by Unknown
"Oh, I did not come alone, sir. You need have no fears on that score," she reassured him brightly.
"I am indeed a fortunate man," he responded sardonically. "Do you care for some coffee?"
"Oh yes, please, and a slice of that ham, if I may. I left in such a hurry, there was no time for breakfast." With swift movements she stripped off her gloves, removed her hat, and tossed them carelessly onto a chair before seating herself opposite and giving him what she hoped was a winning smile.
"You are a sad romp, my child," he said severely, slicing the ham thinly. "If this matter is so urgent, why did you not send me a message so that I could come to you?"
"Well, I did think of it," she confessed, pouring coffee from the heavy silver pot, "But the house is in
such an uproar and I was afraid Grandmaman would get to you first." Her eyes sparkled. "Even poor Grandfather has gone to his club, and he hates to leave the house before noon."
"I think you had better tell me the whole, without further ado." Linton resumed his seat, crossing one elegant leg over the other, twiddling absently with his glass on its long riband.
"Well, you see, Grandmere wishes to disguise me as a bird's nest and I will have none of it. Can you imagine anything more idiotish, milord? A sort of cage with real birdsand feathers—at least they are to be stuffed birds, I think. Real birds could be something of a problem as they have most uninhibited habits." She grinned at him over a forkful of ham and Lord Julian began to have the strangest sensation of deja vu. Sometime, somewhere, he had met this captivating bundle of mischief before.
"I do not think we need concern ourselves with the less pleasant habits of birds," Iinton said repressively. "You will be pleased to confine yourself to the facts. So far I am quite unenlightened."
"You are also being most disagreeable," she retorted, shooting him a defiant look that Lord Julian, in the act of swallowing a mouthful of ale, intercepted.
"Good God!" he ejaculated, as the look and the taste on his tongue transported him to a sunny stableyard on the road to Dover.
They both turned toward him in surprise and then Linton sighed at the expression of astounded recognition on his cousin's face.
"Yes, Julian," he said resignedly, "just so."
Danielle looked between them frowning, and then comprehension dawned. "I see you recognize me, my lord. It is a very long and involved story but you will. . . you will say nothing of it to anyone, will you?"
"Good God, no! Of course not! Wouldn't dream of such a thing!" Lord Julian expostulated, still in a state of shock. "But, Gad, Justin! You boxed her ears, I saw you!"
"Yes, was it not infamous of him?" Danielle declared warmly. "I was not even drinking the horrid stuff!"
"Children, children, when you have quite finished shredding my character for an action which I have already admitted to have been overhasty, although thoroughly provoked, could we return to this matter
of birds' nests?" Justin sighed wearily, beginning to feel uncomfortably like an unpopular schoolmaster
in charge of a schoolroom of rowdy pupils.
"Well, it is a matter of total simplicity," Danielle stated, returning to her ham and helping herself to a piece of bread and butter. "I will not wear anything so absurd and Grandmere continues to insist that I should and if she goes on in this way shall lose my temper and very likely say something that will cause her to fall into strong convulsions and most probably become ill, since she is quite old, you understand, and then I shall not be able to go to Court tonight and I daresay we shall be unable to be married."
"Dear me, the matter is more serious than I thought," Justin murmured, with a supreme effort controlling his quivering lip. "We must avoid such a consequence at all costs."
"You find this amusant, milord?" She glared at him, a dangerous glint in her eye.
"If you scowl at me like that, brat, I shall be tempted to forget Julian's presence," he replied gently, flicking open his snuff box to take a pinch between thumb and forefinger.
Danielle prudently altered her expression before inquiring politely, "Well, what is to be done, milord?"
"What do you think Julian? You are considered something of an expert in these matters, after all." My Lord turned to his cousin, still sitting in abstracted silence, staring into his tankard as if all the answers were contained therein.
"Oh, what?" He looked up hastily. "What d'you say, dear boy?"
"I asked your opinion on the question of birds' nests," His Lordship replied calmly.
"Birds' nests, yes, yes, quite so ... quite so."
Danielle gave an inadvertent gurgle of laughter. "Poor Lord Julian! We have quite destroyed your peace, have we not? Do not trouble yourself with the question, I beg you."
"No, no, no trouble at all, ma'am, happy to be of service," he reassured her hastily. "Can't for the life of me see why M'Lady March wishes to disguise you as a bird's nest. Not at all the thing. Is she feeing quite well, d'you know, m'dear?"
This was too much for Danny and she went off into a peal of laughter so infectious that even Linton's rather grim countenance lightened somewhat.
"Julian, Danielle is, I think, referring to her coiffure for her presentation this evening," he explained patiently.
"Oh, well why didn't she say so. All this talk of birds' nests—it's enough to confuse anyone."
"But I did say so," Danielle protested indignantly, then added thoughtfully, "At least I think I did. Anyway it is a monstrous affair, all lacquer and powder and stuck with dead birds and feathers and twice as tall as I and I will not wear it."
Fortunately for her audience, their knowledge of prevailing fashion was sufficiently deep to enable them to adapt this horrendous image to more realisic proportions.
"Who's to dress your hair?" Lord Julian asked after a short period of cogitation.
"Monsieur Artur, and he is quite the most idiotish person, always waving his hands about and speaking
in an accent that he considers to be French, but it most assuredly is not."
"But he is the best in London, m'dear." Lord Julian was scandalized at this slanderous dismissal of such
a noted artiste.
"Then it is no wonder everyone goes around looking so ludicrous," she declared roundly. "But I do not intend to be in their company, and if you, milord, are going to insist, I should inform you that we are not yet married and you do not have the right of command."
"Do not challenge me, Danny, please," His Lordship begged mildly. "It will make things most uncomfortable for us both. I do not, as it happens, think that what you have described will look well on you at all. You are far too small."
"Exactement!" she declared with satisfaction. "I shall look positively top-heavy."
This inelegant expression earned her a raised eyebrow from Milord and a hastily suppressed chuckle from Julian.
"The powder and feathers are de rigueur at Court, but I think we can find a satisfactory compromise," Linton stated. "The lacquer and the birds we can do without."
"And you will tell Grandmere so?"
"You may regale Julian with the salient facts of your story, brat, avoiding unnecessary detail, if you please, whilst I find my coat. I will accompany you to Bedford Place. Is your groom with your horse?"
"No, I sent him home and had your servants stable the mare. I thought we might be some considerable time, you see, and as I knew you would ride home with me it seemed wasteful to keep Harry kicking his heels." She gave him her ravishing smile and the earl, with an almost defeated headshake, left the room to exchange his embroidered dressing gown for more suitable attire.
* * *
Justin, Earl of Linton, married Danielle de St. Varennes on a green and gold day of Indian summer, the last Saturday in September. It was indeed a quiet wedding, attended only by family and very close friends of the groom and the bride's grandparents, with the notable inclusion of the Prince of Wales, without Princess Caroline, from whom he had been scandalously and openly separated for four years,
and William Pitt, who watched the proceedings with a most remarked air of satisfaction. However small the guest list, the occasion was of an elegance bordering on the magnificent. St. George's in Hanover Square was bedecked with hothouse flowers of a delicacy and simplicity that matched the bride's fresh youthfulness, and the music, selected with great firmness by the bride, resounded through the nave on the soaring tongues of the choir.
The Earl of Linton, in midnight blue satin, Dresden lace foaming at his neck, and the most magnificent sapphires at throat and fingers, his hair powdered and curled in a manner that Danielle for one found rather intimidating, stood before the altar attended by his cousin, watching his bride's measured progress down the aisle on the arm of the Earl of March.
She wore a gown of white velvet opened over a white satin underdress thickly encrusted with seed pearls. Her mother's flawless pearl set was clasped around wrist and throat and the exquisite tiara held her long flowing veil in place, to fall down her back over the velvet train. She carried white roses to complete a veritable picture of maidenhood on its last voyage. The earl's lips quivered slightly as he remembered the pithy comment she had delivered on this very subject during the ceremony rehearsal the previous afternoon.
She stood beside him now, her head demurely bent to the bouquet between her gloved hands. They were quite steady, he noticed. When the moment came, the Earl of March took her hand and gave it into the possession of the Earl of Linton before quietly stepping back. Lady Lavinia buried herself in her handkerchief; her tears were of joy for her granddaughter and grief for her daughter who had most truly been sacrificed on the altar of matrimony. It needed all her resolution to remind herself that Louise's had been a self-sacrifice. She had been as headstrong as her daughter but Lucien, Vicomte de St. Varennes, had been, alas, no Earl of Linton who would most assuredly cherish his wife as he was now firmly promising to do.
Danielle's own responses were firm and clear. Only the slight tremor of the fingers between his as she promised her obedience gave any indication of inner turmoil.
The earl bent his head to the small ear revealed by the upward sweep of her curls caught under the veil to whisper, "Do not worry, my brat. I will make it very easy for you to fullfil your vows, I promise." Her fingers gripped his tightly and a soft choke that he was convinced was laughter came from beneath the veil. The heavy gold band slipped over her left finger and the earl himself raised the frothy veil to look into a pair of very grave brown eyes before he bent to brush her lips with his own.
The remainder of the afternoon passed in a curious dream for Danielle, now Countess of Linton. She stood for what seemed hours beside her husband in the ballroom of March house, receiving their guests. The congratulations from this group at least were sincerely uttered, though doubts still fluttered in the concerned breasts of Linton's family and friends—with the exception of Lord Julian who, after the formalities of the receiving line, bore her off to meet the younger members of the vast Carlton clan with as much proud possession as if he himself were the groom. Linton watched with an amused tolerance as he devoted his own attentions to the older generation and the Marches. His mother and sisters were fortunately well acquainted with Lady Lavinia and were soon settled for a comfortable coze. The Countess of March graciously received the many compliments on her granddaughter's beauty and deftly fielded the many probes as to her circumstances.
Danielle, surrounded by an admiring circle of Julian's cronies and feeling as if she had never before enjoyed herself so much at a party, absently took a glass from the tray offered at her elbow by a liveried flunky. Before she could raise it to her lips, however, it had left her hand. Startled and not a little put out, she looked up at her husband now standing at her shoulder.
"You will prefer the champagne, my love," he said placidly.
"But how can I know that until I taste this?" she demanded, frowning deeply.
"Try it, by all means, but curb your reactions." He held the glass to her lips and watched with great amusement as an expression of astounded horror crossed the intent face.
"Mais, c'est abominable! Whatever is it, Justin?"
"Ratafia, my dear, and now you know you will be able to avoid it in the future."
"It is fit only for . .."
"Madam Wife," he interrupted her swiftly, "will you allow me to escort you to the dining room?"
The wedding had taken place at noon and was followed by a reception that included what Lady Lavinia had erroneously described as, "A simple nuncheon, for you know, my dear, people will have dinner engagements and will not wish to be quite overeaten by the evening."
"This is Grandmere's idea of a simple buffet?" Danny choked as they reached the long, first-floor dining room. The tables groaned under the weight of souffles and syllabubs, stuffed quail, dishes of deviled eggs, capons and pigeons in a delicate wine sauce, dishes of artichokes, buttered cauliflower, and mushrooms, interspersed with lobsters, buttered crab, and several Scotch salmons.
"You know," she said suddenly, "when one has been truly hungry, painfully hungry, this seems a little ... a little too much. You understand, milord?"
"Perfectly," he said quietly. "Do you prefer not to eat now?"
"That would look a little churlish." She smiled. "Perhaps a morsel of the crab and some salmon."
"Come and sit with my mother whilst I procure you a plate and a glass of wine."
* * *
At three o'clock, Lady Lavinia, prompted by a quiet word from the groom, hastened to send her granddaughter upstairs to change her wedding gown. "Linton wishes to leave within the hour, my love," she explained. "If you are to reach Danesbury by dusk you must get ready now."
In Danielle's bedchamber, Lady Lavinia began with great hesitation on a mother's duty to a bride on her wedding day. "I do not know how much your mama may have told you, my love, about the duties of a wife .. ." She began hesitantly, but was instantly interrupted.
"Dear ma'am, pray do not. I understand much more than perhaps is seemly and what I do not, Milord had promised to teach me."
"Dear God!" the Lady Lavinia was betrayed into uttering. "You have talked of such things with Linton?"
"Indeed, ma'am," Danielle said coolly, resisting the mischievous urge to declare that more than talk had taken place between them.
"Well, he is, of course, a great deal older than you," her ladyship muttered uneasily, "And he has much experience of the world." That thought gave rise to another, much more difficult to explain to this eager creature who seemed to repose such utter trust in her husband. But it was a necessary, though unpleasant, task.
"Danielle, gentlemen frequently find that a wife is not always sufficient for certain ... uh ... certain
needs . .."
"Grandmere." Danielle whirled from the mirror. "I have not the intention of being a complacent wife. If Linton sets up a mistress I shall most likely cut his throat in the night!" She crossed the room hastily to take her shattered relative in her arms. "Now I have shocked you, and I am truly sorry for it, but you must understand that I am rather different. I can promise you, Linton will have no need of a mistress whilst I am his wife."
"Oh Danielle, whatever is to become of you if you speak like that in Society?" Lady Lavinia moaned, more shocked than she had ever been.
"Why nothing at all, ma'am, because I shall not," her outrageous granddaughter reassured cheerfully. "Can you imagine Justin's reaction if I did?" Her lips curved in an impish smile. "Come, Grandmere, let
us not discuss this further. It is embarrassing for you and quite unnecessary, I do assure you."
With that Lady Lavinia was obliged to be satisfied. Reflecting that Linton certainly appeared to have the measure of his bride whose sophistication, while certainly shocking in one so young, perhaps boded well for a good understanding between husband and wife, she turned her attention thankfully to Danielle's toilette.
Radiant in a crimson traveling dress of her favorite velvet, Danielle descended the wide, shallow staircase to be r
eceived on the arm of her husband. "That hat, my love, is going to have to come off very soon,"
he whispered.
"Do you not care for it, my lord?" she questioned innocently. "I thought it monstrous pretty, myself."
"It is very fetching, but those ridiculous feathers will tickle my nose," he replied solemnly. "I do not find sneezing compatible with the activity I intend to pursue once we are away from this bear garden."
"Oh, infamous, Justin!" she whispered, laughing up at him. "How can you refer to this so elegant gathering in such a fashion?"
"Goodness me!" the Dowager Countess of Linton exclaimed in a low voice to her daughter. "I do believe Justin has made a love match. Do you not see the way he looks at the child?"
"And the way she looks at him, ma'am," Lady Beatrice replied, an uncomfortable stab of envy piercing her ample breast. Ten years of marriage and six children had, she thought, cured her of the romantic leanings of her youth—not so, it appeared.