by Unknown
"Not yet," Linton replied with the grin that still fascinated his secretary by its novelty. Justin leaned over to fill his glass from the decanter of port resting at his elbow on the smooth mahogany table in the dining room at Danesbury. A ray of late afternoon sun caught the crystal glass, turning the drops into translucent amethysts. "Her Ladyship informs me that if I do not return in time to escort her to Rutland House on the morrow, she will substitute a dancing bear for my presence." He passed the decanter to his secretary, who was striving with remarkable lack of success to keep a straight face.
"Do you really think she would, sir?"
"Do you really think she would not, Peter?" His Lordship questioned gently, his own eyes glinting with laughter.
"I should rather imagine," Peter said thoughtfully, "that Lady Danny will, as usual, set a new fashion. It will become all the rage for ladies to go about attended by dancing bears."
"Quite so, m'boy." The earl swung a dusty, top-booted leg from its casual perch across the carved arm
of his chair. "It is to avoid such a catastrophe that I must return—my social duty, do you not agree?"
"Indubitably, Lord Linton. Little of urgency remains here. I will speak with the steward in the morning and expect to be in town myself tomorrow night."
As his employer made to leave the dining room a sudden thought struck Peter. "Ah, my lord? You don't think that perhaps Lady Danny has already acquired a dancing bear?"
"Sweet heavens!" The earl paused, his hand on the porcelain doorknob. "A mangy, flea-bitten, starved, much abused animal in need of rescue, no doubt!"
"Well, after the monkeys, sir," Peter murmured diffidently, "it seems possible."
"Probable, rather," His Lordship observed. "What the devil are we to do with it, Peter?"
"I am certain Lady Danny will have some plan in mind, sir," the other offered consolingly. "She did with the monkeys, if you recall?"
"Will I ever forget?" Justin said feelingly.
Both men looked at each other, each remembering clearly that afternoon . . .Justin, with a group of friends in search ofa quiet glass of claret and some conversation, had walked into his usually orderly hall to find a scene of anarchy strongly resembling Dante's Inferno. His entire household, it seemed, from the lowliest kitchen maid and bootboy to the austere Bedford were gathered in squawking, gasping wonder. Peter Haversham, in a state of white-faced shock, stood by the open library door, clutching its knob as if it provided the only escape route from a veritable madhouse.
Justin, initially, had eyes only for his wife, perched precariously and quite immodestly astride the topmost banister rail at the head of the curving stairs. Her skirts and petticoats were hitched carelessly around her, revealing a most indecorous length of silk-stockinged leg, dainty ankles, and kid-slippered feet. She appeared to be holding a bunch of bananas, he thought incredulously, offering them at great risk to life and limb toward something chattering and swinging from the immense chandelier in the hall.
"Danielle! Get off there!" His voice cut through the startled throng who fell instantly silent.
Not so Danielle, who said reproachfully, "Did you have to shout like that, Justin? Now you have scared them again and I nearly had them."
"Get down this instant, brat!" the earl thundered, forgetful in the urgency of the moment of the impropriety of thus addressing his wife in front of the servants. It was a voice very few of his audience had heard before, but it brought Danny, in a flurry and swish of silk and lace, to the safety of the landing.
Linton turned, quizzing glass raised, toward his butler. "I find it extraordinary, Bedford, that my entire household can find no better employment in the middle of the afternoon?" It was said very gently, very politely, but brought a dull red tinge to that gentleman's normally somber countenance1. Bedford bowed, turned to the group behind him—a swift movement of his hand and only the earl, his startled friends, Peter, and Danielle remained. The latter came down the stairs to join them.
"It's just a pair of monkeys, milord," she explained hastily. "Some organ grinder was treating them most dreadfully and they are so thin and starved and I am sure he has beaten them and they have sores around their necks . . ." She fell silent as her husband raised an imperative palm.
"Give me that damn fruit," he instructed sternly, making for the stairs. "You may explain later why you have seen fit to turn the household into a menagerie."
"Oh do not be absurd, Justin." Danny choked back her laughter, running behind him as he strode up the stairs. "I am not turning anything into a menagerie. If Peter hadn't behaved in such an idiotish fashion none of this would have happened."
"What the devil has Peter to do with this?" Linton paused, halfway up the stairs.
"Well, he screamed," Danny said scornfully, shooting the accused a baleful look.
"They attacked me," Peter protested furiously, "and I did not scream."
"They did not attack you! They were just trying to make friends. What possible harm could a pair of scrawny little monkeys do you?"
"I think I have heard enough," Linton said repressively, anxious to prevent the development of a full-scale argument between his wife and his secretary. His sympathies were very much with the latter whose wounded sensibilities would quite clearly require considerable soothing later, but the earl was having difficulty controlling the deep surge of merriment that had become so much a part of his life since he had brought his wife to London to take her rightful place as Countess of Linton.
Reaching the head of the stairs, he swung an immaculate leg across the banister, bracing himself with one hand against a . carved pillar.
"Justin, you'll fall," Danielle yelped, seeing for the first time exactly how precarious the position was.
"I am less likely to do so than you, hampered by those petticoats," he stated.
"Well, I was going to put on my britches . . ." she murmured mischievously.
"Remind me to beat you one of these days, Danny," Linton said conversationally, stretching toward the gibbering creatures, swinging just oift of his reach.
Danielle gurgled, well aware that her husband was only feigning annoyance, and watched with admiration as, with soft-spoken commands and the enticement of the bananas, he received first one of the frightened creatures and then its companion, handing them to her with the brisk injunction to keep them away from Peter and not let them loose again if she valued her skin ...
"Let us hope, Peter, that she has already disposed of the unfortunate creature," the earl said, returning to the reality of the dining room at Danesbury as he shook these memories aside. "Otherwise, I feel sure we shall be obliged to house it here, in the stableyard."
Peter chuckled softly. "I rather think, sir, that even Lady Danny will fail to achieve John's consent to
such an arrangement."
"Never underestimate my wife, dear boy. It's a lesson I learned many months ago. She has already contrived to change most of the time-honored practices in the stables with John's positively eager consent."
"And Bedford's cellars, also," Peter added with a smile.
"Just so. However, I do draw the line at dancing bears so, if you will excuse me, dear fellow, I shall
make my arrangements for an early departure."
Linton left his secretary musing quietly that however cataclysmic had been the changes wrought by the Countess of Linton in the last six months, they had all, without exception, improved the general tone and quality of life. Both Linton House and Danesbury had lost their somewhat somber air and even such austere individuals as Petersham and Bedford had capitulated, after only the shortest period of dignified reserve, under the bright charm and unquestioned competence of their employer's young bride. Peter's own work load had been lightened considerably by Danielle's insistence on taking over the accounts of both establishments. She accomplished the task with a degree of stern consistency that had swiftly
earned her the respect and grudging admiration of those hitherto responsible for the housekeeping and management
of Lord Linton's households.
* * *
The greatest change of all, however, had been in the Earl of Linton himself whose countenance these days was rarely impassive. True, on occasion, it assumed the black glower of an impending hurricane, sending all but Lady Danny scurrying out of sight. True that the household was at times shaken by tempestuous scenes quite unsuited to a nobleman's establishment. But it was also true, although everyone forebore to discuss the fact, that these scenes ended in the bedchamber whence the earl and his countess would eventually emerge, wreathed in smiles and quite at peace with one another.
Linton had found a se'ennight away from his wife quite long enough and was more than willing to respond to her importunate summons. The demand had been bolstered by some remarkably frank and uninhibited statements that brought a smile of anticipation to his lips as he contemplated their reunion. Petersham merely bowed when informed of their premature departure and drew his own conclusions from His Lordship's expression.
It was later than he intended when Linton left Danesbury the following morning and owing to one of his chestnuts throwing a shoe just outside the little village of Chiswick, it was after ten o'clock that evening when the racing curricle d rew up in Grosvenor Square.
Bedford greeted His Lordship with a low bow and the information that Her Ladyship bad said he was expected.
"Lady Linton has left for Rutland House?" the earl inquired, stripping of his gloves.
"Yes, my lord, about an hour since."
"Who escorted her?" Linton shrugged out of his dust-covered driving cape, resisting the urge to substitute "what" for "who."
"Lord Julian, sir." Bedford refrained discreetly from mentioning that Julian had been but one of half a dozen gallants who had assisted at Her Ladyship's toilette before escorting her sedan chair with much laughter to Rutland House. "Have you dined, my lord?"
"Indifferently, Bedford, but it will suffice." Linton shuddered slightly. The only inn in a position to provide dinner at Chiswick had been patently unused to the delicate palates of the Quality. "Did Her Ladyship use the chaise?"
"No, my lord, the chair."
"In that case, have the chaise brought round. I shall leave within the hour." Linton mounted the stairs to change his traveling clothes for those more suited to the Duchess of Rutland's ball. He was tempted to bathe and await the return of his wife, but knowing her indefatigable ability to dance the night and morning hours away decided that he would be better advised to fetch her himself.
Thus it was that on the stroke of eleven, just as she was preparing to leave her post at the head of the great staircase, the Duchess of Rutland was gratified to see the unmistakable figure of Justin, Earl of Linton, mounting at a leisurely pace toward her.
"Linton, how delightful!" she exclaimed, extending a plump hand. "We understood you were in the country, although your entrancing little wife did say there was a possibility you might honor us with your company."
Justin bowed low over the hand, brushing his lips across the heavily ringed fingers. "I find I completed
my business rather earlier than expected, your grace."
"How fortunate for us all, Justin." Her grace gave him a shrewd smile. "I rather suspect, though, that
even had you not done so, you would not have remained out of town overlong."
Justin laughed softly. "How right you are, Amelia. Where is my lady wife?"
"I am not certain, but if you look for the men you will assuredly find her."
A frown passed over His Lordship's previously smiling countenance and the duchess made haste to explain herself. "I implied no criticism, Justin. But you must know that Danielle is like the proverbial honeypot. She has only to walk into a room to draw every eligible—and not so eligible—buck to her
side. But she is always the soul of propriety."
"I think 'always' might be a slight exaggeration," Justin corrected, taking snuff with delicate insouciance. The frown, however, had left his face and the duchess breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief. It was not wjse to arouse the earl's ire at the best.of times and he would tolerate no breath of criticism of his wife.
"That wife of yours, Justin, for all her youth is well up to snuff," she declared firmly. "I suspect that she does nothing unintentionally and even her occasional ... uh ... misdemeanours, are carefully calculated. She enjoys surprising people, Linton, but rarely goes beyond the line of what is acceptable."
Justin nodded. He had noticed the same thing himself, but had also noticed that Danielle escaped Society's censure for acts that would put others, at least temporarily, beyond the pale. It had something to do with
a certain flair she possessed, combined with her irresistibly charming manner and her most extraordinary beauty. In six months she had earned an undisputed place as one of the leaders of the ton—an extraordinary feat for a new bride, particularly one so young.
"Well, if you will excuse me, Amelia, I shall go in search of my bride."
Amelia laughed. "By all means, and if you remove her shortly I guarantee that you will be the hero of the hour for every young woman present."
Danielle, at this moment, was standing on the wide terrace outside the first-floor ballroom, a glass of champagne in hand, surrounded by her admiring court. She teased, flirted lightly, laughed at acceptable sallies, and treated those unacceptable with an icy indifference, but her mind was elsewhere. She knew that Justin would arrive this evening as surely as if he had promised, and she waited only for the soft footfall, the light amused tone, the caress of his fingers on her bare shoulders. Her body, well versed now in the arts and joys of love, ached for the feel of him, resented the vast loneliness of her empty bed as
she fell into slumber and awoke to the same emptiness. Even in sleep she missed the warm possessive relaxation of his hand on her stomach, her buttocks, breasts, as she curled tightly against him. His insistence that she remain in town while he dealt with urgent matters at Danesbury had led to a monumental argument. She had capitulated eventually only because he was right—it would have been unthinkably discourteous for both of them to have been out of town for her grandparents' ball which
had taken place three days previously and which, contrary to expectation, she had enjoyed enormously, except for the empty bed at its end. They had parted friends and lovers, but she was anxious to dispel
any lingering reserve at what she now recognized to have been a display of childish obstinacy.
* * *
Justin paused in the open door to the terrace, stealing a second to view his wife unobserved. The urchin of his memory was gone as totally as if she had never existed. Her eighteenth birthday had passed last month—at her insistence with total lack of remark. The date would always carry for her the memory
of the massacre of her family and was one she saw asa day of mourning rather than celebration.
Her face, now lifted in laughter to some comment of Julian's, stunned him anew, its beauty that of a mature, experienced woman who knew the pain of loss as well as the joy of love. Her hair was unpowdered, drawn into a soft knot at the nape of her neck with artfully arranged ringlets circling her
ears and caressing the wide alabaster brow with feathery tendrils. Her refusal to wear powder had at first amused him and then aroused his admiration as he realized how exactly right she was to defy convention. That wheat-colored hair with its strawberry tinge stood out in its simplicity amongst the ornate confections of her peers. Monsieur Artur had been relegated with the utmost disgust to the fiery depths of Hades. She had somewhere found a young French emigre who had seized on her unconventional ideas with the utmost enthusiasm and was beginning, as a result, to become much in demand amongst those far-seeing mamas who wished their daughters to emulate the success of the young Countess of Linton.
She was wearing a gown of bronze satin looped up over enormous side panniers to reveal an underdress of ivory, threaded with gold ribbon—simplicity itself, almost plain to a fault if you discounted the superb cut
and did not allow your eyes to move upward to a neckline that barely covered her nipples. Her breasts rose in a soft rounded swell, lifted by the hidden stays, their creamy whiteness accentuated by the bronze of the gown. Justin felt an unreasonable shaft of irritation as one young buck leant overly close to her, ogling the gorgeous bosom.
"You appear to be amusing yourself, milady." He stepped forward into the circle of flickering light provided by the many-branched candelabra on the low parapet. If he had been in any doubt as to his wife's feelings for him, they would have been dispelled instantly as she whirled to face him, her eyes a smoldering glow of love and anticipation.
Danielle fought the urge to run into his arms. Public displays of marital affection were not considered at all the thing in so'ciety. While she did not herself give a button for such foolishness, she had no desire to annoy her husband at this juncture.
"Why, my lord, what a pleasant surprise. I was not expecting you for another week." She moved out of the circle, hand extended in greeting.
"Oh, infamous madam," he murmured, raising her hand to his lips. "You must have known that I dared not risk the consequences of disobeying your summons."