Alastair Bechard had been too long ignored. Maddy, confronted with this impeccable gentleman, surveyed him curiously. “My dear child,” he said, “I am long acquainted with your family, and trust you will remember me to them. Your mother was once a most particular friend of mine.”
Maddy did not care for the dark eyes that were fixed unwaveringly on her face, and was somewhat startled to discover that the extreme pallor of Lord Bechard’s complexion was due to the application of paint. “Be assured I shall, sir,” she replied.
“And should events not proceed as you anticipate,” Lord Bechard continued, “do not hesitate to come to me. I should be pleased to be of service to you, for I have an old debt to pay.”
Maddy expressed polite gratitude. It was encouraging to have aroused the interest of this wicked-looking man, but Maddy was more concerned with Lord Chesterfield. Since learning of his connection with the provoking Earl, Maddy had begun to formulate a thoroughly unscrupulous and altogether delightful plan. She bestowed a smile of breathtaking brilliance upon the unsuspecting Marquess.
Tilda had been an interested spectator to this byplay. “I trust your exertions will not be necessary, Alastair,” she said lightly. “I am sure that Miss de Villiers stands in no need of friends.” From long acquaintance with the gentleman, Tilda suspected that Alastair’s honeyed words veiled a threat. But to what end might he intimidate young Madeleine? Tilda’s curiosity was aroused.
Chapter Five
Maddy looked about her with fascinated interest. Her curiosity had remained unsatisfied during their drive to the theater because of Letty’s scandalized strictures concerning her vulgar behavior when she had made so bold as to peep through a carriage window; but Kenelm, despite his mother’s patent disapproval, had been so kind as to speak of the stinking alleys and narrow streets, the notorious dens of iniquity, that surrounded Covent Garden. Maddy’s one glimpse had afforded her a view of The Cat and the Fiddle, but she was not to know that this was the headquarters of that good-natured and witty procuress, Mother Murphy, who was perhaps the most unlikely of the Duchess of Marlborough’s acquaintances.
But the royal patent theater of Covent Garden offered Maddy opportunity enough to stare. That particular evening the usual program of Shakespearean tragedy and comedy was enlivened by the revival of a tragically ending comedy. The Follies of Marianne. Its tone was, perhaps, not the most elevating, for the tale revolved around the capriciousness of a married lady who chose her lover unwisely, but a satisfactory end was provided when the lady’s love went unrequited.
Though fascinated by the plot, which reminded her of the romantic novels that she delighted to read, Maddy found it difficult to keep her attention on the stage. She had already been gratified by a view of Madame Vestries, that dazzling actress who performed with such famed abandon. The lady’s legs, as Kenelm so improperly remarked, were discussed with enthusiasm by those young bloods who had been privileged to witness one of the performances in which she donned breeches for a role.
Kenelm leaned slightly forward so that he might command a better view of the stage and its occupants. Maddy glanced covertly at the box that Lord Chesterfield shared with the Duchess, Wilmington, Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, and an unknown gentleman. Despite her antagonism toward the Earl, Maddy could not help but appreciate his appearance, for Micah wore a dress suit of deep green superfine that had undoubtedly been made by Weston. An opera cloak lined with scarlet serge only accentuated his buccaneer air. As Maddy watched, Mathilda laughed and the Duchess rapped her godson’s knuckles with an exquisite fan.
But Lionel was above such levity. He looked straight at Maddy, who pretended not to see and ignored Alathea’s sharp nudge. The young Marquess had already paid her the honor of appearing in the box for the sole purpose of speaking with her, and Maddy felt that her plans progressed admirably. It was not surprising that Lionel found her attractive; he was not the only man to do so, and Maddy considered Motley’s warnings not to overestimate her allure a spinster’s jealousy. With her bronze curls dressed in the Roman style, and in her becoming gown of the palest yellow with its tiny puffed sleeves and fine French lace, Maddy felt she merited all the attention she received.
There was further reason for complacency in the approval of her aunt. Letty professed herself well pleased with Maddy’s success, and waxed eloquent on the subject of Lord Chesterfield, though she, like Motley, expressed doubts that Maddy could bring him to the speaking point Lionel was most elusive, by all accounts. Maddy smiled. She knew she could, by the exercise of a little skill, so bedazzle the young Marquess that he would propose, but she had not yet decided whether she would accept him. Lord Chesterfield was very haughty and extremely proud; he might benefit from a set-down. There was also her lack of dowry to consider. Maddy did not think that Lionel would care to be made to look a fool, and thus would not be inclined to discuss her lack of fortune, but she feared that he would apprise the Duchess of the truth. Maddy was not so naive as to be unaware that her successful entrance into society was not due so much to her aunt’s efforts as to the Duchess of Marlborough’s goodwill.
“You have been wool-gathering,” Kenelm accused. He cast a wary glance at his mother, but Letty was engrossed in the play. “Direct your attention to the stage. Did you note the latest rage?” Alathea took advantage of her mother’s preoccupation to carry on an enthusiastic flirtation with Captain Huard.
Maddy frowned at this peremptory tone, but made allowances for her cousin’s mood. Kenelm had lately been so dispirited that his mother had actually expressed relief when he sought diversion in the construction of an automatic fire escape.
“I beg your pardon,” Maddy murmured. “Who was it you wanted me to remark?”
“Clemence,” Kenelm hissed, with no patience for her abstraction. “Quickly before her part is done.”
Maddy, who had just received a nod of recognition from Wilmington, quickly turned her attention to the stage. It occurred to her that, were Lionel to make her an offer, the Earl might have sufficient influence to prevent the match.
Distracted by her thoughts, chief among them possible methods to circumvent the Earl’s hypothetical disapproval, Maddy stared at the players. She saw a fair and dark-haired girl of generous proportions, but it wasn’t until the actress spoke that she claimed Maddy’s full attention. The fabled Clemence’s voice wasn’t particularly compelling, nor did she speak her lines well, but those lisping tones caused Maddy’s head to whirl. “Oh, dear!” said she, and sank back in her seat.
* * * *
Kenelm’s actress, though she would have been startled to hear herself spoken of in such terms, glanced covertly at her companion and idly pleated her Norwich silk shawl. The gentleman was not deceived by this studied nonchalance. Alastair Bechard knew full well that the object of his interest found herself in dire straits; young Clemence might aspire to follow in the footsteps of Sarah Siddons or challenge the bewitching Eliza Vestries, currently displaying her incomparable legs in the role of Macheath, but her chances of doing so were so scant as to be nonexistent. Clemence had no great talent to distinguish her, nor a wealthy protector to ease her way.
Clemence had led a sheltered existence, interrupted only when the family fortunes were discovered to be dissipated, and her ladylike upbringing had left her unprepared for a gentleman such as Alastair Bechard. To a young lady brought up in leisure, the idea of going into service was only slightly preferable to death; Clem had needed little encouragement to seek another way. Only occasionally did she experience an unhappy twinge at the thought that she had, by choice, delegated herself to the ranks of the Fashionably Impure.
Lord Bechard did not make the mistake of judging his companion by her profession, but he had every intention of seeing that she earned the reputation she had already received, and in the shortest possible time. This pleasant undertaking would be rendered even simpler by the trusting nature of his prey.
In this assumption. Lord Bechard erred. Clemence might gaze upon him th
rough innocent blue eyes, and greet his more improper remarks with a naive giggle, but even so brief an exposure to her more worldly fellow thespians had opened her eyes to what sort of proposal she might expect from the ardent gentlemen who assiduously courted her. Alastair Bechard was the most attentive of these. It was, perhaps, fortunate that the older women in Clemence’s troupe were not eager to see a mere child become his prey.
“You are unwontedly silent tonight,” remarked Lord Bechard. “What has caused this pensiveness? Can it be that you are out of sorts with me?”
Clem stifled an imprudent impulse to inform her escort that she found his companionship irksome and his person distasteful. “Oh, no,” she protested with a winning smile. Alastair’s determination was daunting; she could go nowhere without him at her side. Of late, Clemence had come to understand that she played a dangerous game, and saw that she would have to contrive mightily to escape unscathed.
Lord Bechard’s thin mouth twitched in what, in a less austere gentleman, might have been considered a smile. This gesture did not disarm Clem, who rattled into hurried conversation about the structure that she had recently gazed upon, the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket. London’s most fashionable center of entertainment, this structure was the home of the Italian opera and the ballet. The great horseshoe-shaped auditorium held five tiers of subscription boxes, where bejeweled courtesans rubbed shoulders with great ladies of rank. In the pits, fops and dandies strolled and chattered; from the gallery, those of less exalted birth called for silence; and the artists were inured to it all. Clem sighed with envy; the leading singers were known to receive enormous amounts of money. It was a pity she had only a passable voice.
“You are suited only for comedy or minor dramatic roles,” said her companion, with unnerving accuracy. Clem shot him a resentful glance, which caused the thin mouth to twist again. “Why will you not have done with these games and place yourself under my protection? It is not a decision that you will regret.”
Clem had an unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. “You go beyond the line of being pleasing, sir,” she replied, and was aghast to hear her voice tremble. “I will forget what you have just said.”
Lord Bechard bowed. Clem, in quick assessment, thought his pale skin and raven hair, his dark hooded eyes, gave him the appearance of an executioner. She shivered at the comparison, and her companion surveyed her as if he could somehow comprehend her thoughts.
“As you wish, my dear, but I warn you I grow impatient of these ploys. Do you think to receive a more honorable offer? From Kenelm Jellicoe, perhaps?”
Clem was speechless, held against her will by that dark gaze. “I dislike to dash your hopes,” Alastair added, in tones that suggested the opposite, “but I fear your nose has been put out-of joint. Kenelm is the constant escort of his cousin, but newly come to town. Rumor has it that his mother is strongly behind the match.”
“This has naught to do with me,” Clem protested impatiently. It would never do to let Lord Bechard guess her deep interest in his words.
“No?” queried her escort. “Even if he offered you carte blanche, my dear, you would be foolish to accept. Kenelm Jellicoe may be heir to the Comte de Ledoux, but his fortune is nothing compared to mine.”
“You go too far!” snapped Clem. “I cannot appreciate your solicitude.”
“Such delicate sensibilities,” murmured Lord Bechard. “Consider how much more pleasant your plight must be were you to entrust yourself to me.”
“Leave me, please.” Clem cast a distracted look at her mirrored image. “The interval will soon be over, and I must prepare for the next act.”
“Until later.” Lord Bechard raised her hand to his lips. Left alone, Clem restlessly paced the floor of her dressing room.
* * * *
“This is utter folly!” protested Kenelm, as he whisked his cousin up a flight of narrow stairs. “Don’t you realize discovery would mean your ruin?”
“Oh, do hush!” Maddy retorted crossly. “You must trust me to behave as I should.”
Kenelm’s expression indicated that he trusted no female of his acquaintance to comport herself with prudence, but he did not voice these ungentlemanly reflections. He had already informed his cousin, to no effect, that he considered this a fool’s errand that would land them both in the suds. They paused in front of a door. “You’re determined to go through with this?”
“Yes. Do hurry, before they think to wonder where we’ve gone.”
“Very well.” Resigned, Kenelm opened the door and stepped inside. Maddy glanced nervously along the hallway and wondered if she had embarked upon a course that would lead to her disgrace. She could not be expected to catch a rich husband if her name was besmirched, and Maddy belatedly remembered that her entire family depended on her. She had no great fondness for her father, but could not think of Lady Henrietta condemned to poverty.
“Quickly!” hissed Kenelm, as he opened the door and drew Maddy inside the cluttered room, then took up a harassed stand in the hallway outside.
Maddy, who had never before set foot in a theatrical dressing room, stared in wonder at the tawdry costumes and various articles of feminine apparel that were strewn about the chamber. The heavy odor of greasepaint made her sneeze.
Clemence, who had just completed the costume change, was no less amazed.
“Chéri!” lisped the dark-haired beauty, staring after her vanished swain with an expression of no small perplexity. Maddy coughed again, and the actress swung around to study her. The blue eyes widened in surprise. “Mon Dieu!” she cried. “What is this?”
“What, indeed?” came a voice from the narrow doorway, and Maddy bit her lip with vexation. Her ignoble impulse to flee was effectively thwarted by Wilmington, whose muscular figure blocked the only exit. “A thousand apologies, mademoiselle, for disturbing you. This young lady seems to have lost her way.”
The actress’s speculative gaze moved from Maddy’s angry face to the Earl’s impassive one, and lit up with amusement. “D’accord!” she said. “There is no damage done. But take her away, mon chou, before others learn of this audience. She would not long keep her good name, I think! It is fortunate that I was alone.”
Lord Wilmington sketched a bow, took Maddy’s arm, and firmly led her from the room. Scarlet with mortification, Maddy glanced back at the actress, who was grinning widely. The fabled Clemence winked.
“I do not scruple to tell you,” the Earl murmured, “that to hold a private interview with a notorious actress is the height of impropriety.” His expression was one of detachment, as if his conversation dealt with nothing more stimulating than the weather, or the play. “For my godmother’s sake, I wish you may not find yourself with the devil to pay over this business. Were it not for her interest in you, I would leave you to pay the price for this indiscretion—but she has made known her preference for you, and any scandal that involves you must of necessity also involve her.”
“It was an accidental meeting, nothing more,” Maddy retorted blandly. She hoped her own expression was equally unconcerned. “It is the height of absurdity for you to so trouble yourself.”
“You claim a large number of accidental meetings, do you not?” Wilmington smiled. “You will not take it amiss, I trust, when I tell you that it’s foolish to try and bamboozle me.”
Maddy gasped, then quickly retrieved her dignity. “Of all the unjust things to say! I must tell you, sir, that I dislike your manners. You may think what you choose--”
“Thank you,” interrupted the Earl, “I shall. And I think very poorly of Kenelm for allowing you to embark upon this scheme. Why on earth did you steal away from your family to ambush poor Clemence, you ridiculous child?” The Earl was unperturbed by Maddy’s malevolent glare. “I cannot imagine for what reason you would involve yourself in a scandal that would jeopardize your standing in the Marriage Mart, but I must take leave to tell you that engaging in conversation with a notorious actress is definitely not the thing.”
<
br /> Maddy sought unsuccessfully to free herself from his grip. “And I must take leave to tell you,” she snapped, “that you are all about in your head! I grant that I have again put you to a great deal of inconvenience, but it is no more than you deserve for having interfered so unnecessarily. Now I believe we have no more to say to one another, and I wish you would immediately return me to my aunt.”
“Not quite yet.” Her infuriating escort remained calm. “You labor under a misapprehension. I, for one, have a great deal more to say. Console yourself with the reflection that to be seen engaging my interest for so long can only increase your credit with the world. I am known to dislike above all things to bestir myself, but here I am, promenading with you.”
“Fiend seize you!” hissed Maddy. The Earl raised an eyebrow.
“That is hardly the way to express your gratitude to one who has saved you from disgrace,” he remarked with what Maddy considered an odious smile. “People will remark that you do not seem to enjoy my company, and will think you a remarkably ungracious young lady.”
Maddy’s chagrin had long since turned to sheer rage. “You have a concise way with a word.”
“You are forgetting,” said her tormentor, “to smile. I strongly advise that you refrain from enacting a Cheltenham tragedy, even in such appropriate surroundings as these.”
“I am used to managing quite nicely without the benefit of your advice.” Maddy frowned. “But tell me this, since you are so determined to rescue me from my own folly:
why did you interfere?” Belatedly, she remembered to remove her scowl.
“Do not overestimate my magnanimity. I did not follow you, but had reasons of my own for seeking a word with the fair Clemence. You might consider that you effectively thwarted my interview.” He wore a mocking look. “Nor will Clemence thank you, I think.”
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