Free Evelyn Richardson by The Education of Lady Frances

comforted herself with the thought that perhaps things would be different now that she was several years older, virtually her own mistress, and acquainted with more people than she had been before. At any rate, having stood up to something as threatening as Lord Mainwaring in a rage, she couldn't let the mere idea of dancing with him and other supercilious partners put her in a quake. This was a salutary recollection, as it brought to mind her first encounter with him. He had called her a bluestocking, and the remark, unjust though it was, still rankled. All thoughts of the matronly cap were banished and she resolved to get out the famous Cresswell set of baroque pearls to add to her éclat.
    This settled, Frances decided to reward herself with a trip to Hatchard's to purchase Waverly, which had not been available in the country. Kitty was also fond of Scott despite her propensity for more frothy romances, and she was easily persuaded to accompany her. They set off in the carriage with Wellington. The little dog seized every opportunity for a ride, though he was still leery of the great amount of traffic in the city and much preferred sitting on the box next to John to dodging among the wheels of the throng of vehicles, avoiding the heavy hooves of cart horses or the wickedly quick ones of the highly strung prime bits of blood belonging to the Corinthians. From his perch he could sniff the gratifying variety of city smells and survey the scene with detachment while still attracting the attention of admiring ladies in passing carriages, who never failed to exclaim over his engaging countenance. All in all, he was in a fair way to preferring London to the country.
    The tempting array of books catering to every taste and fancy banished all thoughts of the ball that evening from the minds of Kitty and Frances as they browsed happily among elegant gilt volumes. So engrossed was Frances that she failed to, notice an exquisitely garbed elderly gentleman next to her, poring over a book of engravings of scenes from classical antiquity. As she stepped back to get a better view of the shelves above her, she bumped into him, rousing him from his absorption. “I do beg your pardon, sir.” As she paused to frame a further apology, recognition dawned. “It's Monsieur le Comte de Vaudron, isn't it?” she hazarded, hoping that her memory served her as well as it usually did.
    The gentleman regarded her quizzically for a minute before an answering smile broke. “Cèst ma chère Fanny!” he exclaimed, kissing her hand with Gallic fervor.”
    “How delightful to see you!  But what are you doing in London, sir? I had thought you were still in Greece. Thank the merciful heavens you did not return to France as you were planning to when we last saw you.” The questions and concern in Frances' face betrayed a warmth and fondness not usually present in her manner to those outside the immediate family.
    The count laughed gaily. “Always the curious one, eh, my Fanny? I am staying with Lord Elgin. Originally I helped him to transport his precious marbles here from the Parthenon, but I have remained here to add my influential friends' pleas to his in order to make your so-stuffy government purchase them for England. Of course, it is very difficult. You English, the Cresswells and Elgins excepted, are not a cultured race. These treasures will be wasted on such a nation of shopkeepers, but at least they will be safe from barbarians and vandals. Not that I do not appreciate this nation of shopkeepers. After all, so far they have saved all Europe from ce monstre Napoleon— definitely a man of genius, but genius run mad with power. And I personally have cause to be grateful to these shopkeepers. Long ago I recognized that my own countrymen, whatever their talents in the more refined aspects of life, have no head for finance or politics, so I brought my money to your English bankers and businessmen, whose acumen now permits me to live like a human