by Sandra Heath
Mr. Dodswell waited for her in the vestibule, and Augustine and her mother sat stiffly on a sofa, their faces grim and unsmiling. Laura ignored them, giving Charles Dodswell her undivided attention, for he looked unexpectedly splendid, having discarded his customary dusty coat for one of dark blue cloth. Instead of breeches he wore trousers, and his waistcoat was of cream gambroon. All in all he did not look at all like the Mr. Dodswell she knew and she could not hide the surprise.
He smiled. “The caterpillar is become a somewhat gaudy butterfly, I fear.”
“You look very handsome, sir.”
“In my youth I was considered presentable enough.”
“And still you are.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you seen who has come?” she asked anxiously. “Is there anyone from outside the county?”
Augustine stood then. She was particularly beautiful, her hair peeping from beneath a frill of a day-cap, her tall figure swathed in folds of a creamy white muslin stitched with tiny blue stars. “It will not matter how many come from outside the county,” she said coldly, “for no one will help to destroy King’s Cliff. They come merely to witness your disgrace, my lady, and the ridicule which will be heaped upon you when this day’s work proves an unmitigated disaster. Come, Mama.” She swept out into the sunshine, duly followed by her mother.
Laura glanced nervously at the agent. “Do you think she is right?”
“They have come here to King’s Cliff, my lady, and from that fact alone I take heart.”
“I am afraid to go out there.”
He took her hand and drew it through his arm. “I will be with you. You should not be afraid at this eleventh hour, not when your undoubted courage has sustained you thus far. You have shown yourself to be, in my humble opinion, a very fine lady, with a strength which makes you so perfect for King’s Cliff. I earnestly hope that you have reconsidered your decision to leave.”
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Dodswell, I have not.”
“Then I am very sad, Lady Grenville.”
They walked to the doors and out beneath the portico, but they had barely descended three steps when the arrival of another carriage caused a considerable stir among the crowd.
The costly, gleaming landau was drawn by six perfectly matched bays and was handled by postilions wearing very distinctive livery. The hoods of the carriage remained obstinately raised, concealing the identity of the occupants. A second coach followed it, a much plainer and less impressive drag that drew little attention from onlookers.
Mr. Dodswell’s lips parted with surprise when he saw the postilions. “My lady,” he said softly, “they wear royal livery.”
She stared as the landau came to a standstill at the foot of the steps. The second carriage halted too and its door was opened to allow a very anxious, dapper gentleman in dull brown to climb out. He wore a very formal wig and carried a shining cane, which he used now to tap the arm of a nearby footman. He asked a question and the footman turned to indicate Laura.
The anxious man hurried up the steps toward her, sketching a swift, but excellent, bow. “Lady Grenville?”
“Sir.”
“His Grace, the Duke of Gloucester, desires the hospitality of your house while the auction is in progress.”
“The Duke of Gloucester?” Her wide eyes went uncertainly to Mr. Dodswell. What should she do? How should she act?
The anxious man waited, his cane swinging to and fro. “Madam?”
“His Grace is of course most welcome to my husband’s house, sir.”
He inclined his head and hurried back down the steps to the landau. Laura’s mouth felt dry and her heart began to rush in her breast. She was glad of Mr. Dodswell’s presence, for without him she doubted if she could have said anything at all. She watched now as footmen flung open the doors of the landau.
A very stout young man climbed out. His body was supported by very spindly legs and his eyes were prominent. His face, while not exactly ugly, was far from being agreeable, and there was an expression upon it of great conceit and arrogance. His clothes were obviously stitched by the very finest tailor in Bond Street, although not even the greatest cutter and stitcher of cloth could make this gentleman a picture of sartorial elegance. Laura stared down at him. This was the man who was so soon to marry the Prince Regent’s sister, Princess Mary, and who was himself a first cousin to both. To look at him was as repellent as looking at James Grenville, and Laura shuddered to think of him in the role of bridegroom.
Slowly he came up the steps toward her.
Chapter 33
She sank into a deep curtsy, remaining bowed before him for a long moment before rising. “Welcome to King’s Cliff, Your Grace.”
He grunted, flicking a kerchief fastidiously over his sleeve.
“W-will you honor my house by entering, Your Grace?” she went on, praying that she was behaving as protocol demanded, for she had no real idea of how to conduct herself before royalty.
He raised a quizzing glass to survey her for a moment, and then with a slight sniff he walked past her into the vestibule where the alert Hawkins had already assembled as many footmen and maids as possible. The duke stalked past them without a glance and Hawkins hurried to lead him up the staircase to the red saloon.
Laura looked momentarily at the watching crowds, catching a glimpse of Augustine’s angry face for a moment before the anxious man at her side claimed her attention.
“I am His Grace’s land agent, Lady Grenville, and I am to bid for the hounds on His Grace’s behalf. While I am thus engaged, you must wait personally on His Grace.”
“I must?” she gasped, taken aback, “Surely—”
“His Grace is most particular that great respect is paid to him. He will take coffee now and you must serve it yourself upon a silver salver. You must remain standing beside him while he drinks it and then instantly remove the empty cup and the tray when he has finished.”
She stared at him, and then at last found her tongue. “Very well, sir, I will do what is expected of me. Mr. Dodswell, you will have to commence the auction without me.”
“Of course, my lady.” The two agents walked down the steps together, and she turned to hurry into the house, seeing to her relief that Hawkins was descending the staircase after taking the duke to the saloon.
“Hawkins, bring coffee to the red saloon immediately, on a silver tray, and then allow me to serve it to His Grace.”
“You, my lady?” The butler’s jaw dropped.
“The duke expects nothing less. Hurry now, for he does not appear to be a gentleman to brook delay of any kind.”
“Very well, my lady.”
“And see that Sir Nicholas is informed.”
The butler bowed and hurried away, and with great trepidation Laura mounted the staircase.
The duke was standing stiffly in the red saloon, his withering, superior glance taking in every item of furniture, every picture and the frame in which it was mounted. Without acknowledging her presence, he once again flicked his kerchief over his sleeve and then lowered his bulky person on to a sofa. He sat in the very center, his back straight, his whole mien one of self-importance and consciousness of his royal blood.
Nervously she approached him, praying that it was in order to do so. “Your Grace, I have asked for some coffee to be prepared for you.”
He grunted again.
“May I be of service in any other way?”
“No, madam.”
She could think of nothing more to say. The seconds dragged like interminable hours and her nerve was beginning to desert her.
At that moment the doors were opened, and to her immense surprise and relief she saw that it was Nicholas, being helped by Henderson.
The duke rose to his feet. “By gad, Grenville, you look done up.”
“Not too done up to forgo my duties as host, Your Grace. I pray you will allow me the honor of being seated in your presence.”
“Of course, my dear fellow.�
� The duke inclined his head graciously but made no move to assist as Henderson helped Nicholas to a nearby chair. Laura went to take his arm, and momentarily their eyes met before the duke claimed his attention again.
“Not a huntin’ man then, eh, Grenville?”
“I fear not, Your Grace.”
“Damned anomaly, a King’s Cliff Grenville who don’t hunt,” The duke seated himself again, ignoring Laura, who alone remained standing as Henderson hurriedly bowed out of the room. “Hounds are wasted upon me, Your Grace.”
“Damned if they’ll be wasted on me.”
Nicholas was surprised. “You are interested in them, sir?”
“I am—provided the price is right.”
“I trust that it will be, sir, for I can think of no finer fate for the hounds than to be in your ownership.”
The duke looked pleased, as Nicholas had intended he should. “You don’t come to Court now, Grenville. You should, they’re a damned dull lot and need stimulating.”
“I’m something of a damp squib at the moment, Your Grace, and not stimulating company.”
“Damned odd affair. Venice. Fellow’s a cad, of course, everyone knows that. Damned Austrian brigand. We thought you’d been finished, you know, it was all over Town. Your damned cousin behaved as if he’d inherited the lot.”
“So I understand.”
“Odious creature, James Grenville.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
At last Hawkins brought the coffee, setting the silver salver on a table. On it stood a delicate cup of Sevres porcelain. Taking a deep breath, Laura picked up the tray and conveyed it to the duke, sinking again into a deep curtsy. He hardly glanced at her as he took the cup and, with his little finger stiff, drained it all in one gulp. He replaced the cup on the tray and waved her away. She dutifully took the tray back to the waiting butler, who spirited it away again. She paused for a moment before returning to her place by Nicholas. She was very conscious of how all the ridiculous etiquette had reduced the situation to something akin to a circus in which she had the part of performing monkey.
Nicholas addressed the duke again. “May I be so bold as to congratulate you upon your recent betrothal to the Princess Mary? It is indeed a most fortunate match for England.”
Again the duke looked pleased. “Damned good show,” he said. “She’s a fine gel. Quite suitable, of course.”
“Oh, of course.”
The duke looked up at Laura then. “Damned handsome wench, Grenville. I see why you snapped her up now that I’ve clapped eyes on her. Damned uproar in Town, you know. The monde thought you’d tie a knot with the Townsend woman, and now you turn up with this filly. Mind you, never could stand the Townsend woman, damned cold armful if you ask me. And now that she’s got her name connected with your damned cousin’s….”
Laura looked swiftly at Nicholas, but the duke’s words seemed to have no effect.
The duke continued. “Yes, you’ve chosen well this time, Grenville. Damned handsome wench.” He spoke all the time as if Laura was not present, or that at least she was stone deaf.
Nicholas smiled. “The Venetian air, don’t you know.”
The duke gave a loud guffaw. “Damned fine! Damned fine! The Venetian air.”
Outside the auction was well under way, and the rest of the conversation went over Laura’s head as she gazed out of the window. Nearly everyone was gathered by the platform now and she could see the gentleman from Christie’s conducting everything expertly. She watched his hammer come down as lot after lot was sold. Her eyes shone a little, for Augustine’s prediction was obviously proving wrong. Maybe it was the Duke of Gloucester they had to thank, for his appearance had brought royal approval and had overruled any other considerations.
She had been standing there for over an hour when at last the duke’s agent came to bow low before his royal master. “Your Grace, the King’s Cliff hounds are yours.”
Laura was conscious of great relief, for if the wretched creatures had gone elsewhere, it would have been decidedly embarrassing to face the duke. She glanced down at Nicholas and he gave her a brief smile. At that moment she knew that he was thinking exactly the same and probably had been from the outset.
The duke, however, frowned. “King’s Cliff? King’s Cliff? Damn it, they’re the Bagshot hounds now, and don’t forget it.”
“No, Your Grace.”
The duke rose ponderously to his feet, obviously well pleased with the way things had gone. “Damned good show, eh, Grenville? That’s one in the eye for your wretch of a cousin! Ha! Ha, ha!” Still laughing, he moved heavily from the room.
Nicholas leaned back in his chair. “You did excellently, Laura.”
“I can behave when I choose to.”
“I know. I assure you that I did not come to keep a wary eye on you, if that is what you think. I came to give you the support I knew you would need when confronted by the most arrogant and pompous princeling in the realm.”
“Is he always like that?”
“His—er, stateliness—is a byword, I fear. But you cannot afford to be stately, Laura; indeed you will need to be a hoyden once again if you are to successfully reach the door the necessary three paces behind His Grace.”
With a gasp she gathered her skirts and hurried out, just managing to achieve her correct position as the duke emerged from the house, regally accepting the cheers of the crowd as he descended to his waiting carriage.
The crowd followed the royal coach as it slowly left the steps, and as Laura watched, Mr. Dodswell appeared at her side.
“Everything has gone excellently, my lady, as sweetly as Sir Nicholas could ever have wished.”
“So Miss Townsend was wrong.”
“I don’t know, my lady, but I believe that the duke’s presence swung the balance.”
She nodded. “And so we indirectly have the Earl of Langford to thank.”
“My lady?”
“The duke came, I fancy, to annoy the earl. So, Mr. Dodswell, everything has gone?”
“Lock, stock, and barrel. The duke even wishes to employ those at present responsible for the hounds—there will not be anyone from the kennels without a position at Bagshot. It has all worked out very well.”
“Except for those other servants here who have lost their positions and do not have a Duke of Gloucester to rescue them.”
“Aye, my lady, I fear you are right.”
“Ten people, Mr. Dodswell, that is all. Surely King’s Cliff will be able to absorb them?”
“That is a matter for Sir Nicholas.”
“I will ask him, of that you may be sure. I have given my word.”
A great many people still remained at King’s Cliff at the end of the afternoon when at last the hounds were brought from their kennels for the last time. A silence fell over everyone as they emerged, under the strict control of the chief huntsman. Tails wagging, claws scrabbling, and tongues lolling, they milled around as they waited to be taken into the three large covered wagons the auctioneers had provided for their transportation to whoever their new owner might be.
At last they were all accounted for, and the lumbering wagons began to leave. Everyone watched, affected by the finality of the moment. Now King’s Cliff was indeed less in stature….
Laura stood with Mr. Dodswell by the entrance of the now silent kennels, and then they began to walk back toward the portico.
She was conscious of all eyes upon her, but no one said anything until she was at the foot of the steps, then a single word rang out.
“Shame!”
She halted, turning in the direction of the voice. She saw immediately to whom it belonged, for a tall dandy swaggered forward, very splendid and exaggerated in gray satin. He sketched a mocking bow, and drew a ripple of delighted laughter from the crowd. Laura had noticed him earlier, eating his fill of cold chicken and taking glass after glass of champagne. Even now he had a glass in his hand.
She turned to Mr. Dodswell. “I will not be a moment.”
“My lady—”
But she had gone, her face very cold as she approached the dandy. An expectant silence descended.
“I trust, sirrah,” she said in a voice as clear as his own had been, “that you enjoyed the vast quantities of food and drink you partook today. I trust also that you will agree that you behave lamentably when you express a view so obviously at odds with those expressed by your host. You have enjoyed Sir Nicholas Grenville’s hospitality, sirrah, and now you abuse it. That is not the behavior of a gentleman; it is the behavior of an oaf. And so I say to you—shame!”
He was silenced. She looked coldly at him once more, and then her glance swept over the crowd. Few met her eyes. She turned to walk back toward the house, and no further word was hurled after her as she went inside on Mr. Dodswell’s arm.
The crowd had gone when Augustine went to see Nicholas. She paused outside the door, rubbing her eyes for a moment until they watered, and then she went in. Her eyes seemed to shimmer with tears as she closed the door, leaning back on it as she looked at him. “Oh, Nicholas—” Her voice broke, and she ran to him, slipping her arms around his neck and hiding her face against his shoulder.
“What is it, Augustine?”
“F-forgive me. I know I should not come weeping to you, you least of all, but suddenly it is all so final. The hounds have gone, and all that land has been sold. I am faced at last with the fact that King’s Cliff will never be the same again.” Her voice was tremulous, hesitant, and designed to extract the maximum sympathy from him.
“No, King’s Cliff will never be the same. It will be better.”
She said nothing to that, turning away and searching for her handkerchief. She wasn’t sure of him, and she had come now to reassure herself that she still had a hold over him. “I-I have been thinking that maybe I should go away from King’s Cliff for a while, maybe go to Taunton and inspect the shops.” She smiled bravely through her tears. “Is that not what is expected of ladies of quality, that they forget their sorrows by immersing themselves in the delights of feminine fripperies?”