Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations. Sarah Mallory
walked on, gazing into shop windows, marvelling at the variety of goods available in Bath and before too long Richard caught up with them.
‘Here we are.’ He handed Ellen a small packet. ‘Your primrose ribbons, Miss Tatham. And for you, ma’am,’ He handed a second even smaller package to Phyllida.
Peeping inside she saw a neatly rolled length of dark-green ribbon.
‘I thought of the gown you were wearing the first time I saw you,’ he murmured. ‘The colour became you so well.’ She raised her brows and he quickly corrected himself. ‘The first time I saw you in Bath, I mean.’
‘Oh?’ Ellen was immediately attentive. ‘I did not know you were already acquainted.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Richard nodded. ‘I knew your stepmama at her come-out. We danced together at Almack’s.’
His blue eyes bored into Phyllida, challenging her to contradict him, but in truth she could not speak, for his look heated her blood and sent her imagination skittering towards secret trysts and stolen kisses. Outrageous thoughts that had no place in a chaperon’s mind.
‘Oh, that is famous!’ cried Ellen, ‘Phyllida, why did you not tell me? If that is so I am sure there can be no objection at all to accepting Mr Arrandale’s gifts. I am very grateful for my ribbons, thank you, sir. Philly? Are you not going to thank Mr Arrandale?’
‘Well, Lady Phyllida?’
His eyes continued to hold her gaze, saying so much more than words. In their blue depths gleamed a mixture of amusement and understanding, an invitation for her to share the joke, to accept his friendship. Perhaps even more than that. All of it lies, of course. She had to believe that, or she was lost.
* * *
Richard waited for her answer. It would not have surprised him if she had handed the ribbon back but in the end she thanked him, albeit grudgingly, and they continued on their way. He escorted the ladies to Charles Street, left them at the door and turned to make his way back to Queen Square, well satisfied with his progress.
As soon as they were indoors, Phyllida dashed off to her bedchamber, saying there were letters she must write. She knew Ellen would want know about her acquaintance with Richard Arrandale and she needed to prepare her answers. She kept to her room and was thus able to avoid saying anything at all until after dinner.
When they were alone in the drawing room, Ellen placed a footstool before Phyllida’s chair and sat down upon it.
‘Now,’ she said, taking Phyllida’s hands, ‘why did you not tell me you and Mr Arrandale were old friends?’
‘We are not,’ Phyllida replied. ‘We are acquaintances, merely.’
‘But he says you danced together. Did you know him before you met Papa?’
‘I met them at the same time. It was my come-out. One dances with a lot of gentlemen in one’s first Season, as you will discover when we go to town next year.’
Ellen was not to be distracted. ‘And was Mr Arrandale as handsome as he is now?’
Phyllida had been managing rather well to stay calm and matter of fact, but this question caught her off guard. Her cheeks burned. She had not blushed for years, but these days she could not stop!
‘I—I suppose he must have been. I really cannot remember.’
But she could. She recalled every painful, tongue-tied moment she had spent with him. He had been charmingly polite, while she had been unable to do more than utter one or two stilted sentences.
‘I knew it!’ Ellen clapped her hands. ‘You fell in love with him!’
‘I did not!’
‘Then why are you blushing?’
Phyllida managed to laugh. ‘I was remembering what a gauche, awkward creature I was in those days.’ That much at least was true. ‘Now, Ellen, it is most improper for you to quiz me on this. As I told you, a girl in her first Season meets a lot of gentlemen but once she is married she forgets them all. I was very happy with your father, and I hope he was happy with me.’
‘But it was not a love match, was it?’ Ellen persisted. ‘I was only twelve years old at the time but I remember people saying so.’
‘Not everyone marries for love, Ellen, and not every family is as happy as we were at Tatham Park.’
Phyllida thought back to her own childhood. She was a younger daughter and not particularly pretty. She had also been painfully shy and constantly afraid of incurring her parents’ displeasure. It had been a relief when Sir Evelyn had offered for her and by the time her parents died two years later she was happily settled with Sir Evelyn. At his coaxing she had left off the pale pinks and blues her mother had chosen for her and given up the nightly ritual of tying up her hair in rags to produce a mass of unbecoming ringlets. Now she wore her hair swept up smoothly with only a few soft curls falling on to her neck. Sir Evelyn had given her a great deal, including confidence.
She said now, ‘Be assured that I was much more comfortable with your father than I had ever been at home.’
‘That is because they bullied you,’ replied Ellen. ‘Did they force you to marry Papa?’
‘Not at all, but I was expected to marry well.’
‘Well, that is quite, quite Gothic,’ declared Ellen. ‘I shall not allow anyone to force me into marriage.’
She looked so absurdly young that Phyllida smiled. She squeezed her hands.
‘I hope when the time comes you will fall in love, Ellen, but I also hope you will not be in too much of a hurry to do so.’
‘Oh, no. I am enjoying myself far too much to think of such things yet.’
Phyllida was relieved to hear this, but she did not say so and turned Ellen’s thoughts by asking her what she intended to wear to the Italian concert the following evening.
* * *
To Phyllida’s secret pride, Ellen was proving to be universally popular. The house in Charles Street was besieged by visitors and there were entertainments every day. It was becoming clear that several gentlemen were vying for Ellen’s attention, including Richard Arrandale, and Phyllida was relieved, if a little surprised, that the other young ladies of Bath were not more jealous of her success. However, she was perturbed to see how much attention the gentlemen lavished upon Ellen and could only be glad that her stepdaughter appeared to take it all in her stride.
Phyllida insisted that Ellen should be chaperoned at all times. When the party comprised young people under the aegis of careful mamas like Mrs Desborough or Lady Wakefield Phyllida was happy to allow Ellen to go unattended, but at the public breakfasts and dances Phyllida was always there to ensure no gentleman stepped out of line. As an heiress, Phyllida had always known Ellen would attract attention, but there were a number of married men amongst her admirers, and that was a puzzle.
Her puzzlement turned to concern when they attended the recital at the Assembly Rooms the evening following their walk in Sydney Gardens and Phyllida returned from a break for refreshments to find her stepdaughter in an antechamber with Mr Cromby. The gentleman was holding Ellen’s hand and paying her the most fulsome compliments. Phyllida lost no time in carrying Ellen away, but when she remonstrated with Ellen later she merely laughed.
‘We were only a step away from the main room, Philly. You really did not need to worry. We had gentlemen far older than Mr Cromby flirting with us at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy.’
‘That is not the point,’ objected Phyllida, despairing. ‘Bath is a hotbed of gossip and you will do your reputation no good at all if people think you fast.’
In no wise chastened, Ellen threw her arms about Phyllida and hugged her.
‘Very well, I will try to behave, for your sake, darling Stepmama.