The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(52)
A new primrose-yellow pelisse with wide cuffs hid the bandage around her wrist, and a deep-brimmed cottager bonnet shaded her face from scrutiny. Marissa picked up her gloves and reticule and went down to the carriage waiting at the front door. The under-footman swung up behind and the coachman took the corner into Grosvenor Street at a stylish clip.
She was human enough to be pleased with the picture the stylish equipage presented. Once into the street the coachman was forced to rein back the spirited team, but the slower pace gave Marissa the opportunity to bow to acquaintances as the open carriage passed others out for jaunts or on shopping expeditions in the warm sunshine.
Marissa found, despite her recent shock, that the expedition was raising her spirits. It would be hard to remain indifferent to the colour and bustle of the streets as they drove through them, occasionally coming to a complete halt as a heavy wagon loaded with coal manoeuvred around a corner or a hackney carriage plying for trade created a temporary jam outside a fashionable establishment.
Street traders cried their wares: ‘Pots mended… Chairs caned, chairs caned… Fresh milk, straight from the cow… Ribbons and laces, French laces… Knives sharpened. Bring me your knives… Latest broadsheets! Read all about the hanging of Black Hook the Highwayman!’
New Bond Street gave way to Old Bond Street and they turned left into Piccadilly, past the front of Burlington House. Marissa had dutifully accompanied her husband to view the Elgin Marbles when they had been exhibited there, but had not admired their cool beauty. The Earl of Longminster, on the other hand, had been deeply impressed and, Marissa had suspected, not a little put out that it was Lord Elgin and not himself who had acquired them.
The memory of Charles was uncomfortable, and Marissa metaphorically shook herself as they approached Hatchard’s. The coachman skilfully pulled into a space right outside the double windows of the bookshop and the footman jumped down to lower the steps and open the door of the carriage. Marissa took his arm and stepped down, making her way past the bench where footmen in livery chatted and gossiped while their masters and mistresses browsed inside.
Mr Hatchard himself hastened forward to attend personally to such a distinguished customer and led her to a table where the latest novels were set out. ‘The set in half-calf, my lady, or the blue tooled leather? A very handsome set in that binding, but perhaps a little masculine?’
Ashamed of her mood at breakfast time, Marissa purchased the half-calf edition of Guy Mannering for Jane, then browsed happily. It was pleasant buying gifts and she found some thoroughly frivolous love poems for Nicci and Southey’s stirring Life of Nelson for Marcus.
Finally back in the barouche, with her parcels piled on the seat beside her, Marissa ordered the coachman to return to Grosvenor Square through Hyde Park. The sunshine was so bright that she raised her sunshade, a new acquisition in amber silk that cast a flattering glow over her complexion. The Park was green and fresh and, despite the fact that it was early for the truly fashionable promenade hour, many members of London Society were taking the air on horseback, in open carriages or on foot. The coachman was called upon to pull up several times for Marissa to exchange greetings with acquaintances or simply because the press of phaetons, curricles and barouches slowed the traffic to walking pace.
After half an hour their circle through the Park had brought them almost to Grosvenor Gate Lodge and their exit into the top of King Street. The footman leaned over. ‘Excuse me, my lady, but I do believe that is Madame de Rostan waving to you.’
‘Pull up, please, Morton,’ Marissa ordered, firmly quelling a desire to pretend she had not seen the other woman. To her surprise, Diane was alone and on foot and there was no sign of Nicci. ‘Good morning, Madame,’ Marissa said, managing a smile. ‘Has Nicci returned to Grosvenor Square already?’
The older woman laughed. ‘She met the Misses Richardson in the linen drapers and they invited her to luncheon. I let them take my carriage – and of course my maid is with them and will ensure Nicci comes directly home afterwards. I do hope you have no objection?’
‘Indeed, no. How could I?’ Marissa said, rather coolly. ‘Nicci is not my ward, nor do I have power to control her doings. I am sure her brother would have no objection to any decision such an old friend as yourself might make.’
As soon as she said it Marissa regretted the words and the cool tone. A slight shadow crossed the Frenchwoman’s face, but she smiled and said merely, ‘Would you join me in a short stroll, Lady Longminster? The shade under the limes is very pleasant.’
Marissa got down and they walked in silence for a few minutes, the footman bringing up the rear, discreetly out of earshot. After a while Madame de Rostan broke the slightly prickly silence. ‘I think you may underestimate the influence you have over young Nicole, Lady Longminster. She holds you in high regard and affection.’
‘She is a very charming girl,’ Marissa replied neutrally.
‘And I must say that a year in your company has greatly improved her behaviour. She always was a sweet child, but a sad romp, and our easy ways in Jamaica are not appropriate for London Society.’
‘You are kind enough to say so, Madame, but I must deny any influence. An improvement in Nicci’s behaviour must be put firmly at the door of Miss Venables, who has much experience with young people.’
Another silence ensued. Madame de Rostan unfurled her own parasol. ‘It is strange to see Nicci – and Marcus, of course – away from Jamaica. Do you not find it odd when one encounters people out of the milieu one is accustomed to seeing them in?’