Page 9 of Twice Shy
‘My Goddess!’ he breathed, reverently.
‘It needed only that!’ She groaned, and closed her eyes. Her fists clenched in frustration, stretching the fine kid leather taut. She had agreed that she should not berate him or be cruel at their next meeting, but this was insupportable. ‘Mr Escott, this must cease. You are making yourself look foolish. I beseech you …’
‘Ah, she beseeches, but really she Commands!’ Mr Escott pressed his hand over his heart. ‘If I cease it is Bowing to an Injunction from the Divinity Herself, and yet I disobey, my Muse. The very fire in your eyes Inspires, the way you look down upon me from your Olympian height crushes me to dust as a Man, but remoulds me in a Poet’s form.’
54‘It does what?’ She sounded appalled.
‘It remoulds me, so that the ink flows upon the Page as Bright Blood does in my Veins.’
‘Sir, you place far too much importance upon a … a fleeting image in your head. I am no goddess, I assure you, merely a woman. You need only be firm with yourself.’
‘Merely a Woman?’ The idea seemed alien to him. ‘How could I Dare to use such an Epithet?’
‘Just repeat it to yourself,’ she replied, rather caustically, ‘several times a day.’ She was losing all patience. ‘I am sure you will realise your error very soon, Mr Escott. I am entirely, er, unworthy of the elevation that you have bestowed upon me.’
‘Alas! She Frowns!’
For an awful moment Elizabeth feared he was about to lay his hand to his forehead in another theatrical gesture, but he refrained, and seemed instead to withdraw into some inner contemplation.
‘Mr Escott?’
‘She frowns, and from that blessèd Brow, unbid … Ah yes, I feel the Verse upon me.’ He smiled beatifically at her, turned and was gone, no doubt in search of pen, ink and paper.
Sir Lucius Radstock was bored. This was nothing new. Every Season he wondered why he came to London at all, and then accepted that it was a very convenient way to meet up with friends for a few weeks, and to keep a finger upon the pulse of Society. To refuse the invitations that were delivered to his door would be rude in the extreme,55since if he did not wish to socialise, why be in Town at all. Therefore he accepted a fair number of them, and made an effort. This effort only went so far, and though he was unfailingly courteous, he did have a reputation for a dry humour, which could be most off-putting to any damsel foolish enough to try and ensnare him with dimples and limpid looks.
He was in most things a moderate man; he wore his clothes well, but his tailor was never permitted to try anything that might be thought of as daring, or setting a fashion; his neckcloths were snowy white but not showy; he was convivial in his club but neither drank nor gambled to such a degree as might lead to notoriety. In fact, he almost risked being a dull fellow. However, he was wealthy, good-looking and single, which put him high on the list for any hostess wishful of holding a successful evening, especially since he could flirt decorously with any lady he was seated next to at dinner, be she the hostess’s irascible mama-in-law or tongue-tied daughter who needed bringing out of her shell. Among the gentlemen, he was noted for his knowledge of all things equine. If you wanted advice on a riding horse, whether a well set up bit of blood and bone to hunt in the shires, or a good-looking hack for town, Lucius Radstock was the man to whom you should turn.
His only real extravagance was his horses, be they to ride or drive, and his treasured brood mares. Having had some success upon the Turf with several fillies, he now spared no expense sending them to the finest and most expensive stallions standing, and had indeed bought more,56so that he was establishing a small stud of his own at his place in Berkshire. He would never rival his friend Lord Egremont, but was respected in the bloodstock circle. His closest and oldest friend, Lord Godmanchester, whom he had known since Eton, was not as besotted with all things quadrupedal, but interested enough not to be bored by the latest news of a promising colt, or a threatened laminitis, and was quite prepared to give his friend a hint if he went on too long about such things.
They were standing a little to one side of where Lady Godmanchester was in conversation with a worried-looking lady about the outbreak of measles at Harrow, and Sir Lucius was regaling Godmanchester with the latest news from his head groom, which had greeted him upon his return to his town house.
‘I only wish I could have been there, having missed Debutante dropping hers. Madrigal is a lovely mare, and this is her second foal by Soothsayer. Truth Song, her first, looks to have potential. Grafton offered me a good price for her, but I fancy bringing her on myself for the Oaks, year after next.’
‘And what will you call this one, Lucius, the colt?’
‘What a clunch!’
‘Not very flattering name, I must say.’ Godmanchester grinned, and followed Radstock’s gaze, as he watched Mr Escott. ‘Ah, Farncombe’s Folly might be better.’
‘Farncombe is as sane a fellow as you or I. The poet nonsense must come from the distaff. Maria Farncombe is one of those ethereal, wan females always going on about her “poor nerves” and sighing.’
57‘There speaks the horse breeder, my friend, looking at bloodlines.’
Sir Lucius laughed softly. ‘I almost pity Lady Chalford’s niece.’ He paused. ‘Has there been some sudden death in the family? Miss Ashling is not in black gloves, nor are Lady Chalford or her daughter sombrely clad, but Miss Ashling seems in some distant mourning.’
‘Perhaps some relative of her mother’s? My wife did not mention it, though, and we saw her this very afternoon in colours.’
‘And black gloves would be sufficient for some great-aunt or other. How odd.’
‘You could ask her, Lucius, for she is coming this way.’
Sir Lucius watched the lilac-clad figure coming towardsLady Godmanchester, her head held high in what looked suspiciously like defiance at the world.
‘Oh, by the by,’ he murmured, taking in the lady’s firmly closed mouth and furrowed brow, ‘I rather think I am going to call the colt Premonition.’
‘Good evening, Miss Ashling.’ Lord Godmanchester bowed, smiling slightly. ‘I see you were waylaid by Mr Escott.’
‘Waylaid, my lord?’ She acknowledged both gentlemen politely, as Sir Lucius, a fraction behind his friend, made his bow. ‘I would as soon have been waylaid by highwaymen.’
