Madalena

by Sheila Walsh

  Madalena gurgled with delight and Miss Varley’s lips tightened visibly.

  The waltz was announced and amid a buzz of mingled excitement and disapproval, Lady Serena took the floor with Lord Palmerston.

  Above the swell of the music Devereux said abruptly, ‘Do you waltz, mademoiselle?’

  ‘But of course, monseigneur. I regret, however, that I am already claimed.’

  ‘That can soon be arranged.’ He took her card and scanned it casually. ‘Ah, it’s only Freddie Egerton.’ He turned to an eager young exquisite who hovered anxiously at his elbow, and bent a commanding eye upon him. ‘There you are, Egerton ‒ you won’t mind giving up your place to me, will you, lad?’

  Without waiting for answer, he swept Madalena on to the floor, where some four brave couples were now dipping and swirling to the pulsating rhythm of the music.

  ‘Freddie will not love you, Duc,’ she protested breathlessly. ‘He has waited so patiently to show me his waltz.’

  ‘My heart bleeds for him!’ he drawled. ‘Shall I restore you to him?’

  Her huge, gamine grin flashed swiftly. ‘No, no, I beg you, for I am sure your performance is so much superior!’

  Devereux laughed, and his arm tightened just a fraction, causing her to feel even more breathless. Madalena sighed, and abandoned herself to the ecstasy of being whirled round in strong arms.

  ‘You are very masterful, are you not?’ she sighed.

  His eyes glinted down at her. ‘And you are a most provocative young lady. Tell me, mademoiselle, do your partners always have to wait in line for the favour of a dance with you?’

  Madalena chuckled. ‘They are just silly boys. It is that I am French, you understand. I think they all mean to be in love with me, but it will not last, for I am not a great beauty or a wit even.’

  It was said without guile; was she then so totally unaware of her own attractions? Devereux accorded her the benefit of any doubt as she presently whispered with unholy glee: ‘See how the dowager ladies frown upon us! Is it that they consider me too jeune fille to waltz with such panache?’

  ‘Very likely,’ he said, amused. ‘Though the waltz itself is sufficient to sour their humour. It is still frowned upon by some of the Patronesses of Almacks ‒ and theirs is the criterion by which all such social niceties are judged. Have you visited Almacks?’

  ‘No. One must have vouchers, you know. Tante Vernon hopes to obtain them and Phoebe speaks of it with awe, but in truth it sounds a very dull place.’

  ‘It is ‒ excessively dull, but obligatory if one would be fashionable.’

  ‘Then I shall not repine if we do not go! Perhaps,’ she persisted wickedly, ‘the dowagers frown because I am with you?’

  ‘That is also entirely possible. Does their disapproval distress you?’

  ‘No!’ It was a too vehement denial. For a moment the laughing mouth trembled and then it firmed again. ‘Already there are many who shun me. Not everyone, you see, loves me for being French.’ She shrugged philosophically. ‘One cannot blame them.’

  One satanic eyebrow flickered upwards in surprise. He said softly, ‘Yet I, mademoiselle, was impatient to renew our acquaintance.’

  Madalena stared, her hurt forgotten. ‘But we have not met. No! It is impossible that I should forget such a one as you!’ she continued with amusing frankness. ‘It was perhaps my brother, Armand. We are very like.’

  ‘No. It was not Armand.’

  ‘Then you will tell me please,’ she demanded, ‘where was this mysterious meeting?’

  On an impulse he said, ‘Ride with me in Hyde Park tomorrow at midday ‒ and I will tell you.’

  Madalena looked up, considering him through her lashes. ‘I do not at all believe you ‒ and I do not think that I should ride with you. Tante Vernon would undoubtedly consider you not at all a respectable person for me to know.’

  She became aware that the music had come to an end and that everyone was leaving the floor. ‘Monseigneur le Duc!’ she entreated. ‘People are staring. Please to take me back!’

  The Duke tightened his hold and smiled down at her in such a way! ‘At midday,’ he repeated softly. ‘Your promise, mademoiselle?’

  ‘Yes … yes!’ she agreed in a panic. ‘I will come!’

  ‘Good.’ Imperturbably he escorted her across the now deserted ballroom floor, watched by the entire assembled company.

  ‘See what you have done!’ Madalena muttered. She walked very straight, trying not to blush. ‘It would serve you very right if I did not come tomorrow.’

  ‘But you will. Your curiosity will not allow you to stay away.’

  They had by now arrived back beside a speechless Phoebe.

  The Duke took Madalena’s hand. ‘You do not play fair, Duc,’ she reproached him with a rueful grin.

  ‘Oh, hardly ever, my dear!’ He raised the hand to his lips. ‘A bientôt. Your servant, Miss Vernon.’

  Lady Serena was waiting in the doorway to steer him away from the card room. She linked an arm casually through his and her laugh trilled out as she chided him good-naturedly.

  ‘Dev ‒ you are a fraud! After all your protestations, you lay siege to our little émigrée ‒ a positive babe!’

  ‘Ah, but one, you must admit, who is quite out of the common!’ he murmured with the faintest glimmer of a smile. He realized he was being manoeuvred into a quiet corner and added quizzically, ‘Why are you abducting me, Serena? Did I not know you better, I might imagine you to be jealous.’

  Lady Serena’s manner became a little abstracted; she appeared to be examining minutely a mammoth arrangement of spring flowers. ‘You have a visitor,’ she said quietly.

  The Duke’s expression hardly altered. ‘Leclerc?’ he muttered. She nodded.

  ‘Damn him for a fool!’ he exploded softly. ‘Has he no more sense than to show himself here when the house is full of people?’

  ‘I gathered it was urgent. He was not seen, except by my servants ‒ and they know how to be discreet. I have had him shown into the small back parlour, but you had best go to him directly or he will work himself into a state!’

  The Duke descended the staircase without apparent haste. He waved away the two footmen who sprang forward at his approach and walked to a door at the back of the hall.

  As he opened it, a taut figure ‒ slight, with a pallid face, curiously scarred — paused in the act of pacing the floor and threw up his hands in a torrent of French.

  ‘Taisez-vous!’ the Duke rapped out in a voice that Madalena would have instantly recognized. ‘Do you wish to lay all we have worked for in ruins?’

  Chapter Two

  Mrs Vernon leaned her throbbing head against the faded squabs of her brother’s town carriage. She reflected bitterly that her sister-in-law, for all her high-toned notions, was as niggardly as Roger in the matter of his carriages, or she would have long since persuaded him to replace this badly sprung vehicle with something more stylish. A particularly ill-rutted patch of road confirmed her opinion and set her head pounding afresh.

  A burst of stifled giggling from the opposite corner roused her. ‘Do stop whispering, girls.’ She sighed gently. ‘Madalena, dear child, I do not wish to appear ‒ unfeeling, but I must tell you I think it most unwise in you to encourage a man of Lytten’s reputation. I declare I did not know where to look this evening! I could only be thankful that Lady Fleet was unable to accompany us, though she must surely get to hear of what happened. Your behaviour was, no doubt, due to ignorance of our ways, but though the Duke is in some sort a friend of Kit’s, he can in no way be considered a suitable companion for a young and innocent girl.’

  More giggles were hastily smothered and from the darkness came a short burst of coughing followed by Armand’s lazy drawl.

  ‘Tante Vernon ‒ I regret you waste your words. My sister will do as she has always done ‒ exactly as she pleases.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ Mrs Vernon was beginning to feel a little out of her depth with these odd, unconventional chil
dren, so unlike her own family. Of course Kit resided almost permanently in London these days and was thus beyond parental restraint, but to be sure, he had always been a dear good boy; and certainly the girls, both Louise, now married and a mother herself, and her little Phoebe, who was betrothed to the charming son of an old friend, had neither of them ever caused her a moment’s unease.

  She did hope that these two children of her poor departed sister, who were proving so … unpredictable, would not be an unsettling influence for Phoebe. Of course they were dear children and one was very fond of them, but it was so uncomfortable not knowing quite where one was with them.

  Mrs Vernon supposed vaguely that it all stemmed from their losing their mama at a crucial age ‒ and having a father who was not only French, but had strong radical leanings; everyone knew what excesses that combination could produce!

  To be sure, Etienne de Brussec was a man much respected in France. A lawyer and a man of letters, he had served that creature Bonaparte faithfully for years; but of late he had become a stern critic of his Emperor, and of the policies which were plunging the country he so loved into ever more useless wars.

  Since he was not a man to wrap up his opinions, his position had grown steadily more insecure. Only his immense popularity with the common people had so far stayed Bonaparte’s hand, but he was constantly spied upon, and stood in imminent danger of arrest.

  One might have supposed, Mrs Vernon reflected irritably, that such danger would give him pause for thought. But no, his only concern was for his seventeen-year-old twins; Armand in particular had a delicate constitution, and only a tiresomely long illness had so far kept the boy from being drafted into the Army. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered, it became imperative to remove both children to the safety of their English relations.

  Of course, Esme Vernon had not refused Etienne’s appeal for help; indeed it never entered her head to do so, for she was a kindly woman. Her husband, the Brigadier, was roused from the writing of his memoirs long enough to make all the necessary arrangements, and the twins were smuggled out of France ‒ reluctant and protesting.

  In Sussex they had seemed quiet and well-mannered, if a trifle different, a trait she had attributed to their being in a strange country. It had seemed a good idea to coerce her brother into accepting some measure of responsibility for their entertainment, and an invitation was finally wrung from him to bring them to London for a short stay, to celebrate their eighteenth birthday.

  Viewed now in retrospect, their aunt wondered that she had felt no presentiment of impending disaster for already, after only two weeks in London, Madalena was proving to be somewhat of a handful, exhibiting a degree of vivacity she had never shown in Sussex. And now, there was Lytten!

  There were few people taking the air on the following day when, at a little before noon, Kit Vernon rode in through the Park gates in company with his sister Phoebe and his two young French cousins.

  Phoebe, let into the secret, cast surreptitious glances about her, eager to discover if the Duke would come, whilst Madalena displayed a masterly unconcern.

  She kept up a seemingly endless stream of small talk and exhibited just the correct degree of surprise as his grace was seen approaching mounted upon a spirited black hunter. Kit shot her a suspicious glance, which she met with limpid innocence.

  Greetings were exchanged and Armand was introduced to the Duke. Under cover of the ensuing conversation Kit leaned across to his friend.

  ‘I have the distinct feeling that I have been used,’ he murmured. ‘Am I right?’

  Devereux’s expression was bland. ‘How should I know, dear boy?’ He wheeled his horse round in order to ride along with them. By degrees he contrived to fall a little way behind with Madalena.

  ‘You come well chaperoned, mademoiselle,’ he observed dryly.

  ‘But of course. You did not expect that I would come alone?’

  He turned to look at her. She wore a riding dress of deep brown velvet, its short jacket curving neatly into her tiny waist, the sleeves tight and braided; her high-crowned shako sported a dashing peak and a feather curling bewitchingly over one ear; pale yellow kid gloves completed an outfit that was completely at odds with the way he had first seen her.

  ‘And does Mademoiselle de Brussec always do what is expected of her?’

  The tone of his question made her glance up sharply. ‘Why do you say this?’

  ‘Because I know she does not,’ he said softly.

  The curled plume bobbed as she tossed her head. ‘Tiens! Now you are again being mysterious!’

  ‘May I applaud your excellent command of the English language, mademoiselle?’

  Madalena’s eyes twinkled suddenly. ‘Merci bien, monseigneur le Duc, but I did not meet with you in order to make polite conversation.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. And if you have constrained me to ride with you here only to tease, I think it a most shameful and ungentlemanly thing to do.’

  Devereux was enjoying himself more than he would have believed possible. ‘Speaking of riding, mademoiselle, is that animal the best Sir Roger Fleet’s stable could provide for you?’

  Madalena laughed and leaned forward to pat the cob’s thick neck. ‘Doucement! You must not insult Angus ‒ he has a most sensitive nature. My uncle’s wife, Lady Fleet, with whom we stay, considers him the perfect mount for a young lady.’ She sighed. ‘Ah, but he is not like my own dear Diable who is at home in Plassy.’ She cast an envious glance at the Duke’s hunter. ‘He is much like your horse ‒ not so large, of course, but with such spirit, such character …’

  ‘You did not find my Thunderer’s character so endearing at our last meeting.’

  Madalena jerked on the rein and the cob stopped dead. ‘Monseigneur le Duc ‒ I am quite ennuyée with all this talk of meetings, which I do not at all believe. I do not go any further until you explain it to me.’

  The Duke’s smile was gently mocking. ‘Then look well at my Thunderer, ma petite, and cast your mind back ‒ a mere matter of weeks ‒ to a stormy night …’

  Puzzled and half-annoyed she looked ‒ and with the dawning of recognition her eyes grew wide. A stallion black as the night … rearing up before her …

  She let out a little shriek and clapped a hand to her mouth. Ahead of them Kit turned, wondering if something was amiss.

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ breathed Madalena. ‘You are that one?’

  The Duke inclined his head. ‘And I’ll lay a monkey,’ said he, ‘that your aunt had no idea you were wandering the cliffs so late ‒ and in such unseemly garb.’

  She had the grace to blush. ‘They are breeches Armand had outgrown. I wore than often at home when we went exploring together ‒ before he was ill. Now he is older, he is grown too grand for such adventures.’

  ‘But not you? You were not afraid of the storm?’

  ‘Oh no! I like storms.’ Her eyes shone. ‘I think sometimes I like to be frightened a little. And then there were the lights, you see.’

  ‘Lights? What lights?’

  ‘The smugglers’ lights from the sea.’

  His voice sharpened. ‘You have a vivid imagination, mademoiselle!’ And with an air of finality, he added, ‘You would do well to keep off the cliffs at night in future. It is not safe.’

  ‘I do not imagine!’ Madalena retorted indignantly. ‘How like a man to say so. And what should not be safe, unless … But yes, I have it!’ In her excitement she prodded the cob sharply with her booted feet and the startled animal almost broke into a canter. ‘Now I know why you were so angry that night! I have discovered your secret, monseigneur!’

  ‘Have you, indeed?’ The Duke’s voice was without expression. ‘And what, pray, is my secret?’

  ‘Why, that you are a smuggler!’ When he did not reply, she rushed on, ‘I shall not tell anyone, but I am right, am I not? Oh, I should have guessed it at once, only that you do not look like one!’

  He met her long, considering look with coolness. ‘And h
ow does Mademoiselle de Brussec imagine a smuggler should look?’

  ‘But I know, for the men who brought us out of France were smugglers, I am sure ‒ and they were rough, uncouth men!’ Her nose wrinkled at the memory. ‘In the middle of the sea they met with a British Navy Frigate …’ she rolled the words out with a flourish, ‘… and we were taken on board without question! It was most odd, but fort amusant, you know.’

  Devereux laughed suddenly. ‘What an extraordinary girl you are!’

  ‘Do you think it?’ Madalena sighed. ‘Then it must be so, for Tante Vernon also finds me strange.’

  ‘You must not refine upon it too much, child ‒ it will take a little time to adjust. I suspect you are missing your home.’

  ‘I am missing Papa,’ she said in a flat little voice. ‘And I worry about him. We did not at all wish to come to England, Armand and I. Oh, for Armand perhaps it was necessary; he has a weakness of the lungs, you know; it is a great trial to him and he hates anyone to speak of it. But I know Papa feared for his life if he was taken for the Army.’

  Madalena looked up and there was a mutinous set to her mouth. ‘But if Papa is in danger, then I at least should have remained with him.’

  ‘Is your father in danger?’

  ‘I very much fear it. To understand, you must first know Papa.’

  ‘I know of him,’ Devereux said. ‘Is he not one of France’s most able and respected lawyers?’

  She threw him a shining glance. ‘Oh, yes! And the people love him dearly. They know, you see, that his opinion cannot be bought.’

  ‘And yet he is in danger?’ The Duke found his interest caught by this child who held her father in such high esteem. He had heard rumours of de Brussec’s outspokenness.

  ‘It is the Emperor,’ Madalena confided, echoing his thoughts. ‘No-one has supported him more staunchly than Papa ‒ indeed, in the early days he was one of his principal advisers. But in the last two or three years, Papa’s counsel has been constantly rejected. Napoleon Bonaparte, it seems, is now so great he does not need advice.’

  The words were spoken with bitterness. ‘And since Papa will not stoop to dissemble as others have done, since he makes plain his views, he falls ever further from favour. Now there is this talk of a march against Moscow, and many more thousands of men and boys are called for the Army. Papa will not be silent ‒ and our Emperor is not renowned for his patience …’ her voice trailed away miserably.