“Emile!” Claude pounded an inoffensive table with a vigor that made even Lady Henrietta start. “Were I to die in debtors’ prison, I wouldn’t apply to Emile!”
“I do hope it won’t come to that!” Lady Henrietta snapped, then withdrew again behind her unruffled shell. “I only thought that, being your brother, he might care to know how things are with you.”
“That is one notion that you may put straight out of your head! And since we speak of my delightful family, I must tell you that I visited with Letty today.” Claude seemed to consider that this admission might provoke his wife to a further outbreak of temper, but Lady Henrietta refrained.
“Indeed?” she inquired. Claude’s sister inspired her with a great deal less enthusiasm than did Emile. Letty Jellicoe was a frivolous creature, with no thought beyond that of her own comfort in her empty head. “What prompted you to such conciliatory action? I thought you had not forgiven her for Emile’s decision to make her son his heir.”
This bald statement did little to soothe Claude’s exacerbated temper, for the loss of his brother’s considerable fortune made him seethe with rage, particularly since Letty’s son had inherited the Jellicoe wealth and had little need of Emile’s, but Claude needed his wife’s compliance in his new plan for the reinstatement of their resources. He tempered his wrath. “That sniveling whelp! It’s a great pity young Kenelm has taken Emile’s fancy to so great a degree. Perhaps something may yet be done to remedy the situation.”
Lady Henrietta looked at her husband’s unpleasant smile and dropped her mending. “Claude! You don’t mean to—”
“Nothing of the sort!” Claude had, in fact, toyed with the notion of forcibly disposing of his inconvenient nephew. “I only meant that fortune might smile on us and young Kenelm so displease Emile that he finds himself dispossessed in turn. Which, since Emile has no offspring, would leave only me.” He smiled at his wife’s expression. “Don’t fear, my scheme is a great deal better than that.” Having masterfully whetted her curiosity, he was at a loss to proceed.
“What is this plan of yours?” Lady Henrietta inquired helpfully. Claude took an abrupt turn around the room.
“Where’s Maddy?” he demanded with studied nonchalance. “What I have to say is also for her to hear.” His wife’s suddenly watchful air made him feel that his collar was a great deal too tight.
“As to her whereabouts, I couldn’t say,” Lady Henrietta replied in a gentle voice that effectively masked her apprehension. When Claude was in this humor, one could not predict what he might do. “I believe she walked to the village to visit her old nurse, who is ill. But pray, enlighten me: just what part does Maddy play in these schemes of yours?”
“It’s like her to be roaming the countryside unaccompanied!” Claude took refuge in indignation. “Your daughter could easily be taken for a tinker’s wench, madam! And in spite of that expensive schooling Emile provided for her. Had she been more conciliating, he might have done a great deal more for her—but there it is. I’m forced to provide for her myself, and a deuced problem it’s been. But I fancy I’ve hit upon the very solution.”
Lady Henrietta refrained from pointing out that he had rendered a certain assistance in the accomplishment of Maddy’s birth. “And what might that be?”
“Letty is going to bring her out,” Claude announced triumphantly. Lady Henrietta blinked several times, speechless. “She’ll take her in hand, teach her how to go on, and she’ll snap up a rich husband in no time at all.”
“But the expense!” Lady Henrietta protested faintly. “We are already reduced to near-penury.”
“We’ve enough for that,” Claude interjected, hoping fervently that his wife wouldn’t discover the absence of her pearls until some far-distant time. “Maddy’s a deuced taking little thing. We can trust her to make a good match.”
Lady Henrietta regarded him suspiciously. “A rich match, you mean. Claude, you can’t have thought: Maddy has no portion! You expect her to make a brilliant match when we haven’t a feather to fly with ourselves!”
“Don’t put yourself in a taking!” Claude retorted. “Our daughter is of unexceptionable birth, and Letty will do her utmost to promote a match. It won’t be surprising if Maddy attracts the attention of a wealthy gentleman, and all our troubles thereby solved.”
Lady Henrietta seriously doubted that any gentleman’s ardor would be sufficient to withstand the shock of Maddy’s lack of fortune, no matter how charming the young lady unquestionably was; but other considerations also exercised her mind. If Maddy remained isolated in the country, she would either dwindle into an old maid or wed some ham-handed red-faced country squire. However, Lady Henrietta could hardly consider Letty Jellicoe a fit chaperon for a young and impressionable girl. But Maddy possessed a fair amount of common sense, and she deserved this chance to enjoy the pleasures of Society.
Claude considered his wife’s silence encouraging and pressed his point. “Letty is willing to bear a large portion of the expense,” he added, not thinking it necessary to explain Lefty’s generosity as a last-ditch effort to avoid the scandal that her brother’s impecuniousness must cause. “Just consider, she’s bringing her own girl out, too. Maddy won’t be any bother at all.”
“And what if Maddy doesn’t oblige you?” Lady Henrietta inquired. “What if she instead falls in love with some penniless younger son?”
This was striking very near home indeed, for Lady Henrietta had done that very thing, and Claude was hard pressed to maintain his smiling affability. “Put those fears to rest,” he advised. “Maddy is a good, obedient girl. She’d not be so thoughtless as to whistle a fortune down the wind.”
Lady Henrietta was a good deal better acquainted with their daughter than was Claude, and thought fleetingly of the despairing reports she’d received from Maddy’s select school. But she thought, too, of an unknown gentleman who might possibly appreciate her daughter’s worth. Long years with a gambler had left their mark on her. “It utterly sinks my spirits to lose her,” Lady Henrietta murmured doubtfully, “but I’m persuaded you are right. Maddy must go to London.”
Claude repressed a triumphant grin.
Chapter Two
“This,” said Madeleine de Villiers, “is the most abominable fix!” The antiquated equipage utilized to carry them to their destination lurched wildly and she struggled to maintain both her ladylike posture and her seat. “I do think it very hard that Papa should assign me the task of repairing the family fortunes.”
Her companion, an unprepossessing lady of thirty-odd years, wore an expression of severe disapproval. “Much as I deplore your father’s addiction to gaming-hells,” she replied, “his behavior is unexceptionable in comparison with your own. Your attitude is altogether displeasing, Maddy. If you behave in this unbecoming fashion, all your parents’ plans must come to naught.”
Maddy sighed. Her anticipation of a London season, the dream of every young girl of genteel birth, was somewhat marred by the deception she must practice; and Motley promised to be an uncompromising chaperon. Maddy stole a glance at her companion, and wondered if there was any way at all out of her dilemma. She did not imagine that her aunt would permit any but the most proper behavior, and to one accustomed to almost unlimited freedom, this was a daunting prospect.
It seemed only yesterday that she had returned from a leisurely stroll to find that her peaceful existence had been abruptly turned upside down, but in fact several weeks, filled with frantic preparations for her journey, had elapsed. Maddy’s protests had gone unheeded. Her reluctance to embark upon a course that might seem the crassest fortune-hunting had been termed ingratitude; and her declaration that she had no wish to wed for anything but love only earned her a severe lecture on the assumption of missish airs. Maddy almost wished that it had been within her power to refuse her aunt’s generous invitation.
Motley was not unaware of the beseeching glance that had been cast at her, but her stem expression did not relent. She knew, far better
than Maddy, how desperate this gamble was, and how slim their chances of winning the hand. Only a gamester like Claude de Villiers could have hit upon such a ploy. Initially, they ran little risk; Claude was thought to be almost as well heeled as his hermetic brother Emile; but Maddy would have to marry quickly or the truth would become known. It would not be wonderful if Maddy attracted the interest of a wealthy gentleman, one who wouldn’t cavil at settling the momentous de Villiers debts, yet Motley had nightmare visions of the various things that might go wrong.
“Pray don’t be angry with me,” Maddy cajoled. “I know I behaved badly, but can’t we speak frankly between ourselves? You know I depend upon you to tell me exactly what I must do. I shall not wash my dirty linen in public, you know.”
Motley winced, and experienced gratitude that her charge was so self-absorbed that she had not questioned her retiring governess’s knowledge of the rules governing Polite Society. “Where do you learn such unsuitable phrases?” she inquired. “Ladies do not speak frankly, child. Should you utter one of your unquestionably vulgar expressions in the wrong company, you will be thought shockingly forward—if not worse.”
“It utterly sinks my spirits,” Maddy mourned. “Not only must I attract a gentleman of fortune when I have none of my own, but I must also become a pattern-card of respectability. I find it a quelling prospect. I suspect I may also find it a dead bore.”
Motley had known the de Villiers family for a very long time, had in fact progressed from being Maddy’s governess to Lady Henrietta’s companion and friend. She nourished for that lady deep affection and gratitude, sentiments that did not extend to Claude. Rather, she considered him the author of the family’s various misfortunes, and took pleasure in opposing him at every turn, at least as much as was in her power. In the present case, she was an unwilling conspirator, her complicity ensured by Lady Henrietta’s fear that Maddy would dwindle into an old maid. Looking at the girl, Motley thought this particular nightmare an absurd one: a vision more pleasing than Maddy would be difficult to find.
The girl’s dress and pereline were a fashionable squirrel gray, and exactly matched the large expressive eyes that changed shades with her moods. Bronze curls disappeared under the charming bonnet, modestly trimmed, that framed a beautifully structured oval face. Long, tangled lashes and delicately arched brows set off the eyes; a charmingly tilted nose and willful mouth completed the face. The overall impression was not one of docility.
“You agreed to the scheme,” Motley said gently. “If you have changed your mind and wish to cry off, it must be now. Shall I instruct the coachman to turn back?”
“No!” Maddy smiled, revealing perfect teeth. “Before we left, Papa made clear our circumstances. It is perfectly clear that all depends on me.” Claude had also made it clear that Maddy’s homecoming, should she fail in her purpose, would be an unpleasant one, but she knew him too well to be unduly distressed by this display of parental callousness. “Dear Motley, you must think very poorly of me. Here we are, halfway to London, and I’ve done nothing but tease you and misbehave. There! I promise I’ll be good.”
Motley was not one bit deceived by this pretty speech. “I do not think,” she said carefully, “that even your father would insist that you ally yourself with someone whom you had taken in dislike.” Maddy looked skeptical. “My dear child, you are not expected to cast out lures! Merely comport yourself in a ladylike fashion, and enjoy what your aunt offers.”
Maddy laughed. “How improper of you!” she teased. “Motley, you should tell me it is my duty to marry well—not that I must enjoy myself!”
Motley ignored this unseemly levity. “I sometimes think,” she snapped, “that a great deal too much emphasis is placed on duty and docility. However, it would not do for you to think so, miss! Above all, try to restrain your tongue. Gentlemen expect ignorance in their wives, not intelligence. They prefer purity and submissiveness to character and excitement. More than anything, I think, they wish to be comfortable.” Motley did not add that the same gentlemen seemed to expect the opposite qualities in their mistresses.
Maddy’s attention had wandered. Nothing in her experience as a reigning belle had given her reason to consider the defeat of her plans. To be certain, her court had not included any grand gentlemen, but Maddy had a sublime belief in her ability to inspire the beaux of London with similar devotion. She leaned forward to peer out the window at the passing countryside. “I do wish we would soon arrive!” The perfect lips pouted. “Travel is a most tedious affair.”
Motley bit back the remark that such comments, from a girl who had hitherto not ventured five miles from her home, verged on the ludicrous. She gazed blindly at the scenes of undoubted interest that they passed, and wondered how she was to manage so volatile a miss, particularly in her ineffectual capacity of lady’s maid.
As they neared London, Motley’s misgivings deepened, and Maddy grew increasingly gay. Motley listened to the girl’s meaningless chatter and hoped her young charge would retain sufficient presence of mind to behave decorously when in society. There was little Motley could do now but lecture and warn; their fate was in the lap of the gods. Maddy had learned all manner of usual things at the select school she’d attended; if she could only be brought to utilize the social graces, her success would be ensured.
Motley clearly remembered her own eighteenth year. She, too, had known the balls and routs, the al fresco parties and select dinners, that Maddy would be privileged to attend; but an entailed estate, and a father whose belief in his own longevity was so sublime that he had failed to provide for his luckless offspring, had led her to seek employment. Motley knew of others who had taken advantage of their opportunities, one in particular who had married the son of the household where she was employed as companion to its garrulous and ill-tempered matriarch; but Motley remained a spinster, too proud to go undowered to any man. She ruthlessly pushed aside all thoughts of the dashing nobleman whose suit she had so firmly, and so sorrowfully, rejected, and concentrated fiercely on her mission. It was unthinkable that Maddy should suffer a similar fate. At the moment, the ancient coach gave a sickening lurch.
* * * *
The Duchess gazed appreciatively upon her striking escort, who had deigned to share her luxurious traveling coach. “You grow increasingly fine, Micah,” she said, and rapped his knuckles sharply. Agatha was in high spirits; long experience had taught her that a brief country idyll was sufficient to reanimate her appetite for town life, which had of late grown flat, and she was anxious to see Mathilda again.
The Duchess differed from her aristocratic peers in more than that she frequently tired of their sophisticated company. Not for her were mornings filled with such elevating activities as letter writing and needlework; nor was she fond of spending an early evening parading in Hyde Park’s Rotten Row. Deemed an “original” by her vast acquaintance, Agatha had been known to bypass a new edition of La Belle Assemblée or the Lady’s Magazine, which combined the latest fashion plates, sentimental fiction, and such edifying articles as “Set of Rules and Maxims for Sweetening Matrimony” and “Examination of a Mummy Lately Brought from Europe,” to read instead a dissertation upon the sanitary conditions of Great Britain’s laboring classes. Agatha’s intimates politely applauded her social conscience, yet could happily have avoided her efforts to enlighten them. The Haut Ton had no thought to spare for houses that sat upon their own cesspools, linked to neither sewers nor drains; or for those individuals known as “night men” who periodically appeared to remove the residue; yet they dared not try to silence the Duchess, lest she further enliven a dull dinner party with such tales, as she had more than once been known to do.
Lord Wilmington observed his godmother’s sparkling countenance, and prudently withdrew from range of her wicked fan. Despite her professed boredom with Society, Agatha was one of the more illustrious members of the Ton, and would be desolate to be excluded from the intrigues and machinations that were the breath of life to her. The Duch
ess knew her London well, from Covent Gardens’ stinking alleys and narrow streets, where heedless young bloods went in search of pleasure and awoke to find their breeches stolen, to fashionable Cavendish Square, where she made her home. She’d visited the putrid courts of Holborn and Whitechapel, and had dared to venture into St. Giles, a notorious haven for roughs and thieves, an adventure from which she had emerged triumphantly unscathed.
“It’s prodigious good of you,” commented this dauntless lady, who bore the deceptive appearance of a vague and kindly relict of advanced years, “to abandon your pursuits long enough to escort an old woman into the country.”
The Earl smiled lazily. “You refer to my excesses, ma’am?” he inquired. “Tilda is more direct.” On the seat facing them, Agatha’s maid cowered in a corner, clutching her mistress’s jewel box to her thin chest and darting nervous, disapproving glances at Micah’s dissipated countenance.
“I think I know you a little too well to stand upon ceremony with you,” Agatha retorted. “Don’t fly into the boughs—I don’t care what you do, and I can’t imagine that Mathilda does either. Surely she didn’t ring a peal over you!”
“On the contrary, she expressed a fervent desire to indulge in some excesses of her own.” The Earl still wore his deceptively sleepy smile. “She counts on your presence to make her exceedingly gay.”
“You should have married her,” Agatha commented. For sheer audacity she was rivaled only by Brummel himself, and even that impudent gentleman had never dared inform his Regent that the English aristocracy was composed of social parasites with wastrel habits who had abdicated their responsibilities. “It would have been the making of the both of you.”
“You forget”—Micah carefully removed a piece of nonexistent lint from his immaculate sleeve—“Tilda decided that we would not suit.”
Any of the Earl’s numerous acquaintances would have recognized in his lordship’s demeanor definite signs of imminent storm, and would have conducted themselves accordingly. The Duchess, who was seldom inclined to pamper her godson, took note of this mounting wrath. “Quite right,” said she. “It’s none of my affair, and certainly not after so many years.” She heaved a great sigh. “She’ll marry the good Timothy now, I doubt not, which would be a most grievous thing.”
A Banbury Tale Page 2