As October drew to a close, London was thin on company, but Sally could still go out every night if she wished. Antonia and Henry were also in town, and Elf was happy to escort the three ladies any time Papa was not available—most of the time, since he hated attending Society events without Mama, and she had still not shaken off her cold.
Just as well, for if Mama had been her usual self, she would have noticed Sally's unhappiness, and her regular refusal of invitations.
Toad was not coming home for Christmas.
"The French system is different to ours," Aunt Bella explained. "They do not have long summer holidays, or an extensive break during Christmastide, certainly not long enough to make it here and back on shipboard. David is doing very well, and we expect his examination results to be excellent, and your Uncle Wellbridge and I would love to see him. But I have written to his friend Piero's brother and asked David be allowed to spend Christmas at their estate near Florence once their exams are over, as it is much closer. Then he will go directly to Marseilles for the next part of his course and he will not be finished there for another twelve months."
Toad's latest letter was not helping Sally's mood.
The sheer number of clubs for gentlemen is astonishing (and I do not refer to the type of club about which you should not know), to say nothing of the salons and galleries and other such intellectual amusements. If I chose, I would never be forced to enter my own abode again, and could still stay entirely respectable.
Did Toad think she was entirely ignorant of the sorts of clubs and 'salons' he and his new friends frequented, and the exploits making him the talk of male society in both Paris and in London? Respectable, indeed.
Or perhaps not entirely respectable. My study club initiated a wager I dare not have noised about, lest my reputation be ruined forever.
I was required to catch six fine specimens of feline. Picture it (but do not laugh at me, I beg). I was forced to coax them out of their corners and alleyways with the kinds of treats they most enjoy, then release them in most august company. I cannot overstate the lacerations. Can you imagine if I were forced to humiliate myself so to join White's or Brooks's? I can only hope I am not blackballed from those establishments, if news of my disgrace should cross the Channel. I trust you will keep my secret.
Sally frowned over the letter for the fifteenth time. What august company? Surely he meant one of his clubs? She had overheard whispers about Toad and the ladies of the French court, but if he had taken cats into Tuileries, surely it would be the talk of both France and London.
She could picture the scene: six scrawny alley cats, indignant at their incarceration, and the ladies with their fine silks running in every direction, forgetting any lecherous designs they may have on her David. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea after all.
But I have little time for such escapades. By the time you read this, I will be sitting my examinations, and I leave immediately afterwards for Marseilles.
Of course Aunt Bella hadn't told him about her plans for his holiday. It was just like both sets of parents to interfere without asking leave.
I shall be pleased to leave Paris, Sally, but I am sad to be travelling further away from you.
He was pleased to leave Paris. Did that not mean he was not enjoying the court ladies or the models or opera dancers with whom his name had been linked?
But undoubtedly, Marseilles would also have willing women who were not Sally. At least there was no royal court there.
A knock on the door interrupted her musing. "My lady? Lord Longford has arrived to take you driving," the maid said.
Sally folded the letter and locked it in her desk, and stopped to examine her reflection in the mirror opposite the door to her suite, wondering what her much older cousin saw beyond the schoolgirl she had so recently been.
Hair fastened away from her face then tumbling in black ringlets. Face somewhat thinner than the mode, but pretty enough, she supposed. The carriage dress was nothing to sneer at, a tight-fitting jacket of deep emerald green in fine English wool, embroidered with rosebuds and a thick border of appliqued roses on her cuffs, hem, and collar, covering a skirt in a lighter shade of green with a thin stripe of rose pink to match the embroidery and ribbons on her cloak and bonnet.
She allowed the maid to fit her bonnet, then went downstairs, pulling on her gloves.
Longford stood at the foot of the stairs, watching for her. He was a handsome man in his mid-thirties but looked much younger, with golden-blond hair just long enough to curl, a slightly darker beard, neatly trimmed, and dark blue eyes currently bright with appreciation or anticipation, either of which boded ill for a peaceful carriage ride.
"You are a picture, Cousin Sally. I shall be the envy of London, to have you up beside me."
Sally relaxed a little. Some days, the warmth of his attentions made her uncomfortable, but on those days, he called her 'Lady Sarah' or 'Princess.' 'Cousin Sally' could expect a pleasant ride with the much-older cousin who had alternately teased and made a pet of her since she could toddle.
Longford took her cloak from her maid and helped Sally into it, then offered his arm.
"Shall we, Cousin?"
From Haverford House to Hyde Park was only a few minutes' drive. Longford focused his full attention on his horses until they left the traffic behind, then pulled up beside one of the walks.
"Would you care to stretch your legs, Sal? My groom can take the cattle."
With enough of a breeze to keep the fog away, and even some warmth from the late autumn sun, a walk would be pleasant. "What a good idea, Longford."
She allowed him to help her down, and tucked her hand into the elbow he offered.
"This is comfortable," Longford said, as they walked. "I like that you are tall, Sally. I don't have to bend down to reach you."
He was venturing into dangerous territory. "The autumn colours are lovely," Sally said, quickly.
"Yes. Beautiful." But his eyes were not on the trees, but her face. "Sally, am I right in thinking that Elf is courting Miss St James? Only, I thought he was going to propose to you."
"Elf and I are merely friends," Sally explained. She would not tell him—would not tell anyone—more than that.
"Oh good. Then I should like to have my chance, Sally."
"No, Longford. Please do not."
"Now, Sally, hear a man out," Longford wheedled. "I am proposing to you, you know, not propositioning you."
Of course he was. No man in London would proposition her, surely, for fear of Papa's wrath. Sally tried again. "Could we not talk of something else, Cousin? We would not suit." Stubborn fool of a man.
"I think we would suit very well. I like you, Sally, and you have always been fond of me; you know you have. I realise that you have a tendre for Toad Northope, but I do not mind that. He is off in France forgetting all about you, and it will not take you long to realise it. It does you credit that you have been faithful, but really, he does not deserve you."
More than stubborn.
"I suppose you think you do deserve me." Sally stopped and pulled her hand from Longford's arm. How dare he keep on after she had given him his reply. How dare he talk so about Toad. Toad had not forgotten her. Had she not just been reading his letter? Jaw stiff with the effort it took not to shriek, she clenched both hands into fists at her side.
Longford took her other hand and tucked it into his opposite elbow, pulling her into a walk again.
"I am not fool enough to agree to that, Sally Grenford. Let us walk on. I envy you your grand passion, you know. If I were going to fall in love with a suitable woman, I daresay it would have happened by now. But my father is getting older, and he and Mother would like to see me settled. You would make a wonderful countess in your turn, Sally. And I would be a good husband, you know. We Redepennings are."
Sally opened her mouth to tell him he could make someone else a good husband, but Longford forestalled her. "This is why I have waited until I was thirty-four and my passions cooled a little. I am determined to be faithful like my father and uncles, and a wife cannot always... Well. You need not think I would stray, Sally. Just say the word, and I shall dismiss my mistress immediately, and devote myself to courting you properly. Though I hope you will not make me wait too long, my dear. My passions have not cooled that much."
Dismiss his mistress? He was peppering his marriage proposal with talk of his mistress? "You would marry me knowing that I love—" she emphasised her beloved's proper title, "Lord Abersham?"
Longford patted the hand she was forming into a fist on his arm. "If I could smash Abersham's teeth in, I would. Taking advantage, then deserting you the way he did."
"Lord Abersham intends to marry me, Longford, and I intend to marry him. We have not... We would be married now, if his parents and mine had not..." Sally turned her head away, unwilling for this lout to see her tears.
Longford's other hand appeared before her with a neatly folded handkerchief, and his voice was kind, though his words were not.
"You needn't worry about me finding out what liberties you allowed him, Sally, for it matters naught to me. At least I know you are passionate in the bedchamber, for Abersham wouldn't waste his time on a cold fish. And after all the time that has passed, I know I'll not have a cuckoo in my nest."
This time, Sally crossed her arms when she stopped, for otherwise she would have slapped Longford's smug face in front of every person promenading in the park.
Longford stopped, too, regarding her with his head tilted to one side, prudently keeping his distance. "Are the rumours untrue?" he asked, then narrowed his eyes and smiled slightly. "Not entirely untrue, I'd wager," he concluded. "I really should smash the man's teeth in. Playing with French cats while you grieve his absence."
"With cats? You heard about that?"
"Good Go–Goodness, Sally, that loose fish hasn't told you about introducing six cheap whores into a Paris salon, has he? And chasing them around until he caught them? The Comtesse de Lodève's salon—they say she had him last. Though that is not surprising, since not one young English nobleman is ever let out of Paris except by way of that particular cat's bed."
"Longford!" No one had ever spoken so freely to Sally. Except Toad, but they were friends. And 'cats.' Toad had said cats. Surely, he wouldn't have said anything to her at all if the cats were metaphorical.
"You are mistaken, my lord," she told him, coldly. "Had the situation been as you describe, Lord Abersham would not have mentioned the incident, nor the scratches he received from letting the felines from the bag. Alley cats, my lord. Not human females." And the comtesse as much of an alley cat as any of them. How could Toad do such a thing?
Longford opened his mouth, then thought again and closed it. "Right. Yes. Alley cats. I'm sure you are right, and the gossip is merely overblown."
He took a few slow steps away from her, and looked back. After a moment, she followed. "You refuse my proposal, then," he stated.
"I do. Of course I do, and any woman would. Honestly, Longford. You show more emotion selecting a mare for your stud than a wife for your bed. If you intend me to be flattered, you miss your mark. I had expected better address from a rake of your reputation."
Longford, not looking at all cast down, gave a bark of laughter. "Ah, Cousin Sally, what a pity. You would have led me a merry dance, my dear. And I daresay I would have been the better for it."
His cheerful reaction solidified her tentative hypothesis. He had no wish to marry her; had proposed in a way to ensure she would refuse. Why, then, had he proposed at all?
"May you fall in love as though from a high cliff, and may the woman in question torment you for months, if not years." Sally stuck her nose in the air and stalked past him toward the carriage.