PoetsandPromises

by Lucy Muir

“Monsieur Earlywine, please to enter,” Miss Thibeau welcomed him as he entered the hall. “I thought you had forgotten the portrait, it is so long since I have seen you. You see me last night at your mama’s rout and remember, yes?”

  “I did not need to see you to remember you,” Earlywine returned, looking appreciatively at the picture Miss Thibeau presented. She was dressed gypsy-like in a full-skirted gown of bright blue, yellow and red-flowered stripes. The skirts suddenly billowed forward and Earlywine was surprised to see a twitching nose poke out from under the hem, followed by a pair of long ears.

  The artist looked down, following Earlywine’s gaze. “It is only Monsieur Lapin,” she laughed. “He likes to have his little walk with me before I must put him in the cage for the day.” With a graceful movement the artist bent down, captured the rabbit and settled him on her bosom, where he snuggled down, looking quite content.

  “Lucky rabbit,” Earlywine commented in an undertone.

  “Do you wish to stroke Monsieur Lapin, Monsieur Earlywine?” Evonne asked with a guileless look. “His fur, it is ver’ soft.”

  James stepped forward and reached out to stroke the rabbit’s head. The rabbit accepted the caress as though accustomed to being touched and Earlywine allowed his hand to pass over the rabbit’s back as well, one of his fingers brushing the soft skin of Miss Thibeau’s décolletage as he finished the stroke and pulled his hand away.

  “Naughty, Monsieur Earlywine,” Miss Thibeau commented with a smile. “Let us go to my studio and I will commence your portrait.”

  James followed the artist into the studio where Miss Thibeau put the rabbit back into his cage, latched it securely and began mixing paints.

  “Take the chair as before, Monsieur Earlywine,” she ordered as she finished her preparations and began to paint with the swift, sure strokes that characterized her work. “The friend, Lord Sherbourne, he does not come with you today?” she asked.

  “No, he does not,” James answered briefly. “It will not do, Miss Thibeau,” he added conversationally as he lounged gracefully back in the sitter’s chair by the east window.

  “What will not do, Monsieur Earlywine?” Miss Thibeau asked as she dabbed at her palette with her brush.

  “Your seeking to attach Lord Sherbourne. He is honor-bound to marry Miss Ashwood,” Earlywine explained, ignoring what Sherbourne had previously informed him about wishing to end his betrothal.

  “Is that so?” Evonne asked, lowering her palette and appraising James closely.

  “Yes, it is so, Miss Thibeau,” Earlywine confirmed.

  “You are in his confidence?”

  “Yes, we have been friends since attending Eton together.”

  Evonne gazed at Earlywine, long black lashes partially veiling her expressive eyes.

  “You are the good friend, Monsieur Earlywine,” she said after a moment, beginning to paint again. “I feel I must do as you ask. One cannot fault me for the try, no? A pity though,” she added reflectively.

  “The life of the émigrés, it is difficult, you understand, Monsieur Earlywine,” she continued, explaining. “We lose much in the war. I owe it to my tante, the comtesse, for her goodness to me to make the good match, yes?”

  “There are other titled gentlemen you might marry, Miss Thibeau,” Earlywine suggested.

  “Oh?”

  “Such as myself. Although I am only simple Mr. Earlywine m’father’s a baron as you know and I his only son. On the formal marriage documents I would be the ‘honorable’ James Earlywine.”

  “I am most flattered, Monsieur Earlywine. But me, I desire the man with passions. You are the friend, the good boy, the good brother,” Evonne explained as she continued to apply paint to canvas.

  “I believe you do not fully understand my character, Miss Thibeau,” James said softly but meaningfully. Evonne looked up and their gazes locked as a slight smile curved the artist’s red lips. “Or is it you have thrown down the glove?” Earlywine added.

  Evonne’s blue eyes flashed and her mouth parted in a seductive smile. “Will you take the glove up, Monsieur Earlywine?”

  James rose slowly from his chair and advanced on the artist purposefully. Taking the brush and palette from her unresisting hands, he set them on the desk beside her and slowly drew his fingers down her cheek and neck to her décolletage.

  “There is nothing I like more than a challenge,” Earlywine said softly as he pulled Miss Thibeau into a close embrace.

  Across town on Half Moon Street, Lady Parker was preparing to receive morning calls when she heard a carriage roll to a stop in front of her town house. She glanced at the ormolu clock. It was barely one—the earliest possible time for an acceptable morning call. Wondering who could be calling so early, Lady Parker arranged herself on the sofa in the drawing room and waited for the butler to announce the unknown guest.

  “Lady Sefton,” the butler intoned.

  “Lady Sefton, good afternoon,” Lady Parker said, rising to give a curtsey to the higher-ranking lady. “Please sit down, your ladyship,” she invited, indicating the best chair.

  “Lady Parker,” Lady Sefton said as she regally took the chair, a severe expression on her face. “I have come early, for I wished to speak to you at a time we would be unlikely to be interrupted. I fear I have not come upon a pleasant errand, Lady Parker. It is my duty to inform you that your vouchers and those of the viscount and Miss Ashwood have been rescinded.”

  Lady Parker sat in frozen silence, unable to make a response, understanding that what she had feared all along had finally happened.

  “Several days past,” Lady Sefton went on inexorably, “Lady Walburton was taking the air in Upper St. James with her daughters when she heard raised voices. Turning to see the source of the disturbance, Lady Walburton was shocked to see Miss Ashwood in conversation with Mrs. Shelley, the wife of the godless poet. Under the circumstances Lady Walburton did not make herself known to Miss Ashwood but she rightly took it upon herself to inform me, a patroness of Almack’s, knowing that Miss Ashwood held vouchers to the assembly rooms. The other patronesses and I discussed the matter during our weekly Monday meeting last night.”

  Lady Sefton ceased talking and turned the full power of her imposing hawk-like gaze on Lady Parker. “Although I feel Lady Walburton’s information must be correct, given her rectitude, it is my duty to ask. Lady Parker, was it Miss Ashwood that Lady Walburton observed in Upper St. James speaking to Mary Shelley?”

  “I did not know of any appointment Miss Ashwood had in St. James Park that day and would not have allowed it if I had,” Lady Parker answered honestly. “But yes, Miss Ashwood did make the acquaintance of Mrs. Shelley through Mr. Hunt and she did go out that day to meet Mr. and Mrs. Shelley without my permission. Although I have learned she did go in the company of an acceptable escort,” Lady Parker added, careful not to give Mr. Earlywine’s name.

  Lady Sefton pursed her lips as her brows drew together in a frown. “I am not without sympathy for you, Lady Parker,” she said after a short moment of silence, the harsh lineaments of her face softening. “I understand you have been out of England for over a score of years and also that the society to which you became accustomed in that far land was no doubt less strict than it is here. But we as patronesses must guard our doors for the sake of the many impressionable young women who enter our premises. We have no choice. Shelley is an atheist, a danger to society. No doubt you were not fully aware of this fact, Lady Parker, since Mr. Shelley would have been little more than a child when you left our shores.”

  Lady Sefton rose majestically. “I will not deceive you, Lady Parker. To lose your vouchers will have a most disastrous effect upon your social life and that of Miss Ashwood. Many will no longer invite you to their functions.

  “This must be doubly upsetting to you,” Lady Sefton added with compassion, “given that harm has come to a young woman you were sponsoring for the Season. However, I assure you I shall do my best to spread the information that there were mitigati
ng circumstances, given your long absence from our shores, and with time I have no doubt Miss Ashwood will be able to make an acceptable match, particularly if those friends you have in high places stand by you as well,” she ended, delicately alluding to Lady Parker’s friendship with the Duke of Norland.

  “Good day, Lady Sefton,” Lady Parker managed to reply, the very emptiness of her carefully controlled expression revealing the perturbation beneath. “Thank you for your courtesy in coming to inform me of this yourself.”

  Lady Sefton inclined her head slightly in approval of Lady Parker’s stoic acceptance of the calamitous news and sailed out of the drawing room as majestically as she had entered it.

  Lady Parker sat for several minutes after Lady Sefton’s carriage left, considering the full ramifications of the news the patroness had brought. She then rang for the butler and sent a note to Lord Sherbourne, after which she sent the footman to request that Miss Ashwood come down to the drawing room at once, then settled onto the sofa to wait.

  “What is it, Lady Parker?” Elisabeth asked, coming down in response to the urgently worded summons, fearing the worst. She had retired with a headache and Lady Parker was normally considerate of such minor ills.

  “When my brother arrives I shall inform you both,” Lady Parker answered briefly. “Please sit down and wait for his coming.”

  Elisabeth, noticing Lady Parker’s distressed expression, knew it could not be good news and wondered what new disaster could possibly have struck. As she took one of the low-backed mahogany chairs, Revati came and jumped in her lap but even the cat’s purring presence did not diminish her apprehensions and she could feel her heartbeat quickening as her anxiety increased.

  Sherbourne arrived within the half-hour, his glance going rapidly from one unhappy face to the other as he entered the drawing room. “What has happened, Charlotte?”

  “I sent for you because a most serious situation has occurred,” Lady Parker began. “Lady Sefton called upon me early this afternoon to inform me that our vouchers to Almack’s have been rescinded. The worst has happened.” Lady Parker paused and stared at her hands, which she held clasped tightly in her lap.

  “While Miss Ashwood was under my care!” she suddenly burst out, raising her head. “If we had never had vouchers it would not have mattered—no one could have known for certain whether we had even applied. But to have had them and to lose them… It is a great disaster.” Lady Parker’s voice broke.

  “His grace the Duke of Norland,” the butler announced, Lady Parker having failed to think to order that no further visitors be received that day. The three inhabitants of the drawing room quickly ordered their faces into bland company expressions but not before the duke had noticed their strained countenances.

  “Lady Parker, forgive my asking but I cannot help but notice—is something amiss?” the duke asked. “I do not wish to intrude on a private matter,” he added, “but it is evident that something most distressing has occurred and I wish to offer my assistance.”

  At the duke’s evident sincerity, Lady Parker made a rapid decision.

  “I thank you, Your Grace, for your kindness, but I fear I do not deserve such consideration,” Lady Parker began. “I fear I have been an unworthy guardian for Miss Ashwood. I foolishly allowed her to pursue an acquaintance with Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley and his wife and several days past Miss Ashwood was observed speaking to Mrs. Shelley in Upper St. James Park by Lady Walburton. She reported it to a patroness and our vouchers to Almack’s were rescinded. Miss Ashwood’s character is ruined,” she finished baldly.

  “It is I who am at fault, not my sister,” Lord Sherbourne spoke up, unwilling to see his sister berate herself before the duke. “I invited Mr. Hunt here to meet Miss Ashwood because of her interest in social justice issues but in reply Hunt requested instead that we go to one of his literary afternoons, where we met the Shelleys. I persuaded my sister to allow the acquaintance to continue against her better instincts.”

  “I am the one who foolishly went to meet Mrs. Shelley without permission, it is through my thoughtless behavior this has occurred,” Elisabeth chimed in, unwilling to see Lady Parker and Lord Sherbourne shoulder all the blame.

  The duke took a chair across from Lady Parker and addressed the three in a calm manner. “It is true this is a very serious situation but at this juncture it matters little whose error was the greatest. There are things to be done.

  “I believe we must all agree that saving Miss Ashwood’s reputation is of the utmost importance?” he asked, looking at Lady Parker and Lord Sherbourne.

  “Undoubtedly, Your Grace,” Sherbourne replied, echoed by his sister.

  “Then I believe I have the solution—possibly the only solution. I most strongly urge that the announcements of my betrothal to Lady Parker and yours to Miss Ashwood be published immediately.”

  Both Lady Parker and Elisabeth looked at the duke in consternation but Lord Sherbourne instantly grasped the necessity. “I am certain you have the right of it, Your Grace,” he acquiesced. “In that event no one would dare slight Miss Ashwood for an acquaintance that I as her betrothed chose to allow, and no one would cut my sister for allowing a young woman under her care to make an unsuitable friendship.”

  “Then may I suggest you take Miss Ashwood for a drive while I speak to Lady Parker.”

  “Miss Ashwood?” Sherbourne said, rising from his chair and waiting for Elisabeth.

  Elisabeth rose slowly and exited the drawing room, followed by Lord Sherbourne. As Sherbourne and Elisabeth left the hall the duke rang for the butler and informed Greaves that no more visitors were to be shown up that afternoon.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Greaves answered, accepting the nobleman’s right to give orders in Lady Parker’s home without question.

  “I cannot marry you, Your Grace,” Lady Parker said softly as the duke returned to the drawing room and took a chair next to hers.

  “Lady Parker, I wish a truthful answer from you—do you care for me?” the duke asked forthrightly.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Lady Parker replied. “But—”

  The duke raised his hand, stopping her protest mid-sentence. “Under the circumstances we cannot fail to be direct,” his grace said, looking at Lady Parker gravely. “We cannot waste valuable time by circumnavigating the truth. Is the reason you will not accept my hand your second marriage?”

  “You know?” Lady Parker gasped in surprise.

  “My dear Lady Parker, I have known almost since the day I so fortuitously made your acquaintance,” the duke confessed. “A look in the peerage told me that your first husband was not titled. I thought at first that perhaps you were being given a courtesy title because of your father but a few judicious inquiries among trusted friends in the Company brought me the truth.”

  Lady Parker flushed in embarrassment. “I see now it was foolish to allow myself to be called ‘Lady’,” she admitted. “I suppose I wished to honor both husbands—the first by taking his name again and the second by keeping my title, although in India it was ‘ranee’ rather than lady.

  “What must you think of me!” she exclaimed, “a woman who is afraid to keep her second husband’s name but wishes to hold on to a memory of his high position! However, I never thought to marry again.”

  “I do not fault you for wishing to keep your secrets. I know you will have had your reasons but I am sorry you thought so little of my character that you did not trust your marriages would make no difference to me,” the duke said gravely.

  “They would make a difference to many,” Lady Parker said softly. “They did make a difference to many. After my second marriage I was not received by most of my compatriots, even though my husband was a rajah and I his ranee.”

  “As the Duchess of Norland none will dare refuse to receive you, or Miss Ashwood,” the duke promised. “I assume that—knowing I know your secret and that it matters not to me—you have no further objections to accepting my suit?”

  “None whatsoever,
Your Grace,” Lady Parker replied with the first smile that had crossed her face since Lady Sefton had appeared at the town house early that afternoon.

  As Lord Sherbourne directed his tilbury to Hyde Park, Elisabeth reflected that she was beginning to dislike parks immensely, for it seemed that every time she visited a park something disagreeable happened, beginning with their first excursion where they met Miss Thibeau and ending with her ill-fated outing in the company of Mr. Earlywine when Mrs. Walburton saw her speaking to Mrs. Shelley.

  Lord Sherbourne did not speak as he drove toward the Park and, not wishing to be the one to open the discussion, Elisabeth also rode in silence. Only after he had maneuvered the tilbury through the crowded ring to a less-travelled road did the viscount turn and look at his passenger.

  “Under the present circumstances,” Lord Sherbourne stated without preamble, “I believe his grace is correct and that we must marry, Miss Ashwood. It is the only thing to do, both for your sake and that of your parents and my sister.”

  Although Elisabeth had longed with all her heart for her betrothal with Lord Sherbourne to be restored, now that it was offered she knew she could not accept. She would never know if he wished to restore it because he loved her or from the desire of a gentleman to protect a lady, and it would be insupportable if it were the latter.

  “Thank you, Lord Sherbourne, but such a sacrifice of your better feelings is not necessary,” she answered in carefully controlled tones. “No doubt if Lady Parker weds the Duke of Norland that will be sufficient to restore her credit.”

  “My sister’s credit but not yours,” Lord Sherbourne disagreed. “For she is only your sponsor, not a relation. Only by marrying me will society be willing to forgive your transgressions.

  “Moreover,” he added in a different tone, “upon further consideration I have realized that this current sad state of affairs was due to my error of judgment in introducing you to the Hunts and their set. I was older and experienced enough in the ways of the world to have known the dangers of an acquaintance with the Shelleys and I must in good conscience restore the honor you have lost insofar as I am able.”