She sat beside him with barely concealed impatience, waiting for London to appear.
When it did, she blinked. And wrinkled her nose. And winced at the raucous cries. The streets were packed with carriages of every description, the pavements teeming. She had never imagined such close-packed humanity-fresh from the broad plain of Newmarket Heath, she found it disturbing. She felt hemmed in on every side with the sheer weight of humankind. And the noise. And the squalor. And the urchins-everywhere.
She'd lived in London for only a short time before, with her aunt at her London house. She couldn't remember any sights such as those she now saw, but it had, after all, been a long time ago. As Demon concentrated on his horses, deftly tacking through the traffic, she edged closer until she could feel the warmth of his body through her pelisse.
To her relief, the fashionable areas were more as she recalled-quiet streets lined with elegant houses, neat squares with fenced gardens at their centers. Indeed, this part of London was better, neater, more beautiful than her memories. Her aunt had lived in Bloomsbury, which was not nearly as fashionable as Berkeley Square, which was where Demon took her.
He reined in the bays before a large mansion, as imposing as the most imposing she'd seen. As Gillies took the reins and Demon stepped down, Flick stared up at the three-storeyed facade and suddenly knew what "being not quite up to snuff" felt like.
Then Demon took her hand; stilling her fears, she shuffled along the seat and let him hand her to the ground. Clutching her parasol's handle tightly, she took his profferred arm, and climbed the steps beside him.
If the house was imposing, slightly scarifying, the butler, Highthorpe, was worse. He opened the door to Demon's knock and looked down his beaked nose at her.
"Ah, Highthorpe-how's the leg?" With an affectionate smile at the butler, Demon handed Flick over the threshold. "Is her ladyship in?"
"My leg is quite improved, thank you, sir." Holding the door wider, Highthorpe bowed deferentially; he closed it after them, and turned, his starchy demeanor somewhat softer. "Her ladyship, I believe, is in her sanctuary."
Demon's smile deepened. "This is Miss Parteger, Highthorpe. She'll be staying with Mama for the nonce. Gillies will bring her bags around."
It might have been a trick of the light beaming through the fanlight, yet Flick could have sworn a gleam of interest flashed in Highthorpe's eyes. He smiled as he bowed again to her. "Miss. I'll mention to Mrs. Helmsley to prepare a room for you at once-I'll have your bags taken there. No doubt you'll wish to refresh yourself after your journey."
"Thank you." Flick smiled back-Highthorpe suddenly sounded much more comfortable. Demon drew her on.
"I'll leave you in the drawing room while I fetch Mama." He opened a door and ushered her inside.
One glance about the elegant blue-and-white room had her turning back to him. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I could always stay with my aunt-"
"Mama will be delighted to meet you." He made the statement as if she hadn't spoken. "I won't be above a few minutes."
He went out, closing the door behind him. Flick stared at the white painted panels-he didn't come back in. Sighing, she looked around.
She considered the white damask settee, then looked down at her plain, definitely old, outmoded pelisse. Putting one in contact with the other seemed like sacrilege. So she stayed on her feet and shook out her skirts, trying vainly to rearrange them to hide the creases. What would Lady Horatia-the lady who presided over such a well-appointed drawing room-think of her in her far-from-elegant attire?
The point proved academic.
The latch clicked, the door swung wide, and a tall, commandingly elegant lady swept in.
And descended on her, a huge smile on her face, her eyes alight with a welcome Flick could not imagine what she'd done to deserve. But there was no mistaking the warmth with which Lady Horatia embraced her.
"My dear!" Touching a scented cheek to hers, Lady Horatia straightened and held her at arms' length, not to inspect her dowdy pelisse but to look into her face. "I'm so very delighted to meet you, and to welcome you to this house. Indeed"-she shot a glance at Demon-"I understand it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the ton." Looking back at Flick, Lady Horatia beamed. "I couldn't be more delighted!"
Flick smiled warmly, gratefully.
Lady Horatia's smile deepened; her blue eyes, very like Demon's, twinkled expressively. "Now we can send Harry away and get acquainted."
Flick blinked, then realized, as Lady Horatia turned to Demon, that she was referring to him.
"You may come back for dinner." Lady Horatia raised a brow-the gesture appeared haughtily teasing. "I presume you are free?"
Demon-Harry-merely smiled. "Of course." He looked at Flick. "I'll see you at seven." With a nod for her and another for his mother, he turned and strolled to the door; it shut softly behind him.
"Well!" Lady Horatia turned to Flick, and smiled exultantly. "At last!"
Chapter 15
Despite their languid elegance, when Cynsters acted, things happened in a rash. After luncheon, Horatia whisked Flick into her carriage, off to a family afternoon tea.
"Grosvenor Square's not far," Horatia assured her. "And Helena is going to be as delighted as I to meet you."
"Helena?" Flick sifted through the names Horatia had mentioned over luncheon.
"My sister-in-law. Mother of Sylvester, better known as Devil, now Duke of St. Ives. Helena is the Dowager. She and I only had sons-she, Sylvester and Richard, me, Vane and Harry. Sylvester, Richard and Vane are all married-" Horatia glanced at Flick. "Didn't Harry tell you?"
Flick shook her head; Horatia grimaced. "He always was one to ignore details. So-" Horatia settled back; Flick dutifully paid attention. "Sylvester married Honoria Anstruther-Wetherby over a year ago. Sebastian, their son, is eight months old. Honoria's increasing again, so while they'll doubtless come to town for the Season proper, the ducal couple are presently in Cambridgeshire.
"Which brings us to Vane. He married Patience Debbington last November. Patience is increasing, too, so we don't expect to see them for a few weeks, either. As for Richard, he married quite unexpectedly in Scotland before Christmas. There was a spot of bother-Sylvester, Honoria, Vane, Patience and Helena-and a few others-went north, but all seems to have settled comfortably and Helena is in alt at the prospect of more grandchildren.
"However," Horatia declared, reaching her peroration, "as neither Honoria nor Patience, nor Richard's Catriona, were young misses in need of help and guidance, neither Helena nor I have ever had a young lady to fuss over." Eyes bright, she patted Flick's hand. "So I'm afraid, my dear, that you'll have to put up with the two of us fussing over you-you're our last chance in that arena, you see."
Flick smiled spontaneously. "On the contrary, I would be glad of your help." Her gaze drifted over the fashionable ladies and gentlemen strolling the pavements. "I've no real idea how one should go on in London." She looked down at her pretty but definitely not chic gown, blushed slightly, and caught Horatia's eye. "Please do hint me in the right direction-I would be very unhappy to be an embarrassment to you and D-Harry."
"Nonsense." Horatia squeezed Flick's hand fondly. "I doubt you could embarrass me if you tried." Her eyes twinkled. "And certainly not my son." Flick blushed; Horatia chuckled. "With a little guidance, a little experience, and a little town bronze, you'll do very well."