James put in quickly. ‘You can see her ladyship has come to no harm.’
Wincote grinned knowingly. ‘Oh, I understand. Rest assured your secret is safe with me, Corringham. I wish you good day, my lady.’ And with that he wheeled away.
‘What did he mean by that?’ Lavinia asked, as they continued on their way.
‘He imagines we crept out for a secret assignation.’
She laughed. ‘Then he was not so far wrong, was he?’
‘He was a very long way from being right,’ he said grimly. Far from their secret being safe, he had a notion it would be all over town by evening.
Lord Edmund Wincote was not in the least put off by James’s antagonism; he arrived at Stanmore House that afternoon, only to discover that the Duchess was ‘at home’ and the house was filled with callers, all taking tea and all talking at once.
Lavinia, clad in a pale green silk gown, its high waist delineated with a band of cream velvet, heard him being announced above the noise and hurried over to make him welcome. ‘Lord Wincote, how nice to see you. Do let me present you to the Duchess.’
She led him forward to where the Duchess was talking to a group of ladies, together with Sir Percival Ponsonby, who always dressed flamboyantly in glaring unmatched colours, but was, for all that, held in great affection and esteem by the Duchess. Today he was in a very old-fashioned puce coat and green breeches. His grey hair was worn long and tied in a tail with a narrow black ribbon.
‘The King is playing least in sight while his wife is seen everywhere,’ Lady Willoughby was saying. She was enormously fat, though apparently unaware of it. Frances had once painted a portrait of her, which she loved because it depicted her flatteringly rounded and without her many chins. The Duke, however, had said the Duchess had belittled herself and her art to do it. ‘I do believe she enjoys putting the King to the blush.’
‘I really do not know how she has the effrontery to come back to England,’ Lady Graham put in. ‘I heard the King had offered her thousands of pounds to stay away…’
Percy laughed, at home among the female company. ‘Well, if he did it has made no difference; she is here.’
‘I heard the King will not allow her to live in any of the Royal palaces and the Lord Mayor has offered her his home,’ Mrs Butterworth added her contribution to the gossip.
‘More fool he. It will do him no good.’
‘Mama,’ Lavinia said, taking advantage of a lull in the conversation. ‘May I present Lord Edmund Wincote?’
‘Why, of course.’ The Duchess turned to him at once, smiling a welcome. ‘How do you do, Lord Wincote?’
He took her hand and bowed over it with precise courtesy. ‘I am honoured, your Grace.’
‘Are you come to town for the festivities?’
‘That was my intent, my lady. I have a friend whose house overlooks the route of the procession and he was kind enough to invite me to join his guests. In the meantime, I have taken lodgings in Mount Street and plan to enjoy whatever London has to offer in the way of entertainment. I was riding in the park yesterday when I chanced upon my old friend the Earl of Corringham and Lady Lavinia. He was so good as to present me to her ladyship. I came to pay my respects. I hope I do not intrude.’
Lavinia was relieved when he did not also mention their second meeting when she had been driving the phaeton. She did not want a scolding over her hoydenish behaviour.
‘Not at all, my lord,’ the Duchess said. ‘You are welcome. May I present Lady Willoughby, Lady Graham and her daughter, Miss Constance Graham, Mrs Butterworth and Sir Percival Ponsonby.’ She indicated each in turn. ‘Lord Edmund Wincote.’ He bowed in acknowledgement, repeating their names politely as he did so.
‘Wincote?’ Lady Willoughby queried. ‘I am not sure I know that name. Where are you from?’ Lord Willoughby was the first of his line to be elevated to the peerage and, though very wealthy, had no country estate, so the family lived in London the whole year round. Lady Willoughby was convinced that gave her a special knowledge of who was who and how often they visited the capital.
‘Cumberland, my lady,’ he answered, not put off by her forthright manner. ‘After my father died, my brother John and I lived with our grandfather. He was in poor health the last few years of his life and rarely travelled. And since the demise of my elder bother, he liked to keep me by him to look after the estate. Sadly, he died earlier this year.’
‘That accounts for it,’ the lady said, apparently satisfied. ‘Is your wife with you?’
It was obvious to all that if his wife was in London she would have accompanied him on afternoon calls, but it was Lady Willoughby’s way of ascertaining if he were married, a most important consideration.
‘I have no wife, my lady. But perhaps I shall soon remedy the deficiency.’
‘We must take you round and introduce you to people,’ Lavinia said to cover the uncomfortable silence that followed this. ‘Perhaps we can contrive invitations for you.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’
‘I wonder if the Queen will attend any functions,’ Lady Willoughby said. And then said to Lady Graham, ‘Do you expect her to make an appearance at your ball?’
‘Good gracious, no.’ Her ladyship affected a shudder of revulsion. ‘I cannot imagine anything worse than the upheaval that would cause. Constance would hate it, wouldn’t you, my love?’
‘Yes, Mama,’ the young lady said. She had mousy hair, and a pale face rather devoid of animation, although she had good bone structure and an enviable figure beneath the plain blue gown she wore.
‘And what about you, Duchess?’ Lady Graham went on as if her daughter had not spoken. ‘Are you expected to entertain Royalty this Season?’
‘I think not. It would compromise the Duke, who is trying very hard to be impartial, though we are obliged to attend the King’s official birthday reception at Carlton House tomorrow evening.’
During all this chatter Lavinia was acutely aware of the handsome figure standing beside her. Although he stood quite still and smiled occasionally as one or the other spoke, there was a kind of aura of energy about him. It was almost as if he were longing to make some point in the conversation, but was holding back for fear of giving offence. And after Lady Willoughby’s grilling, she admired him for it. ‘Lord Wincote, do you like to act?’ she asked.
‘Act, my lady?’ he queried, taken by surprise.
‘Yes, play acting. I am going to put on A Midsummer Night’s Dream to raise money for the Duchess’s favourite charity. I would welcome more people taking part.’
‘I have no experience of acting, my lady.’
‘Oh, that does not signify. I am sure you must have played charades…’
‘Why,
