Jane Feather - Charade

by Unknown

  D'Evron watched her face as she thought. The change was quite startling, as startling as the appearance

  of the pistol. She looked older, much older than her eighteen years, a wealth of experience, knowledge, and acceptance showing on the small face of the pampered aristocrat. What was she? He knew who

  she was, but all preconceptions now vanished into the mist. It was a question that would be asked many times by many people in the next several years.

  "Madame, I will arrange matters so that you may remain here until after your confinement." Danielle

  set the baby on his knees and stood up. "If your husband is willing to pursue some trade other than the one he knows, then I can perhaps arrange for you to move to my husband's estate in Hampshire. The

  air will be good for the children and you will have a little land." She smiled hesitantly, recognizing the paucity of her offer in the light of their previous existence in Paris and the other woman's hesitation at accepting what was, in the final analysis, charity.

  But Madame Duclos had lost her pride many months ago. "We shall be most grateful, milady."

  "Then I will talk to the bete, Barkis." Danielle was all brisk business as she turned to the chevalier.

  "Mon ami, you will accompany me." She counted out bills into Madame Duclos's lap. "This should suffice for your present needs, madame. Should you need me, you may send a message to this address." She wrote rapidly on a visiting card. "The chevalier will keep me informed of your progress and I will make the necessary arrangements for your removal to Danesbury."

  Tears filled the other woman's eyes and Danielle averted her gaze and turned swiftly to the door. "You will be troubled no longer, madame."

  Mr. Barkis, after three minutes in the company of the Countess of Linton, was happy to receive the

  past due rent and the following month's together with a substantial sum for his trouble. He promised to find a reliable midwife when madame's time came and decided that the presence of wailing tots upstairs was infinitely preferable to another encounter with this lady of Quality with the snapping eyes, the frigid tones, and the most clearly defined threats.

  "We must make haste, chevalier." Danielle glanced up at the sky. It was now late afternoon and she wished to be home before Linton who would be bound to remark on the dust and mud splashes on her dress and the malodorous filth on her boots.

  "Do you still have your shilling, petit?" she asked the tattered child who now relinquished the reins to the chevalier. When the boy shook his head, she slipped another coin into the grubby palm, discreetly this time so that his watching elders would not again relieve him of his earnings.

  "I am most grateful for your assistance, comtesse," D'Evron said slowly as they picked their way across the cobbles. "I hope it will not be necessary to trouble you in this way again."

  "On the contrary, chevalier, you will trouble me whenever you wish. There is much to be done and I will play my part most willingly."

  "Your husband, milady . . . ?"

  "Linton must know nothing of this," she said firmly. "I rely on your discretion." Danielle was in no doubt that Justin would forbid further excursions of the kind she had just made, and if he did so she would be forced to defy him. He had fulfilled his whispered promise on their wedding day and made it easy for her to keep her vow of obedience, but in this instance he would demand it of her and the consequences for their relationship of open defiance were not to be contemplated.

  D'Evron said nothing and kept his own unpleasant reflections to himself. The earl was a noted swordsman and an even more noted shot, but the chevalier rather suspected that he might resort to a horsewhip on this occasion and no one would blame him.

  It was almost six when they drew up outside Linton House. The young countess was now distinctly anxious. They were to dine at seven and go to the play afterward, a treat that Linton, knowing his wife's love of the theater, took care to provide regularly.

  "We must contrive a little better next time," Danielle said as the chevalier handed her down from the curricle. "We will conduct our business before noon."

  "D'accord, comtesse." He raised her hand to his lips and then watched as she ran up the well-honed

  steps to be received by an impassive Bedford. If the butler noticed anything untoward in his mistress's appearance or in her impetuous haste as she disappeared up the curving staircase, it did not show on his face.

  Danielle exploded into her bedchamber. "We must make haste, Molly. Help me with these boots, if you please. No! Do not touch them with your hands." Molly knelt and took the boots in a towel and pulled, wrinkling her nose at the rank odor.

  "Help me with my gown, Molly, and then take the boots away. They will stink out the room." Danny turned impatiently and the girl, quite accustomed to her mistress's inelegant expressions, unbuttoned the velvet driving dress with due speed. "Merci" Danielle said swiftly. "I can manage now. Make haste with the boots."

  The Earl of Linton, mounting the staircase, narrowly missed being returned in an undignified manner to the foot as his wife's maid, clutching a pair of boots at arm's length, slipped against him. Molly's apologies were so profuse, her speech so scattered that he forebore to question her and continued on his way with

  a shrug. Danielle's unconventional ways had communicated themselves to the maid and it seemed unjust to take the servant to task for something that was not her responsibility.

  Petersham was waiting for him, carefully brushing invisible motes from a cream brocade evening coat. Abandoning his task, he helped my lord out of top boots and deep blue superfine coat, easing it reverently over the powerful shoulders. A muttered expletive came from next door, and Justin with a smile went through in shirt and stockinged feet to find his wife struggling fiercely with her laces.

  "Ah, milord, you are home," she said, showing him a face pink with her exertions. These so stupid

  strings have made themselves into a knot and I cannot undo them."

  "How very inconsiderate of them," Justin murmured soothingly, coming up behind her. "But where is Molly?" He wrestled with the recalcitrant knot.

  "Oh, she will return directly," Danielle said airily. "I asked her to bring me some tea. Ah, thank you."

  She breathed a sigh of relief as the stays were finally released. Molly, unfortunately, chose that moment to reappear.

  Justin's eyebrows shot up at the conspicuous absence of a tea tray.

  "Molly, you have forgotten my tea," Danielle declared, shooting the girl a look pregnant with warning. "But never mind, we have no time. I shall take a glass of sherry instead. You will bring me one, sir?"

  Justin bowed his acquiescence and went through to his own apartments where decanters of sherry, Madeira, port and cognac were kept filled in his parlor. He poured sherry for Danielle and returned to

  her bedchamber. She was sitting at her dresser in a soft silk wrapper while Molly dressed her hair.

  "Ah, thank you, sir." She gave him a radiant smile that somehow did little to dispel his unease. His brat, Justin strongly suspected, was hip deep in mischief. In the presence of Petersham and Molly he could hardly probe, but he would have her under his eye all evening, so investigation could safely be postponed.

  As it happened, he lost all interest in her activities of the afternoon. Her conversation over the dinner table was too swift and witty to allow him the time for reflection, only for response; her pleasure in the play entranced him. One of his greatest joys these days was to provide her with the pleasures that she had missed during those long years in Languedoc and he sat through the farce, his gaze riveted on the small face, alive with laughter beside him. She was amused by every feeble sally, every vulgar piece of slapstick, her gloved hands clasped in her lap. During the tragedy her expression registered every emotion as vividly as that of the actors—a child experiencing the magical world of fantasy for the first time.

  Margaret Mainwairing sat in her box, also ignoring the stage, watching instead the man whose mistress

&n
bsp; she had been for five years and she felt only envy for them both, an envy untouched by malice.

  "Justin," Danielle whispered in the interval, "who is the lady in the gown with the tobine stripes? She seems monstrously interested in us."

  "Where?" He raised his glass and examined the inhabitants of the neighboring boxes.

  "In the third tier." Danielle lifted a finger to point, but her husband caught her hand in time.

  "Unladylike brat," he chided. "One does not point in Polite Circles."

  Danielle merely chuckled. "Do you see her. Her hair is a la capricieuse, I think."

  Justin did see her and sighed. "The lady is Margaret Mainwairing, infant."

  "Ah," Danny frowned. "Then you will introduce me, n'est-ce pas!"

  "No, I will not," Justin stated.

  "But why not?" Her smile was all sweet innocence that quite failed to deceive her husband. "Is she not perfectly respectable?"

  "She is perfectly respectable, but it would not be appropriate to introduce my wife to my ex-mistress,"

  she was bluntly informed.

  "People will talk?" Her eyes sparkled.

  "A great deal." He turned with some relief to greet the arrival of agroup of Danielle's admirers. He had little hope that she would allow the matter to rest there and his forebodings were proved lamentably correct when, at the end of the play, in the press of crowds in the foyer, she disappeared from his side. When he found her, she was engaged in an animated conversation with Lady Braham with whom she

  was but slightly acquainted. Margaret Mainwairing, however, was a member of Lady Braham's party.

  He arrived at Danielle's side just in time to hear her say, "I am so pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Mainwairing. I understand you have been a friend of Linton's this age."

  "Yes, indeed," Margaret murmured, an appreciative smile in her eyes as she saw Justin's expression. "May I offer you my felicitations, Lady Linton." She then extended her hand to the earl. "Good evening, Linton."

  "Ma'am." He bowed low over the hand before turning politely to greet the rest of the group whose well-bred faces barely concealed their shocked astonishment. "You will excuse us," he said with a smile. "Our party awaits . . . Danielle?" He gave her his arm and she laid her hand on the cream brocade sleeve, two irrepressible dimples dancing in her cheeks.

  Once out of earshot, she said, "You cannot be cross, Justin. You did not introduce me, yourself, so it was all quite proper. But I thought Lady Braham was like to swoon when she was obliged to introduce me." She chuckled delightedly but her husband maintained a severe silence as he handed her into the chaise which bore them to the Piazza where he had arranged a small supper party for his wife's entertainment. The temptation to take her straight home at this point was considerable, but he could not disappoint his guests.

  His cousin, Sir Anthony Fanshawe, Lord Philip Courtland, and the young Viscount Westmore were waiting for them as the earl, still in stony silence, escorted Danielle to the table.

  "Justin is most annoyed with me," Danielle announced, sitting down with a swish of skirts. "I contrived

  an introduction to Lady Mainwairing—she was his mistress before he was married as I'm sure you are aware." She smiled around the stunned circle of faces. "It seemed to me necessary that society should be aware that I know of these things and I have only friendly feelings for Lady Mainwairing. Now all is convenable, n'est-ce pas?"

  "Odd's blood," Lord Julian said in shaking accents. It was a sentiment echoed by his companions. "What will you think to do next, Danny?"

  "'Twas not at all the thing, Danny," Sir Anthony agreed. "A man's wife is not acquainted with his mistress."

  "But Lady Mainwairing is no longer Justin's mistress," Danielle said tranquilly, sipping her champagne. "Have I not just demonstrated that fact? It was my object, you understand. You are not being at all wise." She dismissed their stupidity with an airy wave. "If Lady Mainwairing were still Justin's mistress, then of course I would not know her. Since I do, she cannot be."

  "Logical." Lord Philip nodded, most struck with this reasonable statement. "She has a point, y'know."

  A short reflective silence fell around the table and Justin, who to his surprise was now enjoying himself hugely, sat back twirling his quizzing glass on the narrow silk riband. Danielle, in her usual fashion, had cut through the hypocritical layers of society's conventions and had most effectively put the kiss of death to any malicious scandal-mongering. Who would whisper to her about her husband's erstwhile mistress when she had so clearly demonstrated that there was nothing they could tell her?

  "Let us put aside Danielle's regrettable want of conduct and address ourselves to our supper," he said.

  "I do not think that the Piazza is a suitable forum for such a discussion."

  "No, no indeed not, 'pon my soul," Viscount Westmore agreed heartily. "Not a subject for the ladies either."

  Danielle went into a peal of laughter, "But I raised the subject, Westmore."

  "We were talking about ladies," Julian said severely.

  "Oh, infamous, Jules! Justin, will you not defend me from such rudeness?"

  "On the contrary, brat," her husband drawled. "I will endorse it. Eat your supper."

  It was a riotous party and Justin resigned himself to the now familiar role of schoolmaster presiding over a rowdy schoolroom. In Danielle's company the four young men who fancied themselves as sophisticated, blase members of the haul ton lost their world-weary airs, treating Danny as they would a favorite sister, but with the added spice of light flirtation with a beautiful woman securely married to the Earl of Linton who himself regarded the proceedings with patent amusement.

  And that night, Linton had in his bed both wife and mistress—a wild creature in the mood for play who moved over him with eager hands and mouth, made love to him with uninhibited joy in his body, and then gave him her own to do with as he wished.

  Chapter 11

  "Your face, Justin, was a picture." Margaret Mainwairing laughed reminiscently as she handed him a

  glass of port late one evening several days after the excursion to the theater. "But not as funny as Sally Braham's."

  "Who was like to swoon, I am reliably informed," said Justin dryly.

  "The child is quite delightful, but are you certain you can handle her?"

  "I have little need to do so." He sat in a deep wing chair, crossing one black-velvet-clad leg over the

  other. "Danielle's mischief is rarely without purpose. Your son's, on the other hand . . ." He sipped his port, one eyebrow lifted.

  Margaret accepted his tacit refusal to discuss his wife with a respect tinged with regret. Danielle had intrigued her and the marriage even more so now that she had observed husband and wife together. But she said only, "It is as bad as I feared?"

  "I do not make it a habit to frequent gaming hells," Justin said carefully. "However, last evening I paid a visit to the Blue Angel." He frowned. "Edward is still a minor, Margaret, but those establishments will

  turn a blind eye to such detail in the interests of plucking a fat pigeon. Were they aware of the true nature of your son's financial circumstances, they would bar him. But as he runs with Shelby's crowd . . ." He shrugged.

  "What am I to do, Justin?" Margaret looked at him, desperation in the sloe eyes.

  "If he will not listen to reason, then you have no choice but to let matters run their course. He will find himself at point non plus soon enough and the doors will be closed to him."

  "But by then we shall both be ruined," Margaret whispered. "Can you do nothing?"

  "I can make his true circumstances known, if that is what you wish, I will be acutely humiliating both

  for him and for you."

  "Will you speak with him first? Tell him what you mean to do? Mayhap he will listen."

  "I have no authority over your son, Margaret." Justin stood up. "I am sorry, m'dear. I will drop a word

  in his ear, but no more than that. If that does not suffice, th
en, with your permission, I will disseminate

  a little information. After which, I imagine, be will be glad to accept a pair of colors. I cannot promise a

  top regiment, but will do what I can."

  "I thank you, my friend." Margaret accompanied him to the door. "You will visit me again soon? Tell

  me what has transpired?"

  "Assuredly. Good night, Margaret." He took her hands, bending to kiss her cheek before stepping out

  into the quiet nighttime street. A closed carriage passed him as he turned toward the Strand, but Justin was blithely unaware of the interest his presence afforded the occupants.

  Danielle had not yet returned from Almack's Assembly rooms when he arrived home and he went into

  his bookroom to write a terse note to Edward Mainwairing. A missive, addressed to Danielle in bold