by Unknown
"Do you also view Marie Antoinette in this light, mademoiselle?"
'"Toinette is a very foolish woman. She has no understanding of the responsibilities of her position, only of its advantages. While the people of France starve, their queen creates playgrounds for herself and her favorites, squandering the nation's bankrupt resources in full view of those who must choose between their own starvation or that of their children. Whilst Marie Antoinette plays milkmaid in the Petit Trianon, France weeps under a burden of tyranny and poverty that only the blood of its perpetrators will assuage." Danielle's voice remained evenly pitched throughout this speech, but the passion and emotion underlying her words were powerfully felt by both members of her audience.
"You are very sure of this, mademoiselle." The half question, half statement forestalled Linton as he was about to ask Danny if she would prefer to close the interview.
"I speak only of what I have heard and seen, sir. My own family were typical of the worst of their kind and have already suffered the fate that will overtake the rest if the States General achieves nothing. There are some members of the nobility who understand the dangers—the Comte de Mirabeau and the Due d'Orleans, for instance. They, it is understood, will sit with the Commons and vote as representatives of the people and not of the nobility. The people's hopes rest with them and on the assumption that Louis XVI has their best interests at heart. He may well have, but his interpretation of their best interests is, I fear, at variance with the peoples'." This last was said with a sardonic cynicism that startled Linton although he realized that he should have expected it. This quiet, controlled individual seemed to bear no resemblance to the impish brat he had reluctantly assumed responsibility for. That brat had lived through and learned from a series of horrendous experiences that would have broken a lesser spirit. The woman who was just beginning to emerge from this childish chrysalis would be special indeed. But Pitt was continuing.
"Mademoiselle, I understand and accept the need for discretion, but can you tell me nothing of your own story?"
"I am quite willing, sir, to tell you the whole. It is Milord Linton who has the so delicate notions of propriety."
"Oh, infamous, Danielle!" Linton murmured, offering his snuff box to the Earl of Chatham before himself taking a pinch.
"I can assure you of my absolute discretion, Linton." Chatham bowed carelessly in his direction.
"I do not doubt it, sir. You may put up your veil, brat, and tell what you choose."
The small figure rose instantly, casting aside the heavy velvet cloak and removing the despised bonnet and veil with a gesture of ill-concealed relief.
"I was like to roast in those swaddling clothes," she announced cheerfully, standing on tiptoe before the mirror above the mantel to adjust her disordered curls in a gesture so utterly feminine that Linton was hard put to keep a straight face. "Now, sir, I will take that refreshment, if I may?" She turned a dazzling smile on William Pitt, who bowed hastily and turned to the decanter. Whatever he had been expecting under the layers of disguise, it was not this sparkling creature in a gown of the first style of elegance.
"Would you perhaps prefer a glass of lemonade, mademoiselle, or perhaps ratafia?" He hesitated, decanter in hand.
"Not at all. If that is port, I should like it of all things."
"It is an excellent port, Danny," Linton assured her gravely. "Perhaps I should perform formal introductions. May I present the Earl of Chatham to the Lady Danielle de St. Varennes?"
"My lord." Danielle sank gracefully into her curtsy, rising as Pitt took her hand with a low bow.
"Enchante, milady. You are, of course, Louise Rockford's daughter," he continued with a smile. "There
is a strong resemblance, but the mouth and nose are pure de St. Varennes. Do you not agree, Linton?"
"Absolutely, Pitt."
Danielle took a sip of her port, frowned slightly, then gave a short approving nod. "It is indeed an excellent port, sir. Now, I will tell you my story and you will understand perfectly, n'est-ce pas?"
William Pitt the younger was not at all sure that he would ever understand anything perfectly again but
he merely bowed courteously.
"Do, pray, be seated, sir. I will remain standing as I find it easier to think if I walk around." Danny gave him that dazzling smile again and Linton wondered uneasily if she were being deliberately coquettish. Those petticoats seemed to have wrought the damndest changes in his urchin.
She told her tale, however, with a quiet, articulate objectivity that held both men spellbound. The few questions that Pitt posed were answered pertinently with a deep frown of concentration as she sought the right words, using both English and French with the same ease.
"And then, sir, Milord Linton rescued me from a nasty baker who had most unpleasant designs upon my person and there the story ends."
"You have much courage, milady," Pitt said heavily, "but your impressions and information fill me with the deepest foreboding."
"That is only to be expected of a realistic mind, sir," she responded simply. "I do not know what is to be done, though."
"Your people will have many sympathizers in this country. Their struggles will be seen by some idealists as a great example."
"Fox, of course," Linton said thoughtfully.
"Of course, and Burke."
"Mais, d'accord, milord," Danielle said briskly. "But will they support the vengeance?"
"You anticipate much blood, Danielle?" Only Linton seemed aware that Pitt had used her first name as if he had known her from the cradle.
"I have seen the power of the mob, sir," she reminded him gently.
At that Linton rose gracefully. "If you have no further questions, Chatham, I think it is time Danielle sought her bed. We have a long journey ahead of us."
"Indeed." Pitt chewed his lip thoughtfully before turning to Danielle. "Do you care to refresh yourself, Danielle, before you leave?"
"You are suggesting, I think, that I absent myself for a while, sir?" A slight curtsy and those peeping dimples accompanied the soft statement. "If you wish to be private with My Lord Linton you have only to say so."
"Oh, Danny," the earl sighed. "Such want of conduct, child!"
"I fail to see why the truth should be considered want of conduct," she declared stoutly. "If you will show me to your library, sir, I will endeavor to amuse myself."
When she had left, Pitt refilled both theirglasses. "You will call on me, Linton, should you require any assistance when Danielle takes her place in Society?"
"I think it is Society who will require the assistance," Linton responded dryly.
Pitt laughed softly. "She is an extraordinary child, but sponsored by March will have all the right entrees." He gave his companion a shrewd look. "You, I imagine, will continue to hold the reins?"
"It seems my destiny," the earl replied calmly.
"It will require all your skill, my friend, and the lightest hand on the strongest curb!"
"Just so, Pitt."
"Well, you know I stand her friend and yours. Now, did you meet with Mirabeau?"
* * *
The earl sat in frowning silence as the light chaise made its way through the night streets of London prompting Danielle to inquire tentatively, "Are you still cross with me, milord?"
He sat up suddenly. "Cross with you? Why should I be, child?"
"Well, I do not really know, but . . . but . . . my want of conduct, perhaps?"
"Well, as I have had occasion to remark in the past, that is certainly deplorable," he replied briskly. "However, we shall have some months to work on that particular problem before your come-out next Season." Ignoring Danielle's suddenly opened mouth, he continued coolly. "I am sorry if I appear abstracted, Danny. Your information and my subsequent discussion with Pitt have created some uncomfortable reflections. I will share them with you on our journey to Mervanwey—it is too late tonight."
With that she was obliged to be satisfied and in all honesty was far t
oo fatigued either to question his blithe assumption about her future or to enter into any further political discussions.
The night porter bowed them into the hall of Linton House and the earl accompanied Danielle to the Blue Room where she was summarily unlaced, unbuttoned, and dismissed to her bed with the firm injunction that she refrain from bursting into song at her ablutions and be prepared to be up betimes in the morning.
That morning dawned bright and clear and Danny was awakened by the servant, Molly, who brought her hot chocolate, hot water, and her boy's clothes freshly laundered and pressed. Even the boots carried a shine that had taken the boot boy an hour to achieve.
"Breakfast, sir, will be served in the parlor behind the dining room." Molly bobbed a curtsy as she turned from drawing back the curtains and Danny buried her face in the pillows not at all anxious to be viewed in the full light of day by this young woman who was all too close to her in age. As the door closed behind the girl a dreadful thought struck her and she shot upright in the bed. What had happened to her clothes of the night before? She remembered only stepping out of them. It had not occurred to her to put them away. But they were nowhere to be seen and their absence only added to the curious dreamlike memories of the previous evening. Once dressed in her usual garments she became Danny again and indeed felt as if she had never been anyone else. Her task now was to evade the protection of the Earl of Linton at the earliest moment and proceed with her original scheme. The nagging doubts as to her ability to pursue this course she dismissed as an attack of morning megrims and having forced her curls into their rather
unconvincing masculine style set off to find the breakfast parlor. In this she was ably assisted by a watchful footman and was ushered into the small room at the back of the house where Milord was already breaking his fast with a degree of enthusiasm.
"Ah, good morning, brat," he greeted her without ceremony. "You slept well, I trust?"
"Very well, thank you, sir." She took her place and examined the deviled kidneys, mushrooms, eggs, and ham with considerable appetite.
"May I carve you some ham?" the earl asked politely.
"If you please, milord. It is amazing how easy I find it to become accustomed to this English breakfast," she confided, pouring coffee. "In France it would be considered barbaric to begin the day with meat."
Linton's lips quivered slightly, but he maintained his composure as she piled her plate and silence reigned for some considerable time.
"Oh, milord?" Danielle suddenly looked up. "Do you know what happened to my clothes last night? I was most afraid Molly would see them this morning."
"I find I have an unexpected talent as lady's maid," Linton informed her dryly.
"Oh." Danielle absorbed this in thoughtful silence.
"You will find a portmanteau in your room. It contains those clothes and toilet articles for the journey,"
he went on calmly. "Within three days, I intend that you shall put on your petticoats permanently."
"Milord, I have told you . . ."
"Yes, I am well aware of what you have told me. I, however, have also told you certain things. We shall see whose plans prevail. If you are quite finished, I suggest we start for Cornwall."
"May . . . may we not discuss this, milord?" Danielle decided on one last try, an attempt at mature, dignified reasoning.
"There is nothing to discuss, Danny. You will endure my guardianship until I can give you into the charge of your grandparents. I quite understand that you find that fact unpalatable and your position irksome. However, I should warn you that if you throw down the glove, I shall most certainly take it up. Shall we go?"
Tranquilly, Linton pulled out her chair and held the door for her and Danielle, the wind quite taken out
of her sails, had no choice but to comply.
Just how difficult her guardian was going to be was revealed all too clearly when she emerged into the quiet square. The hired chaise stood at the steps, an enchantingly pretty dappled mare, unsaddled, tied to the back, whilst His Lordship was standing at the stirrup of a magnificent glossy black.
"In you get, Danny," he instructed calmly.
"But you are riding!" she protested.
"I am."
"May I not also ride?"
"Not until we have left the town. I do not underestimate your resourcefulness, you see," he murmured almost apologetically. "And the opportunities for escape will be many in the streets. They are so crowded and narrow, you understand." A gentle smile accompanied the soft words. "Should you, of course, wish to renew your promise . . ."
Danielle responded to this with a cross sniff and climbed disgustedly into the chaise, leaving Linton to mount his horse, unsure whether the desire to kiss or to spank her was uppermost.
The next four hours passed for Danielle in lonely tedium and she clambered down with relief at their first changing post. The earl gave instructions for the mare to be saddled and ushered her into the inn. He made no attempt to explain her presence to the innkeeper judging that since he was traveling incognito, unless he had the misfortune to meet an acquaintance, speculation could harm neither of them. He put her himself into the saddle of the mare before mounting the black and then, to Danielle's momentary speechless indignation, reached across to take hold of the leading rein attached to the mare's bridle.
"You . . . you cannot!" she managed to gasp at last.
"Cannot what, brat?"
"Cannot lead my horse as if I were a baby!"
"You do not imagine, Danny, that I would be so foolish as to put you up on one of my horses without taking some precautions?" The note of polite incredulity brought an angry flush to her cheeks. "Of course," he continued mildly, "you may prefer to continue your journey in the chaise."
"Infinitely," Danny stated and without another word swung easily to the ground and returned to the stuffy discomforts of the carriage.
That night she ate her dinner in their chamber under the calm eye of her guardian who, once she had finished, bade her a polite good night and went to his own meal in the private parlor, locking the door behind him. He had bespoken a room on the third floor—not nearly as comfortable as the spacious chamber urged by the landlord, but one whose small window offered no chance for escape. Danny toyed only momentarily with the idea of knotted bedsheets—it was a device that she strongly suspected worked only between the pages of romances. By midmoming of the next day she was ready to exchange the coach for the hated leading rein and after three hours of this mortification decided that she was in no wise going to evade Justin, Earl of Lin ton. She would reach Mervanwey at the end of a leading string or riding independently, but he would be beside her.
"Milord?"
"Yes, Danny." He turned immediately toward her with that unfailing politeness.
"I will renew my promise."
The earl said nothing, merely leant sideways to unfasten the rein.
Danny looked speculatively at the broad green turf bordering the rather narrow road. "I should like to gallop, sir, and unless I much mistake this pretty lady would enjoy it also." The mare raised her head, sniffing the wind eagerly as if she understood and Linton laughed.
"Come then, child, let us try the lady against the stallion." Danielle was off almost before the words were out of his mouth, leaning low over the mare's neck as she encouraged the spirited filly to lengthen her stride. The black thundered behind them, drawing level, nostrils flaring at the excitement of the race. For a while they kept pace, but Danny knew that her mare had not the chest of the earl's stallion and while she had the spirit to push herself to exhaustion must not be allowed to do so. As soon as she sensed the animal beneath her had reached her limit she drew back on the rein allowing the other to forge ahead, murmuring soft words of approval and encouragement as their pace slowed to one easily within the comfortable capacity of her mount. Iinton, realizing what had happened, checked his stallion and she soon drew level again.
"You know your horse, Danielle," he observed.
&n
bsp; "But of course. What rider does not?"
The earl kept his caustic response to himself. Danielle was clearly one of those riders for whom a lack of skill was quite incomprehensible. How she was going to accept a docile trot in Hyde Park in habit and sidesaddle, he did not know. Quite clearly some compromise must be found, but that was just another of those complications to add to the already long list he had formed.
Chapter 6
They reached Mervanwey on the afternoon of the third day. Their route took them by way of the coast road and Danielle was entranced by the contrast between the gentle green and gold countryside glowing under the soft spring sunshine and the awesome gray cliffs rising from a wild froth of surf as the dangerous blue green sea crashed against their wild, rocky foundations. They passed through small hamlets and fishing villages receiving only cursory interest from their inhabitants—the Cornish folk being a reclusive race, preferring to mind their own business rather than that of others and assuming the rest of the world would follow suit.