Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

like, and dragged her gaze away to look at his face. Wide cheekbones, a strong nose and chin. A little on the thin side for his build perhaps; he looked like a man who had missed a few meals lately.

      A face used to commanding men, she thought. And he was big, especially in contrast to Adrian’s languid elegance. It was not so much his height, although he must have topped six foot, estimating from her own five foot five, but he carried muscle like a man who used his body hard.

      Some sort of craftsman? A sailor? Yet his voice was educated and he held himself with complete assurance.

      ‘Do you want me to send for someone?’ he asked. Lily realised he had shifted so he was shielding her from most of the smoke-filled room.

      ‘No, but perhaps you can call me a hackney carriage shortly, thank you.’

      ‘You will be reporting him to the magistrates?’ It was hardly a question.

      ‘No! Why should I do that?’

      ‘Attempted rape?’ he suggested softly.

      ‘Oh.’ Lily found she was blushing scarlet. ‘No … I mean it was not like that. Not really.’

      The man did not speak, but his glance at her torn gown was eloquent.

      ‘Lord—I mean, that gentleman, is my betrothed. We had a misunderstanding. It was my fault, I should not have gone with him alone in his carriage.’

      ‘It was not your fault. He had no business to treat you like that. Don’t let me hear you say that again.’ Anger throbbed in the quiet, deep voice.

      ‘I doubt we shall meet again,’ Lily said with a touch of frost in her voice, ‘so the question is academic.’ She had the sudden feeling that if she did not stand up to this man she would simply acquiesce to whatever he wanted. Which was preposterous, as all he appeared to want was to protect her.

      Her froideur made him smile, transforming his face, making him look younger. Late twenties? she wondered. ‘I should introduce myself. My name is Jack Lovell.’ Lily half-expected him to add something, a hesitation seemed to hang in the air, then he added, ‘From Northumberland.’

      ‘Lily France. From London.’ She held out her hand and it was enveloped in his.

      ‘What a pretty name, Miss France.’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Lovell. You are a very long way from home. Are you on business in London?’

      ‘I am seeking investors.’ The waiter appeared and slid a cup in front of her. The fragrant steam curled up to her nostrils, comforting and blissfully ordinary.

      ‘Investors? What for?’ Lily twisted round, interested, Adrian momentarily forgotten.

      ‘Steam engines. For a coal mine. Not a very fascinating subject for a lady, I am afraid.’

      ‘But it is,’ she protested. ‘I am most interested. Are you an engineer, Mr Lovell?’ That might explain the muscles.

      ‘An amateur. I own the mine.’

      ‘Then you will be concerned with canals as well, perhaps?’ She took a sip of chocolate. ‘I have investments in several canal companies, but I do not know about any canals that far north. Do you send house coals by sea to London through Newcastle, or are you supplying industries close to hand?’

      Jack Lovell’s expression made her smile. ‘I have trustees,’ she explained. ‘But I like to be involved in the investments. My father was a tea merchant, not a manufacturer, so I know more about importing than manufacturing and very little about mining.’ It was such a relief, she realised, to be able to speak openly about her family and their business without having to pretend they had nothing to do with the squalid pursuit of making money.

      ‘We supply sea coal for London mainly. I want to reach more industry, but there are not the canals close enough yet.’

      Lily drank her chocolate, thinking. ‘Why do you need the steam engines? For pulling up loads of coal from the shafts or for pumping out water?’

      ‘Miss France, you do know what you are talking about, do you not? It usually takes me half an hour to get to that point with a potential investor.’ He smiled at her and she found herself smiling back, basking in the praise. Her trustees took it for granted that she would study her facts, and everyone else subscribed to the fiction that women had no brains to speak of. She was unused to compliments on her knowledge. ‘I need them for pumping, possibly ventilation. Lifting would be a bonus.’

      ‘Well, I have to admit you have now reached the limit of my understanding of steam engines,’ she confessed. ‘Tell me …’

      ‘No, you should not be here, in this place, with a strange man. Now you have recovered a little I will call you a hackney carriage. Finish your chocolate and I will be back in a moment.’

      Lily watched him thoughtfully as he made his way to the door. Mr Lovell’s steam engines might be an interesting investment. She would have to find out more about it. The fact that Mr Lovell’s broad shoulders and quietly dominant masculinity was making something flutter pleasantly inside her was, of course, nothing to do with the matter. She pulled the dance card off her wrist and scribbled her address on it.

      ‘There is a clean and respectable hackney cab waiting outside.’ She looked up and found he was standing by the table. ‘The driver will take you home.’

      Lily got up and held out the card. ‘Thank you, Mr Lovell. This is my address: let me know if you need an investor for your steam engines.’

      ‘Ma’am.’ He took her elbow and showed her out and into the cab which was standing at the kerb. ‘If I might venture some advice? Find a new man, one who realises you are worth waiting for.’ Jack Lovell stepped back before she could do more than stretch out a hand and start a few words of thanks. He spoke to the driver, giving the address from her card she realised, then lifted his hand in farewell.

      And I cannot find him again. Lily craned out of the window, but he had vanished into the fog, back into the coffee house. She leaned against the lumpy squabs and made herself think. Adrian. What am I going to do about Adrian?

      The illustrations in La Belle Assemblée were delightful this month. Lily flattened the spread pages of the journal open under the weight of her side plate and tried to divert herself by studying the walking dress. Three rows of cutwork ruffles enhanced with french knots of deep blue ribbon rose from the hemline, the cambric skirt was gathered high under the bust, contrasting with a bodice and sleeves in blue velvet with white puffs at the shoulders and cuffs. An ornate knot of velvet and lace was posed at the neck.

      The shawl it was shown with was disappointingly plain and the bonnet no more than tolerable, but it had possibilities, especially in green velvet with a silk skirt. And more ruffles, of course. Lily narrowed her eyes and wondered which items from her jewel box would set it off best. The emeralds in the gold setting were the obvious choice, but there seemed to be some stuffy rule about coloured gems in the morning. Still, even with pearls, Adrian would admire it.

      Lily picked up her neglected toast and bit into it thoughtfully, thankful that Aunt Herrick was breakfasting as usual in her room where she would remain for much of the day, venturing out later for a carriage drive or to go shopping.

      In fact, the presence of her mother’s sister was a nod to respectability. She was not a close and watchful guardian of her niece. Mildly eccentric, Anne Herrick excused her laxity with the accurate excuse that as the widow of a mill owner she would not lend her niece any countenance and could safely leave that to Lady Billington whenever Lily attended a social gathering.

      But Mrs Herrick was an avid reader of all the papers and a mine of information about the glittering world into which she was devoted to propelling Lily. And, as a woman who had had no scruples about the tactics she had used to win the prosperous Mr Herrick, she was equally open minded in her schemes to entrap Lord Randall.

      She seemed to have succeeded all too well. To Lily’s amazement Adrian had appeared