Bething's Folly

by Barbara Metzger

  “Only the waltz! And you kept comparing me to a chair, Ferddie!” They were all laughing again on easy terms when a deep voice broke in: “I believe this dance is mine.” Elizabeth nodded, “My Lord,” excused herself to Ferddie and preceded Carleton to the floor. Ferddie went off to find a partner, relaxed now that his burden of responsibility would be lifted.

  Elizabeth did not know where to begin. She was hurt, angry, jealous—and thrilled to be in Carleton’s arms again. “Alex—”

  “My Lady, if you wish to go out, I shall be happy to oblige you,” he said stiffly. “There is no need to bother Ferddie.”

  Anger won the toss. “How dare you! When I have been trying to reach you for days and you won’t see me? Ferddie said he was pleased to take me, so you—”

  “Furthermore, my Lady, I do not approve of your choice of partners in Giles de Rochefont.”

  “Well at least he does not dampen his dress to cling in a revolting manner like your choice of partner.”

  “Hardly. But my partner has never abducted a young girl in hopes of forcing her parents’ consent to their wedding.”

  If this was true, and she could not believe Carleton would lie to her, it was indeed reprehensible, yet she could not, of course, admit this to Carleton. His insufferable arrogance was making her do and say things she had never wanted. “Since I am already married, sham though it is, I do not see where your vile accusations concern me.”

  A muscle in Carleton’s jaw was twitching, as from teeth held clenched too long. “As you say, madam, sham though it is, we are married, and I say I do not like him.”

  “Then do not dance with him.” She stopped dancing. “I shall see whom I want. In the Count, at least, I shall know why he is interested.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

  “It means, my Lord, that if you only married me to share my bed, then good riddance!” There, she had said it, the horrible fear she’d had, the only explanation she could think of for his irrational behaviour over the door. She hated herself for saying it, repulsed by the whole idea. Unable to face him again, she stomped off, leaving Carleton standing in the middle of the dance floor, looking like a fool to all those fortunate enough to witness this latest incident in the already colourful courtship. The Carleton Affair, as it was generally referred to, was considered by the gossips to be the major item of the Season. Another chapter was about to be written. It might have gone differently, except for the crowds, because Carleton, momentarily stung by her words, had recovered and was pushing through the other couples to go after her. Elizabeth, meanwhile, could find neither Milbrooke nor her other friends where she had left them, only one familiar, dark-shadowed face:

  “Tout a vous, madame. At your service.”

  Elizabeth rode out early the next morning, again leaving Jeremy behind at the park’s gates. There was a thick mist, however, forcing her to hold Juno in check lest she chance an accident. No one was in sight, with only the steady dripping from the leaves to disturb her thoughts. She was considering returning to the country. After last night, everyone in London would know that her marriage was a failure; there was no use remaining to pretend otherwise. Yet the races would be held just outside London, in a few short weeks, and the Pride would be brought up soon, in slow stages, so he could be rested. She had to be here for that...

  “Bon jour, madame.” A dark figure on a mist-coloured horse materialised from the woods to her left. Elizabeth slowed Juno, looking over her shoulder, wishing Jeremy would hurry. This was wildly improper, she knew, even though unintentional, somehow worse than leaving the ball with him last night. He had behaved with perfect propriety, hardly a word being spoken on the ride to Grosvenor Square. The Count had not even got down from the carriage at her door. Still, she could not be easy with him after reflecting on Carleton’s tale. She could not simply ride past him, either, especially after his kindness to her, so she pulled up to wait for her groom, noting that the Count looked more melancholy by daylight, less mysterious.

  “Good morning, monsieur, you are out early. I do not recall if I thanked you properly for your assistance last evening. I ... I was not thinking clearly.”

  “Or else you would never have gone with me, eh, madame?”

  His intuitiveness continued to surprise her. She decided to risk matching his bluntness with her own, if only for her peace of mind. “Is it true, monsieur, this story I hear of an abduction?”

  “Alas, an ill-conceived act of desperation. Please believe me, madame, the lady was never harmed. In fact, she is now happily wed to her childhood sweetheart, so some good came of it. You do not fear me, do you? You are already married, oui? And you are not an heiress, regrettably. And, finally, your husband is too fine a marksman for me to tempt Fate, madame. Ah, here is your groom. I bid you good day, my Lady Carleton.”

  The hall was filled with flowers when Elizabeth arrived home.

  “My Lady must have had an enjoyable evening last night, if I might say so,” Henrys commented as he handed her a parcel of letters and cards.

  “No, I am just a curiosity,” she replied, glancing at the tags on the flowers. There were bouquets from most of her partners, a few from complete strangers. “Did ... did my Lord—”

  “Oh, yes, madam. Lord Carleton wished me to inform you that he will not be dining at home; he has a box for the theatre and asks that you be ready for nine o’clock, if that is agreeable. He also mentioned that you might speak with Mr. Sebastian about any invitations you would care to accept. And Lord Milbrooke is in the sitting room. He said he would wait.”

  Ferddie greeted her with the warmth of an old friend, she was relieved to see, complimenting her on the decor of the rooms.

  “Thank you, Ferddie, I have been thinking of having some form of entertainment, to show the house off. Ferddie, you are not angry with me about last night, are you?”

  “It is one of the things I wanted to see you about. Damn, Elizabeth, you can’t go around acting screw-loose like that. It just ain’t done.”

  “I know, Ferddie, I really do. It was deplorable to leave Carleton standing there like—”

  “Carleton? No, he probably deserved being made the fool. I wanted to call him out myself last night. No, what I’m saying’s not right was your leaving with the Count fellow. I brought you and I should have been the one to take you home. Besides, he ain’t quite the thing.”

  “Oh, Ferddie, you are such a dear. The Count assured me that I am safe in his company since I am married. He is quite kind, you know.” She did not mention her encounter of this morning, having no desire to hear another lecture, even from Ferddie. He cleared his throat, unwilling to go into details of the Frenchman’s character.

  “The other reason for my call—I would have come in any case, of course—was to ask if I could take you up in my phaeton this afternoon. Devering’s challenged Northwell’s new chargers and I thought you might like to watch.”

  “Thank you, Ferddie, I would, truly. But I don’t want to—that is, Carleton said I mustn’t bother you.”

  “Bother? Carleton’s got some deuced queer notions these days. I want your advice on my pair’s chances against Northwell’s. Will you come?”

  “What a good friend you are, Ferddie. Of course I’ll come.”

  Northwell’s pair won, of course. They really were a fine team. Elizabeth and Ferddie reluctantly agreed that his chestnuts were outmatched. They would make a run for it, but she advised Milbrooke not to put any money on the outcome. Carleton’s bays could do it, however...

  There was another couple in the carriage with the Marquis at nine o’clock, Baron and Lady Westron, so conversation was general and polite. Elizabeth was quick to take advantage of this:

  “By the by, Alexander, would you mind if Jeremy took me out with the bays and the phaeton someday? I’ve noticed more ladies drive than ride. Don’t you agree, Lady Westron?”

  Carleton looked at her quizzically but acquiesced, going so far as to say he would ask Mr. Se
bastian to keep an eye out for a suitable pair for her own. Nothing more was said on the matter, in fact nothing more was said to one another by the Carletons for the duration of the play. At the interludes Elizabeth’s admirers filled the box; Carleton took himself off. After the theatre the group moved to a party at Regency Square. Elizabeth was again surrounded, but her husband was obviously not among her admirers. She laughed and danced and flirted, working hard to prove what a good time she was having. She had the first waltz with Ferddie, so there was no embarrassment. Carleton appeared for the second, later in the evening.

  “This is merely for appearance sake, madam, so you can save the chit-chat for your retinue,” he informed her at the start, never looking at her. She would have broken away, but his hand on her waist tightened. “No, not again,” he said through clenched teeth. The dance was performed in stony silence, except for Carleton’s parting words that he would see her home, at her convenience—another reproof of her last night’s behaviour.

  As soon as he had left her with his friends—her friends now—she issued a challenge to Northwell, his team against Carleton’s bays.

  “I thought he wasn’t interested,” Northwell began.

  “No, but I am. Or are you ashamed to accept a challenge from a woman?”

  “Does Carleton know?”

  “I have his permission,” she said, bending the truth of course, for he had said Jeremy might take her out, knowing nothing about a race. The event was scheduled for the following day to leave less time, she felt, for Carleton to stop it if he found out. She glanced his way somewhat guiltily to see him laughing happily with Lady Gilmore, which instantly decided Elizabeth she needed a good night’s rest. An embarrassed Rutley was sent to inform the Marquis of his wife’s wishes. The carriage might have been a hearse for all the conversation, nor did Carleton move when Henrys helped his wife alight. The coach went off.

  Jeremy was called to Elizabeth’s study early the next morning, but he was having none of it.

  “ ’Is Lordship left word how I was to take you out, ma’am, not about any race and not about any woman drivin’, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”

  “But he didn’t say I couldn’t either, did he?” Elizabeth knew it was Jeremy’s vanity talking; how would he look to his mates with her at the reins? She appealed to his pride, though, since the bays’ reputation was at stake. At last he agreed, reluctantly, and only because he knew the Marquis was already out.

  “This one time only, ma’am, and we better win.”

  Mr. Sebastian was sent for next to advance Elizabeth a fairly large sum from her allowance—the stakes money, although he was not to know it. He took the opportunity of informing Elizabeth of Carleton’s plans for the evening, a dinner party for eight o’clock. It would take some doing, with the race set for dusk when the park would be least crowded, but Elizabeth would wear her gown to the meet, if need be. Bessie could not be told where her mistress was off to after tea; she would have been horrified—nice young ladies surely did not race chariots in the park—although she would not have been surprised. Instead, she was merely informed that Lord Milbrooke was taking her to look at some horses again so there would be a rush before dinner, unless everything was laid out. Bessie clucked her tongue. There was an awful lot wrong going on here, with Elizabeth more lively than she’d been in days.

  Bessie was relieved to have Elizabeth home in even better spirits, actually laughing during the frenzied dressing. She had not won the race—it was a tie—but she had done well, well enough to be happily proud, especially with all the approval she’d won. Milbrooke thought the Marquis himself could not have done better; Northwell admitted he’d had to do his damnedest just to tie her; Jeremy, even Jeremy, said they would have won with a few more feet to go. He gave her a wink, saying he’d be able to meet the fellows for a wet, after all. Elizabeth privately believed she could have won easily if she’d had a bit more practice with the bays. Nevertheless, the tie had given a boost to her image of herself, which had been suffering badly recently under Carleton’s disdain. Her confidence only began to waver as Bessie tucked a last flower in her hair at exactly eight o’clock and Elizabeth had to face him.

  A quick glance at his stormy expression told her he knew about the race and was furious: the eyebrows drawn low over his eyes, the jutting chin ... “Would you mind terribly if I stayed home, my Lord? My... my head aches.”

  He merely snatched her wrap from Henrys, threw it over her shoulders and led her to the waiting coach. She sat against one side, steeling herself for the harsh words. None came, however, though Carleton’s mouth stayed fixed in a sneer. If he was not going to bring the subject up, Elizabeth was certainly willing to accept another silent carriage ride. Milbrooke and the other witnesses to the race could also read Carleton’s expression, so the event was not mentioned until, separated from the Marquis by the length of the dinner table, Elizabeth was again regaled with praise in a continuing spirit of cheerful fellowship. When the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, however, after their port and cigars, it was a fairly subdued group which gathered at Elizabeth’s side, obviously chastened. The pleasure was taken from the evening for Elizabeth who, despite the consequences, was prepared to have it out with Lord Carleton on the ride home.

  “You had no right to say anything to Ferddie and the others, my Lord. If you were angry, the fault was mine and no one else’s. It is unjust of you to—”

  “No, my Lady, I laid the blame precisely where it was due. If you do not know any better, my friends do.” He grimaced at the word. “And as for you, madam,” he said as the coach stopped at their door and she stepped down, “my horses would have won if you had not held them so tight at the turn.”

  After that Elizabeth’s days fell into a routine of sorts. She took Juno to the park in the early morning, careful to stay in Jeremy’s sight, sometimes meeting the Count, more often not, returning home for morning callers and correspondence. She drove with one of her friends in the afternoon, paid calls or went shopping. If Carleton had not left plans for the evening with Mr. Sebastian, Ferddie or one of the others would ask to escort her somewhere. There was a constant round of dinners, balls, masquerades. Elizabeth attended them all, finding her own company oppressive. She began to give small teas, at first just to fill the hours, then for the pleasure of having people she knew around her. Occasionally she invited de Rochefonte, never when the other guests included unmarried women. Soon her gatherings had the reputation of being intelligent and amusing, with few people declining an invitation. Carleton never attended, despite the dates being carefully logged with Mr. Sebastian. Elizabeth never saw her husband except at evening functions where they arrived together, had one waltz, and left together, with not an extra word or smile. They never took meals together at home, nor had any private conversations, all of their dealings being done through the servants. Elizabeth had no idea where her husband went all day and most of the nights, although rumours reached her aplenty, coupling his name with that of Alicia Gilmore, the occasional singer, dancer and what you will. He was as driven as she was to find company, any company, and got as little rest. They were both exhausted, mentally as well as physically, from the emotional drain of this silent warfare. They kept going, telling themselves it was only till the races, only until Elizabeth could return home. Time was running short.

  FOURTEEN

  The day Elizabeth received word that the Pride had finally arrived at the racetrack, along with Robbie Jackson, two grooms and the jockey, she begged Ferddie to drive her out. They made a party of it, Rutley inviting Miss van Houten to ride in his carriage. Elizabeth had a long conference with Robbie while the others walked around the stables, surveying the competition. The Pride was in fine shape, not disturbed by the trip in the least. Robbie had brought his own feed from home in another wagon and had even taken along one of the Folly’s ponies, to give him some familiar company. One of the grooms slept outside the stall; no chances were being taken. This would be the only visi
t Elizabeth could manage before the race—the Duke and Duchess were arriving in two days, and Elizabeth was holding a party the race night—and she did not want it to end. Finally Ferddie had to pull her away so they could get home for dinner. As it was, Carleton had to hold the carriage for fifteen minutes before she was ready. She did not even notice his glare. Everyone except Carleton, of course, wanted to hear about the horses. Elizabeth stayed at the party longer than she had planned. The next day she could barely make herself get out of bed, Bessie fussing the entire time until she agreed to forego Juno’s morning exercise. Instead Elizabeth haunted the kitchens, interfering with Mrs. Henrys’s preparations for the party, Elizabeth’s first formal entertainment. It would be either a victory celebration or a consolation party, with all of her friends, but especially the Duke and Duchess and the group they were bringing to London. This included Margaret and Captain Hendricks, and Margaret’s parents and brother Robert, with Miss Sophie Devenance and her mama. Everything had to be perfect, at least. Extra staff had been hired, outfitted and trained; special wines ordered; the menu changed daily. There was even a surprise entertainment planned for after dinner to add more excitement to the evening. Elizabeth had spent days with Mr. Sebastian over the guest lists, trying to combine her friends with her social obligations. Carleton had given Mr. Sebastian a list of ten names or so, most of which Elizabeth had already included. Lady Alicia Gilmore’s name had been summarily crossed through on the grounds that since Carleton’s family was so well represented, Elizabeth’s friends took precedence. After the slightest hesitation, Giles de Rochefonte’s name had been added to the final list. All of the acceptances were in, so that afternoon Elizabeth and Mr. Sebastian worked out seating charts. The Count offered a special problem, of course, that and the fact that most of Elizabeth’s friends were men. What caused the most difficulty was the need of an alternate, contingency plan, if Carleton did not come. Elizabeth refused to face an empty seat if the Marquis decided to avenge Lady Gilmore’s slight. By evening the cards had been juggled every which way, Mr. Sebastian as frazzled as Elizabeth, but two separate arrangements agreed upon. She was having dinner alone in the breakfast parlour, where she had taken to eating when at home rather than her bedroom or the huge dining table, when Henrys cleared his throat at the door.