The Chaperon's Seduction(12)

‘Oh, I am sure it could not be an imposition,’ put in Lady Wakefield, who overheard this exchange and had clearly fallen under Richard Arrandale’s spell. ‘I am old-fashioned enough to think it a good thing to have a gentleman’s escort when one walks about town, even in Bath.’

‘Oh, yes, pray do come with us, Mr Arrandale,’ said Ellen, just as Phyllida was about to make a firm denial. ‘I have seen a bonnet that I should like to buy. The milliner told me it is in the latest London fashion but I am not so sure, and I would value your opinion.’

‘Then I shall be happy to give it,’ he responded promptly.

‘There you are then,’ declared Lady Wakefield, smiling. ‘We shall bid you good day, Lady Phyllida.’

Phyllida pressed her lips together, trying to hide her dismay as Lady Wakefield went off with Julia and Adrian. Richard held out his arms.

‘Well, ladies, shall we go on?’

His laughing glance made Phyllida grind her teeth but she had no choice, she must accept gracefully. The alternative would be to face questions from Ellen, questions which she had no intention of answering with Richard Arrandale standing by. Such was her distraction that when they passed Sir Charles Urmston in Argyle Street, her response to his pleasant greeting was no more than a distant nod.

Phyllida said little as they made their way to Milsom Street, allowing Ellen to chatter on. When they reached the milliners Richard accompanied them inside to inspect the bonnet that had caught Ellen’s eye. It was a ruched bronze-satin creation decorated with an overabundance of flowers and tassels. Phyllida declared she thought it far from tasteful, but it was the doubtful look on Richard’s face that made Ellen change her mind and decide the bonnet was not for her after all. Phyllida was relieved, but perturbed by the thought that she should be grateful to Richard Arrandale.

They went on to the haberdashers, where Ellen browsed the rainbow of coloured ribbons that the assistant spread out for her inspection. There was barely room for two people to stand together at the counter and Phyllida hesitated before stepping back to let Richard move in and advise Ellen on her choice. Let that be his reward for dissuading her from buying the unsuitable bonnet.

Phyllida stood out of the way by a side door until Ellen had made her purchase, then she accompanied them out of the shop.

‘Well...’ She smiled. ‘Which ribbon did you decide upon?’

‘This one.’ Ellen opened the package to show Phyllida. ‘I could not decide between this and the primrose but in the end I chose the cornflower blue. Is it not a lovely colour?’ She added in an innocent voice, ‘Mr Arrandale said this matches my eyes.’

Ellen’s laughing glance was somewhat reassuring. Phyllida knew her stepdaughter was not taken in by such compliments. Not yet.

‘And he is right,’ she agreed, keeping her tone cool. ‘Shall we go on?’

They had not gone many yards down Milsom Street when Ellen gave a loud sigh.

‘Is it not always the same? Now that I have left the shop I am sure I should have bought the primrose ribbon as well as the blue.’

‘Well, it is too late to return now,’ said Phyllida. ‘I think it is going to rain. ‘Let us get on now, we can always come back tomorrow.’

Richard stopped.

‘I have an errand of my own to run,’ he said. ‘If you would like to continue with your shopping, I shall catch you up.’

He strode away before they had time to argue. Ellen giggled.

‘I do believe he is going back to buy the primrose ribbon for me.’

‘Oh, I hope not,’ said Phyllida. ‘I really do not wish to be beholden to Mr Arrandale.’

‘For a few pennies’ worth of ribbon?’ declared Ellen. ‘What harm can there be in that?’

‘He is not related to us, Ellen.’

‘But he is related to Lady Hune, who is a great friend of yours,’ argued Ellen.

They 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.’