“Perhaps then I may safely leave him,” Enid concluded.
“I hope so,” her father said fervently. “You can return to us any time you wish.”
“Of course. I know that.”
He sighed deeply. “Do not let that villain of a husband sink you into the mire of his companions. Save yourself from that, I beg you.”
“Have no fear,” she assured him.
• • •
Later that evening, basking in the afterglow of Kemble’s glorious lovemaking, Enid related the conversation with her father. “I didn’t tell him who my lover was,” she added.
“I shall go to him and reveal myself if you wish,” John offered.
She smiled up at him and shook her head. “No. That would not be in keeping with your character. A husband-to-be might do that, but not a lover.”
Kemble stroked her full breasts gently. “Never doubt my love,” he murmured.
Once more their passions were aroused, and this time they made love slowly, savoring every kiss, every caress. Their desire for each other was pure, their union approaching the sublime. Enid moved under Kemble as a petal opens itself to the sun, and he filled her with rays of heat that consumed them both in an explosion of white-hot light. Gradually they descended to a more earthly plane and rested contentedly in the warmth of each other’s arms.
9
A few days later, Enid went to visit Gustav and Susie and found her fencing instructor in an agitated state. He began to talk excitedly as soon as she entered their lodgings.
“France is truly aflame! The mob has marched on Versailles! Only by chance was Lafayette able to save the lives of the king and queen and transfer them to the Tuileries. They are virtually prisoners there!”
“What more can happen?” Enid murmured worriedly. She was thinking of Armand, Lucinda, and the amiable Victor.
“Chaos! Anarchy!” Gustav stormed as he marched back and forth. “They are talking of liberty, equality, fraternity. I fear that may simply mean the collapse of France as a nation!”
Susie appealed to Enid. “Listen to him! He’s angry enough to want to go over there!”
Gustav halted his pacing. “I might be able to do something, to help somehow. Instead, I remain here on the sidelines!”
“This is your home now,” Enid pointed out.
“I’m still a Frenchman!” he declared.
“What about Susie?” Enid asked.
The young actress’s green eyes were filled with tears. “He thinks more of his blessed France than he does of me!”
“Not so!” Gustav denied, his mood suddenly changing. He dropped to his knees at Susie’s feet. “We shall be married! That settles it!”
“Is that your price for leaving me?” Susie asked brokenly.
“No. It is to prove my love … and to have something to come back to here if I should go to France.”
Susie put her arms around him. “I don’t want you to go. You will surely be killed in all that madness!”
He said no more.
The news from France grew more ominous daily. The new group of so-called citizens had begun listing Royalists, subjecting them to brusque trials, and quickly sentencing them to the guillotine. The flower of the French nobility was losing its head to the blade, and all the while the extremist demagogues seemed constantly to shriek still louder for bloodthirsty revenge.
One late December morning Gustav and Susie were married in a small London chapel. Enid and Kemble stood up for them, and Enid could not help but recall her own wedding ceremony in France and what had followed afterward.
• • •
Two months later Enid and Andrew were invited to Sir Drake’s home again. When Enid came downstairs, she found her husband waiting for her in a brown dress jacket with gold embroidery. Graham, standing next to him, was wearing a white-powdered wig and the identical jacket. The outrageous goings-on of Andrew and Graham had reached new heights. The youth was no longer treated as Andrew’s servant; there was no need to continue that mockery.
Andrew took a healthy swig of his drink. “Do Graham and I not look a picture?” he asked tipsily. “We are dressed like twins.”
“So I see,” Enid remarked. “Is Graham accompanying us tonight?”
“Certainly,” Andrew said. “I allow you free choice of your companions. I’m told you’re seen in Kemble’s company often enough.”
“But I don’t bring him along when we are invited to private parties,” she replied with dignity.
Andrew chuckled. “No need to. He is usually already there.”
Graham apologized to her with a wave of his long fingers. “I have no wish to be the cause of controversy. I can easily remain at home tonight.”
Andrew faced him belligerently. “No, I will not have that!”
The boyish, small-featured lad looked unhappy. “I think Lady Blair is right. You will do well tonight to confine yourself to her company alone.”
“And have her desert me for Kemble or that fencing master the minute we get to the party?” Andrew complained peevishly. “I know what the gossips of London are saying!”
“And I do not care!” she said.
Andrew placed an arm around Graham’s shoulders. “This is my good friend, and he shall be at my side.”
“Which will surprise no one!” she said, drawing on her white gloves and adjusting the folds of her pink brocade gown.
Andrew chuckled again. “Would you like to join us at a party in the morning?” he asked her.
“What sort of party?”
It was Graham who replied. “There’s to be a hanging at Tyburn!”
“A hanging!” she repeated, aghast.
“Yes,” the effeminate youth continued. “A group of us is planning to attend the affair. There’ll be plenty of spirits and food, and it’ll be truly jolly all around.”
Andrew commented dryly, “You would be the only female among us. This wench poisoned her husband, and so there is a lot of popular feeling against her. It will be a delight to see her spindly neck stretched!”
Enid looked at and listened to the two of them, and felt she might be ill. Fighting her nausea and repulsion, she replied, “I have not come so low as that. I certainly do not wish to be a witness at the execution of a fellow human.”
“You would not do well in France,” young Graham warned her. “We hear there are executions there every day.”
“Let us not worry about the Frenchies, but get along to our party,” Andrew suggested. “The carriage is waiting.”
Enid was glad for an excuse to end the distasteful talk. On the way to the Drakes’ her husband and the youth sat side by side, touching each other and whispering endearments. She felt like a complete outsider, which, in fact, she was.
It was little better at the party. She had hoped that Kemble would be there, but he wasn’t. Many of the guests were strangers to her.
Lady Drake approached her soon after she had arrived and asked in an anxious tone, “You speak French like a native, don’t you?”
Enid hesitated. “I manage quite well.”
“Thank goodness!” the fashionable lady beamed with relief. “I need you to help me entertain some guests.”
“Oh?”
“The refugees who were fortunate enough to make an early escape are beginning to arrive from France, and so few of our people can converse with them.”
“I see.”
“You must come and meet some of them,” Lady Evelyn urged.
Enid followed her hostess through the crowded drawing room. The orchestra was playing in the adjacent ballroom, and already many couples had begun to dance. Lady Drake, regal in an ice-blue silk gown, made her way to a less congested section of the room. As she passed the buffet table, Enid heard her husband regaling a group of men with the amusements in store for them at the hanging on the morrow.
She tried to put this unpleasant subject from her mind and hastened after Lady Drake, who had paused next to a man dressed all in wh
ite, standing rather stiffly by a wall. As Enid drew nearer, she had to stop herself from gasping aloud.
Lady Drake smiled and said, “Count Beaufaire, this is Lady Blair. The count has just arrived on our shores.”
Armand discreetly gave no sign of recognizing Enid. He bowed deeply to her. “My great pleasure!”
Lady Drake tapped Enid on the arm with her fan. “I’m sure I can leave the count safely in your hands, Lady Blair.”
As soon as she was out of earshot, Enid cried, “Armand!”
“My darling Enid,” he choked, his voice full of emotion.
“I was certain something had happened to you,” she whispered, drinking in the sight of his handsome face, his hard-muscled body. Then she glanced hastily around to see if they were being spied on.
“Where can we go to be alone?” he asked.
“I don’t know the house too well, but there is a small conservatory off the main corridor. We could go there.”
A moment later they had left the crowd behind and were inside the cool, glass-enclosed room that was brimming with rows of brightly colored plants and flowers. As soon as they were safely hidden in the shadows, Armand clasped her to him in a passionate embrace.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I have dreamed of you so often,” she whispered.
“And I of you.” Gently he stroked her golden hair.
“I was certain you were dead. I had no news of you, not even a letter from Lucinda. And the reports from France have been terrifying!”
Armand’s black eyes flashed dangerously. “They have not been exaggerated. Everywhere there is bedlam. The whole nation has become a chaotic madhouse!”
“But you escaped safely, thank God.” She pressed herself against him, still unable to believe he was actually there with her. “What about Lucinda and the duke?”
“Both are dead,” he said quietly. “Killed by the same mob that attacked Versailles.”
“Oh, no!” she gasped, then began to shake uncontrollably. He held her close and kissed her wet cheeks, offering her words of comfort.
She was still in his arms when the door to the conservatory was thrown open, and the light streaming in from the corridor revealed the figures of Sir Drake and her husband.
An enraged Lord Andrew snarled, “So it has come to this! My wife has lost all manner of respectability!”
Armand released Enid and turned to Andrew, saying in English, “But you do not understand, my lord. I have brought your wife bad news.”
“I saw what was going on!” Andrew bellowed.
Sir James, aware that other ears were straining in their direction, spoke up quickly. “It would be better to settle this later!”
“No, I will have my say!” Andrew declared stubbornly.
Enid went over to him and pleaded, “Please do not make a scene. Count Beaufaire has brought me word of Lucinda’s death. She and the duke were killed by the mob that attacked Versailles.”
The irate Andrew pushed her roughly aside. “I want to hear nothing of that,” he snapped. “I simply wish satisfaction from this man!”
Sir Drake took him by the arm. “Later!” he urged.
“Now!” Andrew insisted, freeing himself from his host’s grip.
Armand was studying Andrew’s antics with cool disdain. “Very well,” he said. “You found your wife with me in a compromising circumstance. You ask for satisfaction. I shall be happy to oblige you.”
“No duels!” Sir James protested.
There was a murmuring from the shocked crowd that had gathered at the conservatory door. Then one of the men shouted drunkenly, “Why not a duel, Andrew? Since you are the most profligate of gamblers, make it a duel with cards!”
Enid was outraged by the jeering laughter that followed this sally. She tugged at Andrew’s arm. “Please, let us leave now!”
“No!” He glared at her. To the count he said, “Very well. Let us make it a duel with cards.”
“Whatever you wish,” Armand returned coldly. “And what are the stakes to be?”
Andrew gave Enid a sneering smile and then told the distinguished Frenchman, “Let us make it easy. The winner shall have the key to my wife’s bedchamber!”
Armand objected. “I think that is insulting to her ladyship!”
“That is what you want,” Andrew said nastily, “so why be hypocritical about it? If you lose, you are never to see or speak to my wife again.”
“When is the contest to take place?” Armand asked.
“Here and now,” Andrew declared, elated at getting his way. “We’ll go directly to the card room.”
Armand hesitated, then turned to Enid. “What shall I do?”
“Play with him,” she said bitterly. “He will only devise some other torture for me if you don’t.”
“Very well,” the Frenchman agreed. “Lead the way.”
Sir James continued to protest as the two men and Enid headed toward the card room, which was on the other side of the ballroom. Word of the unusual duel quickly made the rounds of the party. Soon the room was filled with curious onlookers.
The youthful Graham came over to Enid and asked in a low voice, “Do you wish me to get your carriage?”
“Please,” she replied.
Graham nodded. “I begged him not to make a scene, but he wouldn’t listen.” With that he pushed his way through the crowd and vanished.
Enid remained close to the card table with Sir James and Lady Evelyn. Her host and hostess were appalled at the scandalous turn of events, which would be the talk of London the following morning.
The two combatants faced each other, Armand pale and calm, Andrew red-faced and gulping down whiskey after whiskey. One of the servants brought a fresh pack of cards and placed it on the table.
The cards were cut and Armand had the first deal. From the start it was clear that he was more coolheaded and a better player than Andrew. The crowd gasped as he won hand after hand. Andrew became angrier with each loss and made repeated blunders, indicating to Enid that the duel was near an end.
Armand revealed his final hand, which outclassed Andrew’s. Andrew uttered an oath and threw down his cards. Then from his pocket he produced a ring of keys. With great deliberation he detached one of them and tossed it across the table in a contemptuous gesture.
“There is your prize!” he cried. “And let me assure you that you rob me of nothing!”
Armand picked up the key and rose from his seat. “If this were my own country, I would have killed you!”
There was a ripple of concern from the assembled guests. Enid’s eyes filled with tears of humiliation. She felt a hand touch her arm and saw that it was Graham. He nodded to signify that the carriage was waiting, and she allowed him to escort her to the front door and down the marble steps.
“Don’t worry about Andrew,” the youth advised. “I’ll keep him here until he is too drunk to do anything but fall into a hotel bed somewhere.”
“Thank you, Graham,” she said with sincerity, holding back her sobs until she could release them in the solitude of the coach.
“I’m afraid you have nothing to thank me for,” Graham stated grimly. “Without wishing to be, I have been cast in the role of your adversary.” He shrugged and saw her on her way.
Enid wondered what the aftermath of the card game had produced. Both men had been on their feet, glaring at each other, when she had left. She was fairly certain that the Drakes would prevent the outbreak of any real violence. Nevertheless, the episode had been disgraceful. Andrew’s repute was considered low in London society; now it would be as nothing. She would also be an object of scorn, and probably Armand as well. That would not matter to him, however, since he was in London only temporarily. She thought about Kemble and wondered what he would have to say when he heard about the debacle.
By the time she had reached the town house she shared with Andrew, she was exhausted from her tears and in a strange state of mind. Armand had honorably won the key to her bedchamber.
She could do no less than make good his winnings, even though the circumstances held no happiness for her. What happened afterward she would leave to fate.
The news of the murder of Lucinda and her husband had so unnerved Enid that she was prepared for almost anything. It seemed as if her familiar world was coming to an end. In its place would be a new, more savage, and immoral plane of existence.
Deliberately, she shed her clothing and stood naked by the window, waiting for Armand’s carriage to arrive. She did not have long to wait. Within a matter of minutes a coach appeared along the cobblestones, and she saw Armand jump out and hurry to the front entrance.
She left the window and turned to face the door. The candlelight in the chamber cast a warm glow over her creamy body, highlighting her round breasts and the rosy peaks already growing taut. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and flowed in rippling waves to the top of her shapely hips.
There were sounds of approaching footsteps on the stairway, and then a key turned in the lock. Armand threw the door open and stood there staring at her, an expression of mild surprise on his face at the sight of her awaiting him in the nude.
Enid broke the silence between them. “My husband has lost, so I’m ready to pay the debt of honor!”
The surprised look on his face became one of open delight. He crossed the room and took her in his arms, exclaiming, “You English women!”
“Don’t French women pay their honorable debts?”
“The odds were set by your husband, not by me, and their purpose was to humiliate you,” Armand reminded her.
“You are entitled to your winnings, and you know I would not object to your claiming them.”
His arms still around her, he murmured, “This is not the way I planned our first meeting after all these months, and I shall not ravish your body because I won a bet from a drunken pervert.”
“Who happens to be my husband and who set the terms of your gamble!”
“Never mind, chérie,” Armand soothed. “I love you deeply and truly, and I will await a more suitable time and place for our reunion.” With that he kissed her gently and made his way out of the chamber and down the stairs.
Vintage Love Page 40