Danse De La Folie

by Sherwood Smith

  Clarissa caught her cousin’s eye and they nodded at one another across the room. A familiar high titter drew Kitty’s attention to the pair of young ladies entering the ballroom arm in arm, followed by a third. Lucretia Bouldeston stood next to a tall, thin young woman whose gown of cream figured muslin was even more lavishly trimmed than Lucretia’s. Clarissa recognized Miss Fordham. Lucasta trailed them, her chin elevated as her gaze darted this way and that.

  The three young ladies expertly crossed in front of the gentlemen just entered, forcing them to give way. Clarissa observed how Miss Fordham, who had the habit of speaking with the assurance of one who is very well aware of her large dowry, addressed the gentlemen in such a way as to cause five bows.

  Lucretia then laid her fan on Mr. Devereaux’ arm. Kitty and Clarissa could not hear her words, only the high titter that accompanied them, but they saw the gentleman bow again most politely.

  A string of newly arrived ladies passed between the little group and Clarissa, who had made a private wager within herself that Lucretia had been hinting for an invitation to dance, a hint to which she was almost certain her cousin would be blind. A peculiar sense of having been there before assailed her, and she recovered the exact circumstances of her first observation of Lucretia Bouldeston, in this very room four or five years ago.

  Miss Bouldeston had laid her fan on the arm of Cousin Philip in exactly the same manner as she threw out a broad hint about whether it was possible for such a tall gentleman to accommodate his steps to one who Nature had sadly given delicate form. Was that before or after this secret engagement with Kitty’s brother?

  A shift in the colorful gowns and fine blue coats, and there was Cousin Philip himself, bowing politely to Mrs. Latchmore, Kitty, and Amelia as he held out his hand to Clarissa. “Would you like to take a turn before it’s impossible to move?” he asked her, smiling.

  “Thank you,” she said, and rose.

  They had just joined the forming dance when Lucretia confronted Kitty. “Well, my sweetest Catherine,” Lucretia said. “Good evening, Miss Amelia! Catherine, do you find pleasure in your first visit to Almack’s?”

  “Good evening, Lucretia. I do.”

  “Catherine, may I make you known to my dear friend, Miss Fordham? Lady Catherine Decourcey. You look positively ravishing, Catherine,” Lucretia went on as she helped herself to Clarissa’s chair, and Miss Fordham took Amelia’s as the latter jumped up in response to a partner approaching to dance. “You must be permitting Miss Harlowe to guide you in your choice in gowns,” Lucretia said to Kitty. “A wise decision, as you look delightfully.”

  “Miss Harlowe has excellent taste,” Kitty said warmly.

  The conversation flowed along, Lucretia wreathing with compliments a great many questions about the Harlowes, until here was Clarissa again, with Mr. Devereaux.

  Lucretia flicked out her fan and applied it prettily, saying, “Miss Harlowe, I relinquish your seat. You look refreshed for the exercise, and one does get tired of forever sitting, I was just saying to Miss Fordham and dearest Catherine. To move about just now would be the most welcome thing in the world, would it not, Mr. Devereaux?”

  He bowed, then said to Kitty, “If you are tired of sitting, perhaps I may claim that promised dance?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Kitty was so surprised she scarcely remembered to speak the proper thanks as they walked out to join the nearest line. Because of the crowd, the lines must of necessity form closer together. Though no one likes a crowd, at least this way partners could converse while waiting to move.

  “Does Almack’s meet your expectations, Lady Catherine?”

  “The rooms are not precisely distinqué, as my father used to say, but we are here to dance, and not to admire the wainscoting. Or perhaps everyone is here to admire one another,” she amended.

  A movement of the dance revealed the beautiful Mrs. Bouversie, who was living out of wedlock with Lord Robert Spencer.

  When Philip Devereaux saw the direction of her glance, he was aware of sharp disappointment. But so far, Lady Catherine had not uttered the same threadbare comments or allusions that he had been hearing all his life. And so he said, “Are you acquainted?”

  “With whom?” she asked, looking surprised. He was surprised by the sense of relief that he had misjudged. She went on, “I beg pardon for being inattentive. I was just thinking...”

  “Will you share your thoughts?” he asked. Now would be the time to conform to the expected—for which no one should be faulted. Human nature was predictable. That was a part of order. It was no one’s fault but his own that he found himself so easily bored.

  She said, “I wonder if it is in our natures to be always thinking something other than what one is doing? For example, my brothers and I were used to play a game when we were small, called Guess.”

  This was nothing he had expected, after all. “Guess?”

  “Perhaps we will sound ill-behaved,” she said as they paced in a sedate circle, then performed their turn. “I am from the country, so I am still learning what people in London society talk about and what they do not.” A quick glance, full of mischief, but also question.

  “Go on. You played a game called ‘Guess.’”

  “We played it when the homily in church was especially long and dull, or when my grandmother expected us to sit in the parlor in our best clothes, in expectation of some friend of hers who dared to darken our unhallowed door. Though that was less exciting, because we had only the family portraits on which to exercise our imaginations, which, you know, do not change themselves, whereas at church, there were many people to choose from. But however, shall I demonstrate, rather than explain the rules?”

  The line had clumped up again. “Please do,” he said, grateful to discover himself mildly entertained.

  He was not entertaining to her, but she knew he never had to be. No one, gentleman or lady, who was much sought needed to be. He listened, he tried to be agreeable. That was all she hoped for.

  “At first we used to guess at their lives, but we found it more fun to make up new lives entirely for them. For example, see that gentleman with the old-fashioned tie-wig, and the hair powder?” Mr. Devereaux glanced at the gentleman in question, and recognized the retired Col. Parkinson, who was pontificating lengthily to his partner, no doubt on his favorite subject, the superiority of army over navy.

  “He is contemplating challenging him.” Kitty’s laughing glance pegged the shy young Sir Oliver, two couples down the line. “To a duel over the fine eyes of that lady.” Her glance picked out the Duchess of Gordon, whose arrogance had made her infamous. She, too, wore the new French fashion, having recently returned from Paris—rumor having it she had attempted unsuccessfully to secure Eugène de Beauharnais for one of her daughters.

  He laughed aloud at the unexpectedness of the contrast. “Are you acquainted with the lady?” he asked.

  Kitty’s eyes flashed up in surprise. “I am not. It would be horrid if I were. I mean to say, I shouldn’t make up things if I knew her at all, or even knew of her. That was the fun of it, we had no notion of the true lives of the persons in question. Sometimes I play the game inside my own head when I have to sit very quietly somewhere, or I plan my... Perhaps it was very ill-bred,” she finished contritely.

  He thought this game much less ill-bred than listening to gossip, but he forbore saying so aloud. At best he might sound satiric, but at worst, he suspected he would merely sound insufferable.

  So he changed the subject to an unexceptionable topic. “Your brother is the present marquess,” he observed, and on her assent, “I take it he prefers to remain in the country? I do not think I have ever met him in town.”

  “He was here briefly. At least, I know he was in London when he sat before the Admiralty board to pass for lieutenant, but I do not know if he was introduced into society,” Kitty answered. “He does prefer the country, though he confesses a weakness for the sea.” Her fondness warmed her voice, and her smile fl
ashed, quick and merry. “He could not comprehend my wish to see London.”

  As the orchestra moved into the coda, he asked easy questions about the marquess, and she answered them happily enough—Carlisle’s cutter—his fondness for horses—his brief career in the navy, as around them, those in the habit of watching Mr. Devereaux noticed that though the young lady seemed to chatter quite a bit, he did not look bored. At least one mother of young ladies whose lures he had been blind to wondered aloud if Lady Catherine was as desperate a flirt as her mother had been.

  When they returned to Mrs. Latchmore, the lady was deep in conversation with a pair of hopeful mamas. Lucretia had lingered to talk to Clarissa, her sister at her side, Miss Fordham having walked out with an aspiring partner to join the next set.

  Lucretia rose immediately from Kitty’s chair, her fan fluttering, but before she could speak, Amelia jumped up in expectation. “Is it my dance, now, Mr. Devereaux?” she asked.

  He bowed. “If you are ready?”

  They moved to the forming square as a short, round fellow came up to Lucasta and bowed deeply. He had curling tufts of butter-colored hair, shirt points high as his jug ears, and at least three fobs evident between the plate-like buttons of his coat.

  Lucretia smothered a titter as her sister blushed and walked out with that quiz as if he were Prince Charming.

  Lucretia turned back to Kitty. Wreathed in smiles and “dearest Catherines,” she proceeded to interrogate Kitty about the conversation during her dance with Mr. Devereaux.

  Clarissa, seeing the slight answers Kitty made—”We spoke of knowing no one in society, and my brother’s sailing, a little”—attempted to turn the subject at least three times.

  Lucretia gave up after receiving no exact answer to her satisfaction, but at least by then Amelia’s dance was over. She turned her attention outward in expectation, but unaccountably Mr. Devereaux and Amelia chose to stroll the length of the room. While they were obtaining a glass of lemonade for Amelia, they chanced upon several young gentlemen, with the result that Amelia was led out again by one triumphant young man, with his friends looking on in disappointment.

  Mr. Devereaux strolled on to greet acquaintances until he found Lady Buckley, the pretty wife of his friend Sir George. Lady Buckley regarded him with an expectant eye and a smile of expectation. So he offered his hand.

  As soon as they were on the floor, she lowered her voice. “George says they are laying wagers about you at White’s.”

  “About?”

  “Which of the two will snare you at last, the second Golden Guinea, or the Decourcey beauty.”

  “I have known the first since she was a schoolroom miss bent on escaping her governess, and the second I scarcely know anything of beyond she possesses two brothers, and has never been to town before now. But I promised Lady Chadwick I would dance with the pair.”

  “Should I congratulate you or commiserate?” she asked archly.

  “Neither. The one is a schoolgirl, the other a friend of my cousin Clarissa Harlowe, whom I believe you know.”

  Lady Buckley had made her own attempt on his heart before hers was given to Sir George. Tender feelings had long cooled to friendship, though she could not resist the mildest flirtation from time to time. And she loved being in the know.

  “Amelia Harlowe is so young it is difficult to determine if she’s a ninny, and I do not know Lady Catherine, but my mother does go on about how both her parents set the town by the ears during the days of Fox and Pitt and enormous hats. And that was before they eloped—in spite of her being destined for a duke, and he was betrothed to that horrid Philomena Bouldeston, who snubbed me unmercifully one year, when I... but that is neither here nor there. Lady Bouldeston had it from her daughter, who seems to know Lady Catherine well, that she foisted herself on the Harlowes in order to gain a husband.”

  Mr. Devereaux had no intention of exhibiting the least interest in Lady Catherine. She was a beautiful girl, and she seemed possessed of a good heart and some wit, but he was very well aware that the least sign of interest would be carried from lip to ear over teacups by Lady Buckley who, though never intentionally cruel, was known to practice her own wit upon the foibles of their peers. And what she said so wittily tended to be repeated. “If you believe that Lady Catherine had an eye to inveigling James Harlowe into marriage,” he said, “then you are more credulous than I thought possible.”

  She let out a peal of laughter. “People say that Lady Chadwick has more hair than wit, but I believe her obliviousness a defense against Lady Bouldeston’s clack. I have never liked that woman, who was even less pleasant than her sister Philomena, back when we were first introduced into the beau monde.”

  Mr. Devereaux did not intend to demonstrate how annoying he found Lady Buckley’s persistence, for it was clear that her inquiries were not idle. But then she had admitted as much in her comment about wagers. That, he could take as a warning.

  She was watching him closely. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the pause that threatened to stretch into a silence, caused her to say winsomely, “They all come to me, you know. Wouldn’t you rather I repeat what you want them to hear?”

  He had to smile. “The truth of the matter is that my grandmother Norcaster asked me to single out Amelia, and I cannot do that without including Lady Catherine. My grandmother is fond of the Chadwicks for being good to my cousin, when so frequently a second marriage, a second family, goes the other way.”

  “Ah,” she said, “that is quite true.” If she was disappointed at so phlegmatic an answer, she hid it, and turned the talk to other matters until the dance ended.

  He danced three more times—a girl just out of the schoolroom, a short-sighted elder sister five years his senior, who was often passed over—a widow of a friend, all chosen at random. Then a bow here, a smile there, and he regained his freedom.

  o0o

  Lucretia Bouldeston left Kitty and Clarissa the moment Mr. Devereaux approached Lady Buckley.

  Amelia and Lucasta were both dancing, Lucasta for the second time with that same little fellow; Mrs. Latchmore was busy gossiping. Under the protection of that, Clarissa said to Kitty, “You made Cousin Philip laugh out loud. I cannot remember the last time he did that in company.”

  Kitty opened her fan, then surprised Clarissa by saying, low-voiced, “I have been informed that he despises women.”

  “Who in the world was spiteful enough to tell you that?” Clarissa asked.

  Kitty colored to the hairline, and Clarissa gave her head a quick shake. “The fault is not yours. You only asked to be told the truth. The worst I can say of my cousin is that people have administered to his vanity all his life. He knows it is for all the wrong reasons. He has been sought for his position, his wealth, everything but his heart—I have sometimes blushed for my sex, the tricks ladies will get up to. Not just the young, but sometimes their mothers. And so he is wont to be very careful. The moreso as he is responsible for his sister’s upbringing, their mother being... delicate in health.”

  Kitty took all this in, then said, “So in effect, fortune hunters are not confined to men.”

  “Not at all.”

  “And yet there is a difference,” Kitty said slowly.

  “I see none, if trickery and falsity are used to hide the motivation of greed.”

  “But I do perceive a difference, for it is said that it is the business of a young lady to find a husband, but a man can do quite well without a wife.”

  “I had not considered it from that perspective, but you are very right.”

  The current dance ended, there was a stir, and Kitty was approached by Mr. Canby. She agreed with a ready smile, but while she danced, she was thinking hard. Kitty was very sure that Clarissa had not agreed to Lord Wilburfolde’s proposal out of love. It had to be duty, then. If so, would it not be acting the part of a true friend to find her a better? Did not Mr. Philip Devereaux say that he liked his cousin Clarissa best? Kitty had seen at first hand that his reputed a
ttractions were, for once, not exaggerated. Surely Clarissa felt the same, if “every other female” did.

  If. If it could be contrived, he would be a better match for Clarissa than Lord Wilburfolde, would he not? She examined this idea from every angle, and liked it the better. Except the question remained, how to detach Clarissa from the latter, and prompt the former?

  o0o

  That night, a last load of spirits was landed in Kent, and Mr. Cobb himself obsequiously oversaw the transfer. The pay was prompt. The brothers pretended not to see the anger in his eyes, the calculation in his voice as he asked about their plans.

  Ned happily spun out a farrago as the marquess counted over the coins with deliberate care.

  Two hours later, the brothers celebrated with their hand-picked crew in a friendly tavern some miles away. Toasts were offered to success, to the brothers’ help, to the foiling of Cobb’s wiles, and (because it was habit) the confusion of Boney.

  Then the party broke up into several conversations, as liquor poured freely, and food was passed from hand to hand.

  Through the party St. Tarval sat smiling, face flushed, eyes bright. Though he was not regarded by the older folk to be as handsome a devil as his late father, the local girls clearly found him attractive, especially at times like this, sitting back in his riding clothes, his silky black hair a little disheveled, his long hands loose on the table. But though he was ever polite, he never responded to those whose boldness was matched by their ambitions, and he kept his livelier brother from the sort of dalliances that had required Carlisle to find work for several country sprigs a few years his senior who bore more than a chance resemblance to their father.

  For this, he was far more popular among the more respectable local merchants and farmers than his parent had been, though the rougher element still mourned the bad old days.

  Ned joined him at his table, glass in hand. “I might have to find business in the countryside next month, just to enjoy the spectacle of Cobb’s men lying up in the brambles above Wrecker’s Cove. D’you think he will have to refund his blood money to the excise men if they don’t turn us up?”