Page 32

After a leisurely breakfast and discussion about which horses they would back at Epsom, Ferdy said, ‘Max, why not join me for some hard exercise this morning. You go to Gentleman Jackson’s while I drop in on Angelo’s Academy. A few rounds sparring in the ring will do you good, just as a couple of bouts with the épée will get my heart racing. We could walk down to Bond Street together. What do you say?’

Max’s mouth was full and he nodded, his dark features crinkled in a smile. When he could speak, he laughed. ‘I’m certainly in need of some spartan manly sports. In Mrs Payton’s company, I’m becoming soft and indulgent as a sybarite.’

The men set off on foot for Bond Street. They strolled east down Brook Street and as he passed the Wolfes’ mansion a second time, Ferdy was delighted to see the great house had come to life again. A servant girl was beating a Turkey carpet on the front steps, while meat and flowers were delivered to the kitchen.

His step was lightened and a smile radiated his fine features as he and Lord Flambard turned into Bond Street. In that thoroughfare of extravagance and style where most people were attractive and well-dressed, Ferdinand Shilton and his mysterious friend drew all eyes. These were two young bucks of the first water but of quite different energies and cut. Mr Shilton was well-known and liked, his wealth seductive enough, but his golden looks and refined physical proportions were marvelled at as rivalling Michelangelo’s David, immortalised in etchings and glimpsed on the Grand Tour. His dark friend elicited as much interest, for he was unknown, having left England ten years before, barely out of boyhood, and returned a man. Not seen in Society before, his outlandish figure now swaggered, like a pirate through their midst.

Lord Flambard was surprised by the attention they attracted. ‘Ferdy! I didn’t realise you were such a honeypot for wasps and hornets to feed on. So many wish to claim you as a friend. You should have warned me not to appear with you in public as long as I seek to remain incognito.’

‘Max, it’s your devilish looks which divert the eye. Tame those unruly locks and try not to strut like an arrogant turkey cock. And certainly do not embarrass yourself or me with any public lechery. It’s what the gossips long to see.’

They had reached the knot of young blades who congregated around Jackson’s boxing academy and the School of Arms next door where the fencing master, Angelo, put the young scions of noble families through their paces with rapier and épée. Ferdy parted from his friend and entered the high-ceilinged studio where Maestro Angelo conducted his tutorials.

The dapper, athletic-looking man stood beneath the handsome portrait of the Chevalier de Saint-Georges, his chest protected by a quilted leather plastron and padded sleeves so his clumsier students wouldn’t pierce his flesh with their lethal weapons. He raised his rapier in salute to Mr Shilton. ‘Dear Sir, I am delighted to see you. I am in need of a real contest!’

‘Maestro! As am I.’ Ferdy had been taught by Master Angelo when he was at Eton and had been the swordsman’s prize pupil, captain of the school team.

An assistant helped him out of his immaculate coat and pulled off his tall boots, handing him a pair of soft-soled canvas shoes that would not slip in the designated court. In respect to Ferdy’s skill, Master Angelo stripped off his protective clothing; he was confident his opponent would not inadvertently kill him. Wearing only shirt and breeches, they took their rapiers and stood opposite each other, their weapons raised in front of their faces in salutation.

Master Angelo had paid Ferdinand Shilton the highest compliment possible when he had told him once he fenced like the Chevalier de Saint-Georges, a legend in his own lifetime for his athletic speed and dancer’s grace. He was also a famous composer and musician and it was thought his intense musicality helped him in the intricate dance-like steps and grace of movement. Mr Shilton, the Fencing Master insisted, had a similar balletic grace and disconcerting speed that disarmed all but his quickest opponents.

Master and pupil set off across the floor, at first stalking like panthers, then with sudden flurries of speed, light and penetrating as they thrust, feinted and parried in a flash of hand and weapon. The clashes of steel on steel rang out and an audience of eager bucks congregated on the sidelines to watch this masterclass in fencing. Mr Shilton was the taller of the men, but he could move with as great a speed and grace as the wily Maestro Angelo himself.

Eventually, the men raised their épées and shook hands, both flushed and breathless. ‘A pleasure to see you, Mr Shilton. Come again any time.’ Angelo bowed and returned to his pupils.

Men lounged around the room, laying bets, chatting idly about the latest sporting triumph or calamity. Ferdy Shilton was in need of refreshment and ordered a pint of ale when he was hailed by a young man he recognised, who was obviously already well-lubricated and had grown loquacious.

‘Lord Lockhart, isn’t it?’ Mr Shilton joined him at the bar.

‘Indeed, Sir. Very well fenced. There were a couple of times when you rocked the Master back in his heels.’

Ferdy Shilton laughed. ‘Perhaps, but not for long. He was only feinting for much of the time.’ He took a long, welcome draught of ale. ‘You reside in Grosvenor Street. I believe I pass your house on my way to exercising my hunter in Hyde Park.’

‘Yes. I live there with my mother and sister.’

‘With Miss Rose too?’

‘Of course, I forgot you know her. She’s our cousin. Both my sister and mother hope she won’t be with us for much longer. They’re not very sympathetic, I’m afraid, and are scheming that the Marquess of Kintbury, having been spurned by my sister, might ask for her hand. She’d make a kind mother for his motherless daughters, and no doubt provide him with the necessary heir.’

Mr Shilton felt a sudden lurch in his stomach. ‘Oh, and what are Miss Rose’s feelings on the matter?’

The young lord snorted derisively. ‘She can’t afford the luxury of “feelings”. Her headstrong mother married a musician for love, and that’s really all they had to live on. Both were carried off by the influenza, which nearly put an end to poor Maddie too. It’s only the goodwill of our grandmother and my mother that provides her with a home.’ He swigged his ale and continued, ‘Although with Mama, it’s more grudging, I’m afraid.’

‘I did not realise it was so hard for Miss Rose.’

The young man lowered his voice to a confiding tone as if he were allying himself with the much more sophisticated Mr Shilton. ‘As men of the world, we know life can be cruelly limited for a young woman who’s as poor as a church mouse, with not even good looks to commend her.’

‘Oh really? She doesn’t strike me as such at all.’

Lord Lockhart looked at him sharply, surprised by the emotion in his companion’s voice. ‘I suppose she has got fine eyes.’ Lockhart tried to modify his harsh words but was soon back to his drunken, opinionated self and said, ‘Despite the eyes, Maddie really isn’t a catch. What man with a fortune would rather have an interesting wife than a pretty one?’

Ferdinand Shilton was losing patience with this bumptious young cub. ‘Not all men are alike,’ he said coldly.

‘But rich men are.’ Lord Lockhart continued, with no idea of the antipathy brewing in the breast of the wealthy man beside him, ‘If you’re rich, you have the pick of the plums, so why settle for anything less than beauty and an equable, complaisant nature? When I inherit my grandmother’s estate, that’s what I intend to do. An interesting woman is a troublesome one, take my word for it.’

The pacific Ferdinand Shilton of old would have brushed his coat and walked away, but his newly awakened sensibility meant that instead, he leaned towards Lord Lockhart and said, ‘A better man than either you or me wrote, “Ignorant men don’t know what good they’ve held in their hands until they’ve flung it away.”’ With that, he turned on his heel and walked out into the sun.

As Ferdy strode away, he wondered guiltily if he had behaved in exactly the way Mr Lockhart characterised as a rich man’s prerogative; had his eye alighted on Miss Payton for those very qualities of beauty and complaisance? Perhaps he would now live the rest of his days regretting his own shallowness and ignorance? But he knew more certainly than anyone that, having made his choice for whatever customary reasons, he had to learn how to make the best of things.