Mary Nichols - Talk of the Ton

“Oh, do not fret. I have no designs on your person,” he said.

“Then let me go.”

“That, I think, would be considered unchivalrous.”

“No more unchivalrous than holding a lady against her wishes.”

“If the lady has no idea of the danger she is in, then a gentleman has no choice.” He laughed suddenly. “Whatever made you think you could pass yourself off as a boy? A more feminine figure I have yet to meet.” His eyes roamed appreciatively over her as he spoke.

The only slightly masculine thing about her was her cut-down fingernails. He was intrigued by them. “It is a good thing I intervened when I did.”

Talk of the Ton

Harlequin ®Historical

Born in Singapore, Mary Nichols came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, a school secretary, an information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children and four grandchildren.

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

The girl, sitting on a rickety chair in the potting shed watching the young man lovingly tend a delicate plant he had been nurturing, wore a pair of breeches tucked into riding boots, a cream-coloured shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a sackcloth apron. Her hair was tucked up beneath a scarf. The clothes were old and a little shabby, but that did not disguise the fact that they were well cut and had once, many years before, been the height of male fashion.

‘I wish I could go plant collecting,’ she said wistfully, watching his deft fingers. They were blunt and dirty, but she had become so used to that she didn’t even notice, any more than she was aware of her incongruous garb and the fact that her own fingernails were far from pristine.

‘So you can. The heath is covered in plants, if you look carefully.’

‘No, I meant exploring in foreign countries, climbing the Himalayas or trekking through China or riding a donkey in Mexico.’ Her interest in botany had been fired when, as a small girl, she had watched Joshua Pershore, their gardener, working in their garden. ‘Plants are like people,’ he had told her. ‘Look after them and they will reward you with years of pleasure.’

She had asked him if she could have a patch of garden all to herself and he had shown her how to prepare the soil and sow seed and divide plants to make more. She had watched her garden grow, excitedly noting the first snowdrop, the delicate petals of roses and the way the bulbs died down each year and sprang up anew the next spring. And when she discovered that Toby also shared her passion, it forged a bond between them that sometimes carried them into the realms of fantasy.

She dreamed of emulating the great plant hunters like Sir Joseph Banks, who had travelled with Captain Cook and transformed the Royal gardens at Kew from a pleasure ground to a great botanic garden with specimens from all over the world. And there were others whose exploits and discoveries had fired her interest, men like Francis Masson, and David Nelson, who had been both with Captain Cook when he was murdered by hostile natives and later on the ill-fated voyage with Captain Bligh when he had been cast adrift with him in an open boat when the crew mutinied. That feat had made sure the captain’s name went down in history, though David Nelson lost all his specimens.

‘You’ll have to marry a rich husband and then perhaps he will take you.’

‘I’d rather go with you.’

‘Then you will have a long wait. It takes a great deal of blunt and that’s something I haven’t got. I need a rich sponsor who will pay for everything, and where I am going to find one of those I do not know.’

‘Then why talk about it?’

‘I can dream, can’t I?’

‘Yes, and so can I.’

He looked closely at her. She was unaware how beautiful she was with hair the colour of a glossy ripe chestnut and brown eyes set in a classically oval face. She had a small straight nose and a determined chin and he loved her. Not that he could ever tell her that; she was far and away above him and he, the son of the estate steward, did not aspire to such dizzy heights, for all the freedom his father was allowed in running the Harley domain. ‘Is that all you dream of? Don’t you think of things like come-outs and balls and being courted by all the young eligibles in town?’

‘Mama is always talking about giving me a Season,’ she said.

‘I have contrived to delay it until now, but Livvy turned seventeen last month and she says she will bring us both out together and I suppose I will have to agree for Livvy’s sake. According to Mama, it is not the thing for the younger sister to marry before the elder, everyone will think there is something wrong with me.’

‘So there is if you are averse to balls and tea parties and being sought after by all the beaux of the ton.’

‘I want to do something practical, something I’ll be famous for. The woman who discovered a new plant, hitherto unknown to man.’

‘Pigs might fly!’

‘That’s what you dream of and I know you mean to try and make it come true.’

‘I’m a man.’

There was no answer to that and she stood up and brushed crumbs of soil from her breeches. ‘I must go. My uncle James is coming on a visit and I have to change.’

‘The Duke of Belfont,’ he murmured. ‘I should think he’d have a fit if he could see you now.’

She laughed and hurried out of the building and along the path that led back to the house.

It was all very well to dress eccentrically in the confines of the grounds around Beechgrove—breeches and a shirt were far the most practical attire for gardening—but she knew that it was hardly the apparel for a nineteen-year-old brought up in polite society. Her mother had long since given up remonstrating with her, asking only that she never appeared in public thus dressed and certainly not before her uncle, the Duke of Belfont. Uncle James never forgot his rank and took his role as guardian very seriously. To Beth and her sister he was a stern disciplinarian, though Mama said that was only his way and he wanted to do his best for his nieces. And today he was coming to make the arrangements for that dreaded come-out.

‘Harri, can that be Elizabeth?’ James was standing in the back parlour of Beechgrove, which looked out on the terrace from which steps led to well-manicured lawns and flower beds bright with the yellow of daffodils and the amber of gilly flowers. Beyond that, though it was hidden by a shrubbery, he knew there was a walled kitchen garden and a row of greenhouses and outhouses. It was from that direction the figure on the path had come.

Harriet left the tea tray over which she had been presiding to come and stand beside him. ‘Yes, I am afraid it is.’

‘Good God!’ He watched as Beth strode down the path, head thrown back, arms swinging; if it were not for her feminine curves, he would have taken her for a boy.

‘She likes to help in the garden and that is by far the most practical mode of dress. She is decently covered and can move about without snagging her garments on thorns and suchlike. We should be for ever mending if—’

He turned towards her. ‘Are you telling me you allow it?’

‘Yes, so long as she stays in the garden and we have no guests.’

‘Then it is as well I am here. The sooner she is installed at Belfont House and taught how a young lady should dress and behave the better.’

‘James, she knows perfectly well how to dress and behave. You are being unkind to her.’

‘And how do you suppose a prospective husband would react if he could see her now?’

‘But there is no one here, certainly not a prospective husband.’

He sighed and returned to his seat. ‘Oh, Harri, why did you not marry again? You would never have had this trouble if there had been a man in the house.’

‘I am not having trouble, James. You are making a mountain out of a molehill. And I did not wish to marry again. And as for a man, why would I want one of those, when I have you?’

He laughed suddenly; it lightened his rather stern features and made him look more like the boy she had grown up with, before he had unexpectedly been forced to take on the role of Duke and head of the family. ‘And what about Olivia? Is she dressed like the potboy?’

‘No. She has gone riding dressed in her green habit.’ She smiled. ‘Very decorous it is too.’

He accepted a cup of tea from her. ‘Then what about bringing them to Belfont House for the Season? You used to come every year before I married Sophie.’

‘You needed me to act as your hostess, but, now you have Sophie, you don’t.’

‘Come as our guests. Sophie will enjoy your company and we can give the girls a Season to remember.’

‘Thank you, James. Let’s put it to the girls over dinner.’

Put it to the girls, he mused, as if they would be allowed to veto the suggestion. He decided not to comment.

When the two girls appeared at the dining table, they were dressed decorously. Beth’s gown was in deep rose-pink silk with a boat-shaped neck, which emphasised her smooth shoulders and long neck. The waistline, in its natural place, was encircled by a wide ribbon. Her hair had been brushed and coiled on top of her head. Livvy was in a blue gown that almost exactly mirrored the colour of her eyes. It was trimmed with quantities of matching lace. They curtsied to their uncle. ‘Good evening, Uncle,’ they said together.