A Lady of Consequence

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Then it is up to you to find the one for whom prospects are not the main attraction, brother dear.’

  Had he already found such a one? he asked himself after he had said goodnight to his sister and her husband and they had been borne away in the Corringham carriage. Did Madeleine Charron care for his prospects? Was she the same as the others, drawing a bow at a venture in the hope that the arrow would find its mark? No, he did not believe it of her. She was too independent, too proud, too much the mistress of her own life, to sacrifice any of that for riches and a title. And the last time they had met, she had made it clear that she despised aristocrats. Did she feel let down by her father? She seemed to know so little about him.

  ‘This Season’s young debutantes are more than usually bright,’ Frances said, when they had settled themselves into the coach.

  ‘Are they?’ he said without thinking. ‘Have I been inspected by them all or are there more to come?’

  ‘No doubt there are others who were not considered up to a voucher tonight, but most of the truly acceptable ones were there. Did you see any you especially liked?’

  ‘No, though if I were forced to choose, I suppose Miss Annabel Bulford has more about her than most, though that is not to say I am thinking of making an offer.’

  ‘Good heavens, no! It is much too soon.’

  ‘But I did agree to attend her come-out ball.’

  ‘You did? That will be quite a feather in her cap, Duncan. If you do not want her to think she has been picked out for special attention, you will have to go to all the others.’

  He groaned. ‘What, all of them?’

  ‘I am afraid so. At least those who are possibles.’

  ‘Mama, I cannot believe you, above all people, are being so cold-blooded about this.’

  ‘Oh, my dear boy, I am not. But Vinny was right, you know, if you do not go out and about and meet people, how are you ever to find the one to whom you can truly give your heart? It is all I wish for you.’

  He smiled to himself in the darkness of the carriage. His heart was already irrevocably given and soon he hoped to announce it to the world, but until then he would play Society’s game. In the meantime, he must persuade Madeleine to open her heart to him, for he was rapidly coming to the conclusion he could not live without her.

  ‘I see your admirer was in his box again tonight,’ one of the girls in the troupe told Madeleine as they stood on the stage after the last curtain had closed at the end of the week.

  ‘My admirer?’ Maddy queried, pretending ignorance, though she had seen the Marquis of Risley in his box and been aware of his presence throughout the performance. It was almost enough to make her stumble over her lines, but whatever she was or whoever she was, she was a professional performer and was soon in control of herself again.

  ‘The man in the Loscoe box. You must have seen him.’

  ‘And what does that signify except that the gentleman likes coming to the theatre?’

  ‘He also likes you, that much is clear. He did not take his eyes off you all evening, even when you were not speaking.’

  ‘And you should have been paying attention to what you were doing, Lucy, not allowing your eye to rove all round the audience. You can be sure Mr Greatorex will have noticed it.’

  ‘I have nothing to do except stand about,’ the girl said. ‘And you can hardly miss anyone in the boxes near the stage, can you? And him so fine and handsome.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I had young gentlemen swooning after me. It must be grand to be given flowers and presents and taken out to supper…’

  ‘When you have learned your craft well enough to be noticed by the management and the public, then perhaps you will have admirers too, but if you spend too much time looking about you and dreaming, that will not happen, believe me.’ She did not know why she was so sharp with the poor girl; she had done her share of dreaming, but she was coming to realise that was all it was, dreaming. The reality, contrary to what everyone said, was here, on this stage. The world outside was the fantasy, the granddaughter of the French comte was fantasy, the hope of a future in Society was fantasy. She had come to that conclusion in the dark watches of the night, after that supper with Sir Percy.

  ‘No need to fly into the boughs,’ Lucy said. ‘I only said your admirer was in the audience.’

  She smiled and patted the girl’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. I am a little jumpy tonight.’

  Everyone was leaving the stage to go to dressing rooms and Madeleine followed more slowly, knowing there would be a message from the Marquis waiting for her and not knowing how to deal with it. If he was still in pursuit of her, he could only have one thing on his mind and that, as far she was concerned, was not going to happen. Oh, she knew perfectly well that other actresses, far more renowned than she was, became mistresses to gentlemen of the ton. It seemed to be perfectly acceptable in the half-world of the demi-rep, but it was not for her. Henry Bulford had done more than try to rape her, he had given her a determination never to be used by any man for sexual gratification. And that included Duncan Stanmore.

  The trouble was that she liked him; she more than liked him and it would be so easy to fall in love with him, so easy to let things take their course, but it could only lead to disappointment and sorrow when he took a wife, a wife from the same background as himself, a wife who knew exactly who she was and what her antecedents were. Better to stop now, stop thinking about him, stop yearning for him.

  She entered her dressing room, to find it filled with flowers and Marianne stripped to her shift and taking off her make-up. ‘From you know who,’ she said, smiling. ‘And, there’s a package on the table.’

  Madeleine picked up the small box Marianne had indicated and opened it. It contained a brooch, beautifully crafted in silver filigree studded with tiny diamonds in the shape of a small bird with an emerald for its eye. It was so lovely it took her breath away. But costly presents like that could only have one meaning. ‘Oh, no. Marianne, this has gone too far.’

  ‘How can you say so? Is it not all part of your scheme? Am I not supposed to support you in it, even though I warned you it would all end in tears?’

  ‘And you were right. I do not want him for a lover and I cannot have him for a husband and it is breaking my heart.’

  ‘Oh, my love.’ Marianne came and put her arms about her and drew her close. ‘Tell me you have not fallen in love with him.’

  ‘I think perhaps I have.’

  ‘You foolish, foolish girl. Now you will just have to fall out of love again.’

  ‘How can I?’

  ‘You must harden your heart. Remember you have a loathing for all aristocrats and keep that in the forefront of your mind.’

  ‘I have been thinking that was very wicked of me. Some noblemen must be good and kind, they cannot all be bad.’

  Marianne smiled. ‘Then this episode has not been a total disaster. You have learned tolerance and that is a good thing. Now put the Marquis from your mind and hurry up and change. Lancelot will be waiting.’

  Lancelot Greatorex was always throwing parties: first night, end of the week, end of a run, last night, a new backer—all warranted celebration and tonight was for the most successful first week he had had in years. Madeleine did not feel like going, but she knew it was expected of her, and it would mean she could turn the Marquis of Risley away with a clear conscious if not a whole heart. What she had not expected when she and Marianne arrived at the nearby assembly rooms was to find that Lancelot had invited others besides the cast to the celebrations and Duncan Stanmore was among them.

  He came over to her at once, tall and straight in his dark blue evening coat, and bowed before her. ‘Miss Charron.’

  ‘My lord.’ She curtsied, keeping her eyes downcast. He was wearing narrow pantaloons, she noticed, with a strap under his shoes, which shone with a valet’s care.

  ‘Are you well?’

  Was she well? She was trembling as though she had a fever and her legs felt weak, but lovesickness
could not be admitted. She lifted her head to face him squarely. He was smiling at her in a way that set her pulses racing faster than ever. His eyes were holding her gaze quite openly, almost as if they were speaking to her, wordless questions, wordless answers. And yet she must answer him. ‘Quite well, my lord. And you? Did you suffer any ill effects from your encounter with the footpad?’ She was surprised how calmly the words were uttered.

  ‘None at all. Did you?’

  ‘A slight bruise on my side from falling against the wall, nothing of consequence. Do you know if he went to the house in Bow Street?’

  ‘Yes, and was found work at a nearby hostelry, so I believe.’

  So he had taken the trouble to check that the man had followed his instructions. ‘I think you must have a very trusting nature, my lord.’

  ‘I have almost always found that if you trust people, they are usually trustworthy,’ he said.

  Her breath caught in her throat and made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak, but she could not stop herself from asking, ‘And if they are not?’

  ‘Why then, I do not trust them again. It is as simple as that.’

  She fell silent, having no response to that. She had deceived him and he would not forgive her and she was afraid if she pursued the subject he would want to know why she asked and then he would see the guilt written on her face.

  ‘Enough of him,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I came to congratulate you on your performance tonight. It was, as always, outstanding.’

  ‘You have seen the same play twice now. I wonder you are not bored with it.’

  ‘How could I be bored when you are on stage?’ He paused. ‘Did you receive the flowers and my little gift?’

  ‘My lord, it is not a little gift.’ She found herself whispering in case they were overheard, but Marianne had melted away and there was no one close at hand. Everyone else was crowding round Lancelot Greatorex, who was being exceptionally expansive tonight and holding his listeners in thrall. Madeleine was in a different kind of thrall, like a fly caught in a spider’s web and the worst of it was, she had flown into it willingly. ‘It is a very costly gift and I cannot accept it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My lord, do you need to ask?’

  ‘Yes, I do. And will you stop this “my lord” nonsense. I am Duncan Stanmore, a perfectly ordinary man.’

  ‘But you are not a perfectly ordinary man, and pretending does not make you one, any more than pretending will make a lady of me.’

  ‘Pretending?’

  ‘That’s what you said, wasn’t it? That first night when we had supper together. “Let’s pretend, just for tonight, it might be fun.’”

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘You have forgotten? Or are you only pretending to forget?’

  ‘No, I remember. I remember everything.’ He took her arm and drew her towards the door. ‘Come, we will find somewhere private to talk. I need to find out what all this nonsense is about.’

  ‘There is nothing to talk about,’ she said, resisting him, but, short of creating a scene, she could not make him let go of her. He had her arm firmly in his grip and was leading her down the stairs and out of the door to his carriage.

  ‘Get in,’ he commanded. ‘We will go for a drive.’

  ‘Lord Risley, are you abducting me?’ she asked, as he instructed his coachman and climbed in beside her.

  ‘No, but how else am I to find out why you have changed so suddenly?’

  ‘Changed?’ she echoed. They were so close in the confines of the coach, she could feel his thigh against her skirts, his breath on her cheek, his hand reaching for hers. And when she risked a glance towards him, she could see, by the intermittent street lights, that he was looking steadily at her, a slightly mocking smile on his face and one of his fine brows lifted quizzically.

  ‘Oh, yes. You are different tonight, cold, as if you have withdrawn yourself from me, as if I had done something wrong, something to anger you. I thought you had forgiven me for allowing that disgraceful display my friends subjected you to.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Then this must be some new transgression. Tell me, what have I done?’

  ‘Nothing, my lord.’

  ‘Then why can you not accept my gift?’

  ‘Because it comes too dear.’

  ‘I am the best judge of the price of what I buy.’ He spoke sharply, impatient with her for questioning the value of his gift. It had been costly, but he had not wanted to insult her by offering tawdry gewgaws.

  ‘I did not mean that. I meant…’ She groped for words. ‘I meant too dear for me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I, too, would have a price to pay.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ He was silent for a long time. The carriage rolled on through the streets of London, going she knew not where, just as she had no idea how to extricate herself from the bumblebath she was in. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. ‘I did not mean to offend you, simply to show you how highly I regard you. I exact no price.’

  ‘Why not? Every other man I have met expects his reward.’

  He smiled suddenly. ‘And if rumour be true, you have sent them all away disappointed. Why should I expect to be treated differently?’

  ‘But you do, don’t you? You think that because you are a marquis and rich enough to afford expensive presents, I will succumb. But I tell you this, my lord, I cannot be bought.’

  He let go of her hand and leaned back against the padded seat, utterly deflated by her logic. Was he trying to buy her? For what? To win a shameful wager? He had told himself over and over again to let her go, to stop seeing her, but when Greatorex had invited him to the party tonight, he could not resist accepting, simply to see her again. And having accepted, it was an easy step to buying flowers and a trinket to please her.

  ‘Buy you? Why should I want to buy you? I assure you, if I have need of feminine company I do not need to buy it.’

  ‘Nor do I need to sell myself.’

  They were both angry now; he because she had made a stab at his pride, she because, without the shield of anger, she had no defence against him. The tension in the carriage was almost tangible.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said at last. ‘I seem to have made a dreadful mull of everything.’

  ‘It is not your fault,’ she said. ‘You were bred to expect everything to fall into your lap and because for most of the time it does, you are nonplussed when it does not. I am an actress, actresses are fair game; they live for the adoration of their public and if some of that adoration becomes very personal, then who are they to complain? Presents can be useful, if only for the money they fetch, seeing that most of our kind earn very little. I turn your own question back at you, my lord. Why should I expect to be treated differently?’

  ‘Because you are different. You are a lady and should not be an actress at all.’

  ‘But I am one. And you cannot change that.’

  ‘I would if I could. Madeleine…’ He leaned towards her and took her hand again. ‘I find myself at a stand. If you could only cease to be an actress—’

  ‘But I cannot,’ she put in before he could go on. She knew perfectly well what he meant and did not want to hear it. ‘How am I to live if I do not work? And do not suggest you will take care of me, or I shall feel obliged to slap your aristocratic face.’

  He laughed. ‘You said that with such venom, my dear, I am left wondering what has happened to you in the past to warrant it.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It must have been an aristocrat. Could it have been me?’

  ‘No, my lord. You have always treated me with courtesy, but that does not mean—’ She stopped. She could not tell him about Henry Bulford, who had given her a loathing of wealthy young men from what was termed the haut monde. She knew there must be exceptions to the general rule that they were filled with self-importance and rode roughshod over anyone they considered beneath them, but she was not yet prepared to concede it.

  ‘Go on,’ he said quietly. />
  She was floundering. ‘My lord, I pray you cease to quiz me. It is unfair, since I cannot escape.’

  ‘Cannot escape?’

  ‘I am in your carriage and it is going at a fair pace. I think I might break my neck if I tried to jump out.’

  ‘True,’ he said, a slight smile softening the line of his mouth. ‘I have taken an unfair advantage. Shall I bid the coachman stop and we can continue this discourse on the pavement?’ He turned from her to peer out of the window. ‘Though I am not exactly sure where we are and I would not want to risk another adventure like the one we had the other night.’

  ‘You are teasing me.’

  ‘No more than you tease me.’

  ‘I do not,’ she protested.

  ‘Oh, yes, you do, my sweet Madeleine. Every word you utter, every flutter of your eyelashes, every quirk of your delicious mouth, teases me. One minute you are sweet and amiable and the next a virago, and I cannot for the life of me understand why.’

  She laughed, but it did not sound like a laugh at all, but a cry of anguish. ‘Because I am me, my lord. Actresses are known to be temperamental, are they not? They are not constrained like Society ladies always to be cool and distant. They fly into rages and raptures with equal vigour. You must take me as I am.’

  ‘Would that I could,’ he said softly.

  It was all too much for her. If they continued travelling together in the darkened carriage much longer, her self-control would snap completely and she would fall in a boneless heap on the floor, begging him to love her. ‘If you will not stop the coach,’ she said, putting on her haughtiest voice, ‘please direct your coachman to drive me home. It is too late to return to the party.’

  ‘Very well, if you insist.’ He wrapped on the roof. ‘Dobson, the lower end of Oxford Street.’

  He leaned back in his seat again. Madeleine sat stiffly beside him. They had nothing to say to each other. The silence was oppressive, relieved only by the sound of the horses’ hooves and the rumble of the carriage wheels.

  When the coach drew up at her door, he jumped out to help her down. She allowed her hand to rest in his for a few moments while she thanked him formally for his escort.