Thirteen
It lacked but two days to Christmas, and the Castle was filling up. The morning after her grandmother’s arrival, Minette greeted the Duke’s aunt, Lady Gatley, an imposing lady with several chins and a lorgnette, who was accompanied by her portly and irascible husband. Lord Gatley’s bad-tempered disposition afforded Minette some uncomfortable moments at first, but she soon learned to ignore his ill-humour, which was habitual, and denoted nothing more than a faulty digestion.
The afternoon brought her guests more to her taste. Mrs Forsyth was the widow of one of Rochford’s boyhood friends, a soldier who had fallen gallantly upon the battlefield at Waterloo. She was an elegant little lady with hair prematurely silvered by grief, but her smile was sweet and her manner pleasing. She was accompanied by her son, Edmund, a young gentleman presently up at Oxford and destined for the Church. Rochford had sworn to Colonel Forsyth at their final meeting, before the Colonel took ship for the Continent, that he would look after the boy and had recently given him the promise of the richest living in his gift once he was ordained.
Edmund, was a well-built, athletic young man, a little below the average height. His countenance was extremely handsome, with a fine, olive skin, large dark eyes fringed with long lashes, and a mouth more suited to a lover than a clergyman. He was shy but, when he had overcome his first reserve, he displayed a dry wit and quick understanding.
‘I like your friends very much,’ Minette confided to Rochford when they met for a moment in the salon before going in to dinner.
‘You mean the Gatleys, of course,’ he answered gravely.
She was betrayed into a giggle. ‘Of course. Lord Gatley is an addition to any party.’
‘A funeral party perhaps. I am sorry to impose them upon you but, if I did not invite them to Camer, I do not think they would have any Christmas at all. They would certainly not go to the expense of even an extra goose for the table.’
‘Are they so poor?’
‘No, so penny pinching. It is no wonder my uncle’s digestion is so bad, for I believe they live on nothing but cheese and—’
‘Kisses?’ she suggested demurely.
‘I was going to say bacon.’ His lips twisted into a sudden grin. ‘I could wish you had not put that image into my mind.’
She laughed. ‘What I was trying to say is how much I like Mrs Forsyth and Edmund.’
‘I am glad. I am very fond of the boy. Laura, of course, is beyond praise. I have never seen her equal for devotion, yet she never makes a parade of her sacrifice.’
‘Sacrifice?’
‘Oh, she had been a very great heiress but, when she married poor Forsyth over all the objections of her family, she was quite cut off. For years, she followed the drum, and they lived on his pay. You know what that means. Fortunately, I was able to attend to Edmund’s education on their behalf.’
‘That was kind.’
‘It was the least I could do. Forsyth was the best friend a man ever had.’
The following morning, Christmas Eve, brought Minette the remainder of her guests. Franklyn Clareville arrived, driving himself in his sporting curricle. She thought it unfortunate that Arabella, who had been conversing quietly with Edmund, should have run to the window at the sound of the carriage and thus had an excellent view of her cousin’s skill as he negotiated the turn from the driveway into the courtyard and brought his horses to a precise halt.
‘Oh good, here is Frank. Only see, Minette! He is quite the Go, is he not?’ Mr Clareville, attired in the natty blue and yellow striped waistcoat of the Four Horse Club, did indeed present an appearance dashing enough to turn more experienced female heads than Arabella’s.
Edmund, who had joined her at the window, was more interested in the four sweating bays in their silver mounted harness. ‘Good God, those are Rochford’s bays. Decent of the Duke to save Clareville the cost of job horses, but what is he about to keep them standing in this weather?’
Arabella bridled. ‘I’m sure my cousin knows quite as much about horses as you do, Edmund.’
‘Well, he may but, for all that, they’ll take a chill if he doesn’t get them dried off and inside.’
At that moment, Rochford came around the side of the house from the stables and, strolling forward to greet his guest, apparently endorsed this view. Franklyn tossed the reins to his groom and followed the Duke into the house.
Minette immediately left the morning room to welcome the new arrival. She was attired that day in a simple, leaf-green, round gown fashioned from soft lambswool. The long sleeves were caught with satin ribbons at the elbows and fell, medieval fashion, full over her wrists and hands.
‘Charming, my love, you might be the shade of the first chatelaine of the Castle,’ remarked Rochford, holding out a hand to her. She walked over to his side, and he placed a possessive arm around her waist. ‘Very becoming.’
Minette supposed, later, that she had said all the right things, but she recollected none of them. She was conscious of nothing but the weight of Rochford’s arm around her and of fighting with all her strength to keep her head from finding its natural resting place against his shoulder. What had provoked this sudden display of conjugal affection she could not fathom; but she guessed there must be something behind it, for he released her the moment Franklyn was out of sight. That he mistrusted Franklyn she was certain. Did he suspect the intimacy that had apparently existed between Franklyn and Eugénie? She wished she could question Eugénie on just how far this had extended. She was willing to stake her life that they had not been lovers. D’Evremont’s death was too recent to permit such intimacy as that. But she was beginning to realise that she did not know her sister as well as she had thought.
It was after luncheon that the last of the house party arrived. This consisted of Sir Richard Talgarth, a tall, well-bred man of about the Duke’s own age, his wife, and two daughters, not yet out of the schoolroom. William Clareville, Lady Talgarth’s son from her first marriage, who was Rochford’s heir, accompanied them.
William Clareville was eighteen years old but looked considerably younger. He was a thin but beautiful boy, very fair, with large blue eyes and fine, silver-gilt hair. His manners were polite but languid, and his complexion alternated between a hectic flush and extreme pallor. Minette had not been in company with him for more than a few minutes before she realised that there was something seriously amiss with the boy.
‘I am aware,’ said the Duke when she mentioned this to him. ‘We have had to remove him from Eton; the conditions were too rigorous. But I fear only rest in a warm climate is likely to do him any good and that, not for long. He will leave for Rome as soon as the weather permits. I am hoping he will regain a little strength here before he attempts the journey.’
‘Poor boy.’ Minette’s compassionate heart was wrung.
‘It is an inherited tendency. His father died of the same malady.’
She looked an enquiry, and he said tersely, ‘Consumption.’
She nodded. ‘It is as I thought. His poor mama!’
‘She has her daughters for consolation.’ He spoke rather abruptly. Minette was left to reflect that there were many undercurrents of emotion she did not understand in this unhappy house.
Dinner that night was something of an ordeal for Minette. It was an ill-assorted party to be managed by an inexperienced hostess. It seemed to her that invisible wires connected certain guests to others, crossing and criss-crossing in a pattern of tension and suspicion.
That there was some undisclosed history between Lady Talgarth and Rochford had become obvious. What it was, whether love or hate, she could not tell. But Lady Talgarth’s gaze was drawn to Rochford as palpably as his was turned from her.
It had been impossible to balance the table properly. She had kindly included Lady Talgarth’s two young daughters, Selina and Georgiana, but there were insufficient gentlemen. However, she comforted herself with the reflection that it was an informal affair, and at Christmas strict convention coul
d be discarded for once. She had placed her grandmother at Rochford’s right hand and, although she could not hear their conversation, she saw how courteously he leant towards her and how she had unconsciously returned to the mannerisms of the old Court at Versailles. For once she looked happy.
Minette had Lord Gatley to her own right but, as he did not speak a word but simply shovelled each exquisite dish into his mouth as quickly as possible, she conversed with Sir Richard Talgarth, who was seated at her left.
‘I have to thank you for including my daughters,’ he said, nodding towards the two excited schoolgirls with a smile. ‘This is a red-letter day. Their first grown-up dinner.’
She smiled. ‘How could one leave them out? At Christmas, too! Besides, they are behaving charmingly.’
Just then, Georgiana caught Franklyn’s eye across the table, and he winked at her. She giggled and then turned bright red when she saw that her hostess and Papa were watching her. Her elder sister, with all the authority of thirteen years, elbowed her in the ribs and frowned.
The sisters were not alike. Selina favoured her mother. She was tall for her age, fair, graceful, and with a thin, serious face. Georgie, on the other hand, was a dark-browed bundle of energy, sparkling brown eyes, and unruly black ringlets. Both were dressed in white with blue ribbons and demure lace mittens.
Arabella, next to Selina, was also in white, but there was nothing demure about her appearance. She was seated between Sir Richard and Selina, but all her attention was focussed on Franklyn, placed across the table from her. Minette knew what care had gone into her appearance that night. She had tried on and discarded every gown in her wardrobe before returning to her first choice, ethereal white gauze threaded with silver. It showed no more than was seemly of Arabella’s plump bosom, but that enterprising damsel had dampened her petticoats so as to ensure that nothing about her sturdy figure was left to the imagination. Minette saw the soft glances and timid smiles she cast at Franklyn and, with growing anger, noted his response—the way he caught her attention with an intimate glance, the smile that just curved his lips and crinkled the corners of his eyes. And then, he would turn to Lady Talgarth or Mrs Forsyth and ignore Arabella for minutes at a time. It was, thought Minette, like watching a man playing a fish upon the line.
Sir Richard followed the direction of her gaze, and his expression hardened. ‘I do not know why Rochford puts up with that fellow.’
She looked startled, and he said instantly, ‘I apologise, I probably should not have said that.’
‘You may say what you like to me. I have no great liking for Mr Clareville.’
‘Really? I had an idea you were friends. I am glad it is not the case, for he is a paltry creature when all is said.’
‘I always feel that one cannot trust a man who is popular with ladies but not with other gentlemen.’ She smiled, ‘But I am not a great judge. I have seen little of Society.’
He looked a little startled. ‘I would have thought you saw a great deal during your triumphant Season.’
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course. But before that, I lived very retired with Grandmère.’
‘A splendid old lady, your grandmother.’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Is she your only living relative, Ma’am? I think I recall that the lady who brought you out was not a family member?’
‘You are correct. I was presented by the Countess of Beverley, an old school friend of my late mother. But Grandmère and I are not quite alone in England. She has two elderly brothers who occasionally descend upon us, and I have some cousins I have visited in the North. Moreover, a junior branch of the family survived the Terror and remained in France. The family has an estate near Avignon.’
‘A charming little city. We visited it soon after the Continent was opened to travellers, on our way down through Italy.’
‘I fear I do not know it well. We managed to visit only a very few times when we—I—was a child.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? But that must have been at the height of the hostilities.’
She shrugged and smiled. ‘These things can be arranged. My uncle was loyal to the Emperor. He made it possible.’
There was a sudden interruption from the other end of the table. William was slumped over, coughing helplessly, a napkin to his mouth. Mrs Forsyth, who was seated at his right, had an arm about his thin frame and had laid a hand on his brow, pushing back the fair damp curls. Both Rochford and Sir Richard rose quickly from their seats and went to William. His stepfather, wasting no time, picked him up out of his chair and, with the Duke walking before him to open the door, swiftly carried him from the room. Lady Talgarth quietly excused herself to Minette and followed them. The whole incident had taken but a couple of moments.
Selina and Georgie, while looking a little concerned, continued to eat their Chantilly cream with relish. It was evident that this was a common occurrence in their lives. The rest of the company remained silent. Franklyn Clareville stroked his chin thoughtfully, staring at the door through which the gentlemen had disappeared.
‘Well,’ exclaimed Bella, who did not suffer from inhibition, ‘I had no notion that poor William was in such a bad way.’
‘It is to be hoped a few months in Italy will prove beneficial,’ said Minette, repressively. She glanced around the table, caught the eye of the remaining ladies and arose. ‘Shall we retire?’
As might have been expected, Lady Talgarth did not appear in the drawing room that evening. Selina and Georgie were sent, reluctantly, to bed so that Minette was joined by Arabella and the elder ladies only.
The remaining three gentlemen did not linger over their port and followed the ladies from the table within the half-hour. Presently, Rochford appeared, looking grave.
‘I have sent for Dr Eastwood,’ he told Minette in a reassuring tone. ‘It is a bad attack, but I’ve seen him worse. Excitement is not good for him.’
Lady Gatley, massively turbaned and formidable, poked Minette with her fan. ‘You had better hurry yourself and present Rochford with a son, young woman.’ She glared at Franklyn across the top of her lorgnette. He was flirting with Arabella and oblivious. ‘If William does not survive—well, I for one could not bear to see that commoner in Rochford’s shoes.’
Rochford had heard this, and he sent his bride a sudden, thoughtful look. When she did not answer, he interposed, ‘My good Aunt, there is time enough to think of that. I have no intention of shuffling off this mortal coil yet awhile, I assure you.’
She looked pointedly at his scarred cheek. ‘I should have thought that you, of all people, would be aware that life is uncertain.’
‘As you say. But then, it is quite as uncertain for Franklyn as for me. He may predecease me, you know.’
Franklyn looked up and called cheerfully, ‘Do I hear my name?’
‘Our Aunt was merely commenting on the likelihood of your stepping into my shoes. She is not in favour.’ The Duke lifted an eyebrow at Lady Gatley, who was quite unmoved.
‘Franklyn knows my opinion of him. He would not do for the head of the family.’
Quite unabashed by this frankness, Franklyn laughed. ‘Content you, Ma’am. I have even less desire for the position than you have to see me in it.’
‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Arabella noisily. ‘No desire for twenty thousand a year?’
‘As Arabella so expressively puts it, “Pooh,”’ remarked the Duke.
‘No, no, give me a snug little hunting box in the shires and enough to pay my tailor and I’m content.’ He clapped Rochford on the back. ‘It is too much damned hard work running your estates. Wouldn’t suit me at all.’
At that moment, Sir Richard came quietly into the room, and the subject was allowed to drop. Minette’s ‘How is he?’ and Rochford’s ‘What does Eastwood say’ were spoken simultaneously.
Sir Richard’s anxious frown had lightened somewhat. ‘He thinks it not a bad attack. The boy has been given some laudanum and is sleeping.’ His mouth curled into a rueful
smile. ‘Before he went off, he was babbling about some masque he has written. He wants us to perform it for Twelfth Night.’ He handed a scroll of papers to Minette. ‘It would make the boy happy,’ he said apologetically. ‘I have no doubt it is very great nonsense, but—’
‘On the contrary, my dear Richard,’ interposed Rochford. ‘William has a definite talent. If he lives, he will make his mark on the world.’
‘Aye, if he lives.’
Minette was studying the papers. ‘But this is charming! Do listen.
Moth:
Where ere my mistress’ gentle footstep falls,
There flows a rill of moonlight all composed.
When ere my mistress’ sweetest notes do call,
A monarch falls, his sovereignty deposed.
Oh, I see. He has taken the fairies from Midsummer Night’s Dream and woven a tale around them. He imagines that Moth is in love with Titania. Was Moth then a male fairy? In any event, he must watch her fall in love with an ass, all the while not realising that Peaseblossom is in love with him.’
Rochford strolled across the room to stand by her chair. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he read with her, waiting for her to turn the page. ‘It is certainly far superior to the rubbish most schoolboy poets turn out.’
‘We will do as he wishes, will we not, Rochford? It will amuse the young people to be dressing up.’
‘Thus speaks the dowager,’ murmured Rochford with a smile. ‘Remind me how old you are again?’
Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade Page 9