her fork and leaned back in her seat. “What a relief that you won’t be considering a farmer or a greengrocer for a husband.”

  Vanessa raised her eyebrows and sent her a glassy stare. “Don’t be ridiculous. I could not continue my work with the Foundling Hospital if I married into the lower orders. But that doesn’t mean I plan to angle for a title. Titled gentlemen are few and far between and would likely not look twice at someone like me.”

  Philippa shrugged. “Not all titled families are so high in the instep,” she volunteered. “My own parents were more concerned with our happiness than titles. They interrogated poor Anthony unmercifully when he first asked to pay court to me, although he was already a viscount.”

  Vanessa bit her lip to keep from smiling as she envisioned the eccentric Lady Pendleton quizzing her potential son-in-law over the dinner table. The Pendletons were outside of the ordinary, though. It was different with sons, she thought, and the Pendletons, like the Sedgelys, had no sons.

  “What about a professional man?” suggested Eugenia. “A doctor or a lawyer, perhaps? Or an army officer? Reese and I were introduced to a Captain Spencer from Exeter last week at the assembly in Hitchin. He looked well in his dress uniform,” she added dreamily.

  Vanessa bit her lip to keep from laughing. “He’s probably married already… as you are, Genie. Have you forgotten your long-suffering husband so soon?”

  Eugenia narrowed her eyes. “Of course not—”

  “Although,” Vanessa continued, “a naval officer might be ideal. A sea captain, who rides the waves the world over and only comes home every two years or so.”

  “Might as well be a spinster,” Philippa murmured.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you were the one who was required to live with our mother,” advised Vanessa. “You know very well a married woman has ever so much more freedom, with or without the presence of a husband.”

  Philippa considered this. “A widow, then. You could rule your own life as a widow.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Eugenia chided.
“Surely you don’t expect her to murder her husband!”

  Vanessa’s body quaked with amusement. “Of course I shouldn’t do anything of the sort. But I might not scruple at consenting to a deathbed wedding,” she teased.

  The ladies laughed and the conversation took a turn to more banal topics until Reese and Lord Hooper returned to the table, accompanied by two other gentlemen.

  “Philippa, my dear, look who Reese and I happened upon near the Chinese Temple!” Lord Hooper waved a hand toward his companions, each duly removing their masks to be introduced to the ladies.

  Vanessa prepared to smile politely in anticipation of being presented to the newcomers, but when she got a full glimpse of the darker gentleman, she had a sudden fluttery feeling in her stomach. Where had she seen him before?

  “Why Nicholas, what a surprise to see you here!” Philippa exclaimed. “Vanessa, Eugenia, this is Lord Nicholas Lacey, brother to the Duke of Ashbury. He and Anthony were at Eton together.” She looked enquiringly at his companion. “I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your companion.”

  “Likely not,” said the gentleman in question, with a polite smile. “We don’t mingle in the same social circles.”

  “Nonsense!” retorted Lord Nicholas, giving him a playful nudge. “Ladies, I present you Mr. George Durand, Esquire, my brother-in-law. George’s late wife Geneviève was sister to my Juliette.” He swallowed and paused, and Vanessa shot a questioning look at Philippa, who shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  Lord Hooper cleared his throat. “George and Nicholas, please allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Bromwell and her sister, Miss Sedgely, my wife’s intimate friends. And this lovely lady,” he indicated with a touch on Philippa’s shoulder, “is my wife, Lady Philippa Hooper.”

  The ladies nodded in acknowledgement.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Nicholas, Mr. Durand,” said Eugenia.

  “Likewise,” said Vanessa, smiling at both gentlemen. For some reason, she could not remove her eyes from Mr. Durand. He was a handsome man, to be sure, of average height and pleasing form, his dark hair a shade or two darker than his companion, with warm brown eyes and a decidedly masculine visage. But it wasn’t his good looks that compelled her interest; it was the growing certainty she had met him before.