Regency Scoundrels And Scandals. Louise Allen

this at least has the advantage of being intellectually stimulating.’

      It was the longest speech Bel had ever heard Elinor make, and certainly the first time she had ever volunteered her thoughts on her own situation. ‘I do not understand why you should be on the shelf,’ she ventured, choosing her words with caution. ‘You are very pretty, well connected…’

      ‘I am too tall and I have red hair,’ Elinor contradicted. ‘You are lucky, Cousin Belinda, you are one of the brown-haired Ravenhursts. I am one of the redheads.’

      ‘Auburn,’ Bel corrected. ‘It is lovely, like conkers.’ Poor Elinor. At least, whatever other problems she had, Bel had never been made to feel plain. ‘Cousin Theophilus has much redder hair than you do.’

      Elinor smiled. ‘You are very kind, but I know I have no charm and that is essential to attract gentlemen. I am too practical, I expect. And I have not met Cousin Theophilus for years: Mama says he is a loose fish and a wastrel. Where are we going to drive?’ She craned around inelegantly to see where they had got to, one hand firmly clamped on the crown of her awful hat. ‘Hyde Park?’

      ‘I thought so. And then shall we go to Gunter’s for ices?’ Eating ice cream in the morning was decidedly self-indulgent, but she felt she needed it.

      The carriage made several turns, Bel pointing out the exotic sight of a lady with a pair of elegant long-haired hounds on a leash. Elinor twisted again in her seat to watch them, unconcerned about creasing her gown. ‘I think those are saluki hounds, from Arabia. Cousin Belinda…’ she frowned as she turned back ‘…there is a man following us in a curricle.’

      ‘How can you tell? The streets are jammed.’

      ‘I saw the curricle behind you when you picked me up, and he was there again when I looked to see where we were and now he is still behind us. He is driving a striking pair of match greys—I cannot be mistaken.’

      ‘I expect he is going to the park as we are and our ways just happen to coincide.’ Elinor looked dubious, but Bel was not going to scramble about in the carriage, peering out at the traffic behind them. ‘Why should anyone want to follow us? I do believe you are a secret novel reader, Cousin! I can assure you, I am not being pursued by a wicked duke for some evil end. Perhaps he is after you.’

      Elinor blushed so furiously at the suggestion of novel reading that Bel decided that not only must she consume the productions of the Minerva Press avidly, but that Aunt Louisa had no idea and would not approve. ‘I have just borrowed The Abbess of Voltiera from the circulating library, if you would like to have it as I finish each volume,’ she offered. ‘It is quite blood curdling.’

      ‘That would be very nice,’ Elinor said primly as they entered the park. ‘Oh look, there’s a gentleman waving to you. See? On that horse close to the grove of chestnuts.’

      Ashe. Bel followed the direction of her cousin’s gaze and saw Mr Layne approaching them on a good-looking bay hack. ‘Pull up,’ she called to the coachman as her treacherous pulse returned to normal. ‘Mr Layne, good morning. Cousin Elinor, may I make known to you Mr Layne, the brother of the renowned poetess? Mr Layne, my cousin, Miss Ravenhurst.’

      He brought his horse alongside the carriage and leaned down to shake hands. ‘A lovely morning for a drive, is it not?’

      ‘Delightful,’ Elinor agreed. ‘Are you also a poet, Mr Layne?’

      ‘Not at all, I fear. I can hardly rhyme moon and spoon.’ Patrick laughed, shaking his head in self-deprecation. ‘All the talent in the family is with my sister. I manage my uncle’s estates.’

      ‘That requires talent also,’ Elinor observed.

      Now he would be perfect for her, Bel thought, suddenly struck as she watched them chatting easily. Mr Layne showed no sign of alarm at either Elinor’s despised auburn hair, nor her appalling dress sense. He was a young man with his way to make in the world and, with her connections and excellent common sense, she was just the sort of woman to…

      ‘Oh, look, Cousin Belinda, that man who was following us has just driven past.’ Elinor pointed.

      ‘What?’ Mr Layne stood in his stirrups to observe the rear of the curricle that was sweeping away down the carriage drive. ‘Has someone been annoying you ladies? Shall I catch up to him and demand his business?’

      ‘No! I am certain it was just coincidence that he was behind us for such a way. Please, do not concern yourself Mr Layne. See—he has gone now.’

      ‘Then let me ride beside you as escort in case he comes back.’ He reined back to one side and matched his pace to the barouche as it moved off, keeping far enough away so as not to appear to be with them.

      ‘A very gentlemanlike young man, I think,’ Bel observed quietly.

      ‘Indeed, he is.’ Elinor glanced sideways to observe Mr Layne from under the brim of her bonnet. ‘You are fortunate in your admirers, Cousin.’

      ‘Goodness, he is no such thing. I must tell you, Elinor, I am firmly resolved against a second marriage and to encourage anyone to have expectations—not that Mr Layne has any, I am sure—would be most unfair.’ No more husbands. And no lover either. Bel repressed a wistful sigh. There was no point in repining; she had daringly given herself an opportunity and it was all her fault it had ended as it had. Lord Dereham could not have acted more chivalrously, poor man.

      They trotted along as far as the Knightsbridge gate without further incident. When they reached it Mr Layne came up and touched his hat. ‘Your mysterious follower has gone, it seems, ma’am.’

      ‘I am sure it was simply a coincidence, but thank you for your escort. We are going to Gunter’s for some refreshment—would you care to join us?’ Bel had hoped for some peace and quiet with Elinor to recover the tone of her mind a little, but she had the notion that perhaps she could matchmake here. After all, she had never heard her cousin utter a single opinion about a man before.

      ‘Thank you, but I regret that I have an appointment shortly. Do enjoy your ices, ladies.’

      Bel and Elinor watched him canter away, Elinor’s face unreadable. Bother—perhaps she was indifferent after all.

      ‘Gunter’s next, please,’ Bel called up to the coachman and settled back against the squabs. Rescuing Elinor from Aunt Louisa was a worthwhile project, she felt. But how to get her into new clothes? She was never going to attract gentlemen dressed like that, even the amiable Mr Layne. This needed some planning. ‘I am so pleased you could drive with me,’ she remarked as they turned into Charles Street. ‘Do you think Aunt Louisa would spare you again?’

      ‘I should think so.’ An unexpected twinkle showed in her cousin’s green eyes. ‘I am sure she would think it a sacrifice well worth while if I can provide some chaperonage for you.’

      They were still smiling over plans for further expeditions as they walked into the confectioner’s, securing a place in a corner with a good view of the room. Elinor ordered a vanilla ice and chocolate, and, despite her resolution to have only a small lemon ice and a cup of tea, Bel succumbed to the same choices.

      ‘It is delicious if you chase a spoonful of ice with a sip of chocolate,’ Bel was observing when Elinor sat bolt upright and said in a penetrating whisper, strongly reminiscent of her mother,

      ‘It’s that man again!’

      ‘What man?’ Bel had her back to the door.

      ‘The one who was following us into the park. He is coming over, the presumptuous wretch. Oh, dear, and I do not have a hatpin!’

      ‘We are in the middle of Gunter’s, Elinor, nothing can happen to us here, you have no need to spear him—’

      ‘Lady Felsham, good morning.’

      Bel dropped her spoon into the saucer with a clatter. ‘Lord Dereham!’ It was Ashe, standing there, large as life, smiling blandly as though he had not seen her since the dancing party.