A Banbury Tale

by Maggie MacKeever

  They wandered down long avenues of trees, pausing to admire fountains and cascades. Soft wisps of music came from the orchestra pavilion, but Tilda was not reckless enough to join the dancers.

  “I am grateful to you, Micah,” she remarked, “for bringing me here. I cannot remember when I have had such a splendid time.” She glanced at him. “What prompted you to be so very agreeable?”

  “Had I a choice?” the Earl inquired. “You would have tormented me ceaselessly had I not.”

  “Wretch!” cried Tilda, and stamped her foot. “This was entirely your idea.” She winced, for her soft slipper had encountered a sharp stone.

  “I thought I might divert you from a more outrageous prank.” Micah became aware of his companion’s distress. “Why are you grimacing so dreadfully? Have you hurt yourself?”

  “I think,” Tilda replied, with no small chagrin, “that I have bruised my foot.” With the Earl’s assistance, she hobbled to a small stone bench.

  “You should learn to control your temper.” Despite his mocking tones, Micah’s hands were gentle as he massaged the injured foot. Tilda found that her cloak was a great deal too warm.

  “And so I might,” Tilda retorted, “if you would cease to provoke me so constantly.”

  “Are you never to be satisfied?” The Earl replaced her sandal. “At least now you cannot complain that you are dull.”

  Tilda prepared for battle, but an interruption occurred. A voluptuous young woman broke away from the boisterous crowd to throw herself into Micah’s arms. Tilda had a glimpse of coal-black curls and sparkling dark eyes before the Earl sent the girl on her way with a resounding slap on her well-rounded behind.

  “Your gypsy dancer, I perceive?” Tilda inquired sweetly. She had not missed the glance of loathing that the dark-eyed beauty had flashed at her.

  “That is the Dark Walk,” Micah commented, gesturing to the pathway the girl had taken. “Young ladies who venture there alone are apt to find themselves pursued by gentlemen who lurk in the shadows, waiting for just such an opportunity.”

  But Tilda was a great deal more interested in the embrace she’d had the misfortune to view, and wondered just how many females Micah had dangling at his heels. There was some excuse for Maddy, for romantic young damsels couldn’t be expected to realize the true character of a rake; but Tilda had proved herself no different from the half-wild gypsy who’d invited the Earl’s embrace. It was a most lowering reflection.

  “Poor Tilda,” sympathized the odious Earl. “Does your foot hurt dreadfully?”

  Tilda shivered and pulled her cloak more snugly about her. The night air had grown chill. “Why did you kiss me?” she demanded abruptly.

  “Because you asked me to.” Micah raised a mocking brow. “Admit it, Tilda, you enjoyed it as much as I.”

  Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson scowled. “Knave!” said she.

  “Jade!” retorted the Earl, unperturbed. “Are you sufficiently recovered that we may resume our stroll?”

  “No.” Tilda’s manner was ungracious. “I would appreciate it, Micah, if you would take me home.”

  “Of course,” replied the Earl. “Have I not already demonstrated, lovely lady, that your wish is my command?”

  Chapter Seven

  Maddy studied her reflection, and decided that it was not wonderful that Wilmington had begun to exhibit a preference for her company. Many ladies cast out lures to the Earl, but they were beyond the first bloom of youth. In all honesty, Maddy had to admit that the Earl was not the sort of gentleman whom matchmaking mamas encouraged their marriageable daughters to cultivate; not only was his reputation so shocking that even his considerable fortune could not atone for it, but he exhibited a marked disinclination to enter into matrimony. From many sources, chief among them Alathea, Maddy had heard tales of the Earl’s mistreatment of his unfortunate wife. Maddy had developed a strong curiosity about that lady, but those who might have told her more showed a puzzling reluctance to discuss Lady Wilmington.

  It was all very perplexing. Despite his attentiveness, the Earl had spoken no word that might be misconstrued, had engaged in no action that went beyond what was strictly proper. Maddy suffered pique. For a man of fabled passions, the Earl was remarkably self-possessed. Maddy touched an errant curl, and thought it might be interesting to provoke Wilmington beyond the limits of that mocking self-control.

  Letty, at least, was not inclined to condemn the Earl for his colorful past, and was transported by her niece’s conquest, although she had pointed out that Chesterfield was a better catch. Lionel was a Marquess, and would be unlikely to cause his future wife a moment of alarm. This, to Maddy, sounded dull, though she was not certain she’d accept Wilmington’s offer for her hand, which was sure to come. It might be amusing to watch the Earl suffer the pangs of unrequited love.

  But, with this improbable vision, the daydream faded. Pleasant as it was to receive the attentions of two very personable gentlemen, Maddy was not pleased with the way they comported themselves. She was accustomed to jealous young men who quarreled among themselves for the privilege of helping her from her carriage, but neither Lord Chesterfield nor the Earl showed the slightest evidence of that gratifying emotion. The Earl would relinquish her charming company with a courtly bow, and most likely next be seen in the company of Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson; and Lional viewed the older man’s attentions without the faintest trace of alarm.

  It was time that they both learned to take her seriously. Maddy feared no competition, for Tilda was quite old, but it would best serve her purposes to sever that lady’s connection with the Earl. Maddy considered how best to achieve this end, then smiled brilliantly. It was time Chesterfield was brought to declare himself.

  Her plans well in hand, Maddy turned from the mirror. Such concentrated reflection had caused her head to throb. She paced restlessly about the room, where she’d fled to escape the frenzied efforts that transformed her aunt’s household into a fit setting for an evening’s entertainment. Letty was giving a dinner party, and though the invitations had gone out well in advance, and the cook had been given her orders at least a dozen times, there remained a plethora of last-minute errands to be run. Kenelm had fled the furor in disgust, giving Maddy no opportunity to speak privately with him. She paused to retrieve Lady Henrietta’s missive, which lay abandoned on the writing desk. Wrinkling her brow, Maddy stared at the page.

  Lady Henrietta had a lively apprehension that the ignoble Lord Bechard was somehow involved with her husband’s singular ill fortune. Maddy wondered how this could be possible, and was inclined to think that Claude had only himself to blame for his impoverishment. It appeared that Claude actually agreed with her viewpoint, an unusual circumstance; Lady Henrietta did not hesitate to add that her loving spouse had considered this notion one of her most feeble, and had accused her of indulging in women’s fancies. Alastair Bechard and Claude de Villiers might have disagreed on certain matters, but it was the height of absurdity to think that Lord Bechard was even remotely interested in the de Villiers fortunes. Lady Henrietta, bowing to her husband’s superior intellect, agreed that her suspicions were probably mere foolishness, but cautioned her daughter most strongly to remember at all times that Alastair was a very dangerous man, one who would stoop to any reprehensible action to gain his own ends.

  Had Maddy not had so many other matters to excite her imagination, she might have wondered what circumstance had led her normally kindhearted mother to form so unflattering an opinion of the man, but her own concerns were of more immediate import. Maddy pulled on a dark pelisse and set her plainest bonnet upon her curls. Clemence must be warned, and since Motley would never approve of so improper an undertaking, it was best that she remain uninformed.

  It soon became evident that her expedition was ill advised. Not only was it foolish beyond permission to set out unattended but, with her limited knowledge of the theatrical world, Maddy had blithely expected to find the actress at the theater where she performed. Such was not the c
ase. Not one to be easily discouraged, Maddy had prevailed upon the taciturn hackney driver to take her on to Seven Dials. As a result, she was left virtually destitute. Lady Henrietta’s carefully hoarded pin money, bestowed upon her daughter at their parting, would all go for cabfare.

  Maddy’s journey took her through a part of London that she had not previously known. She was privileged to be abroad on a market morning, when the filth and mire were ankle deep, and the thick steam that rose from reeking cattle mingled with fog that hovered over the chimney tops. A hideous and discordant din rose from every corner of the marketplace, a screeching discord comprised of ringing bells, animal cries, and the oaths and roared abuse that issued from each public house. Maddy shrank back in distaste from the unwashed figures that ran constantly in and out of the throng.

  Startling, too, was the neighborhood surrounding Covent Garden. Now that Maddy gazed about her with no fear of incurring Letty’s displeasure, she began to understand her aunt’s squeamishness. Splendid mansions, fitted with plate glass and stone balustrades, stood side by side with hovels of abject filth and poverty.

  Even this was not the worst. Maddy had never heard of Seven Dials, and thus had no forewarning of the surroundings in which she’d find her friend. After begging the driver to await her return, she lifted her skirts and entered a building so ramshackle that she expected it at any moment to tumble down. Her fastidious nostrils were assailed by the stench of dank walls, rotting floorboards, and other horrors that she dared not pause to categorize. Had it not been for the driver’s insistence, she would have suspected he’d misunderstood the address.

  To further add to her distress, Maddy was not able to speak with Clem, but was instead privileged to meet the master player of the troupe. Maddy could not care for him, his manner was too obsequious, his sunken eyes too shifty, but she entrusted him with Lady Henrietta’s letter and an accompanying note. She did not think that Mr. Willis excelled at his profession, for he had the hollow cheeks and sallow complexion that spoke of scant food and ill health. Maddy fled quickly down the narrow, dimly lit hallway, trying not to see into the rooms that were crowded with adults and children of all ages, nor to hear their noisy quarreling and pathetic cries. She had imagined Clem’s situation as dire; the reality was countless times worse. To complete Maddy’s unhappiness, on the threshold she passed Lord Bechard. It was too much to hope that she’d gone unrecognized.

  * * * *

  “It grieves me to say so,” commented the Duchess with patent insincerity as she settled herself comfortably in her elegant coach, “but Laetetia Jellicoe does not possess what one might consider the best of taste.”

  Tilda, who had been hard pressed during their short visit to hide her fascination with a firescreen that depicted Faith, Hope, and Charity encircled in pale convolutions worked in mother-of-pearl, smiled. “It seems our visit was not well timed. Letty appeared to be exceedingly uncomfortable. I wonder why.”

  “I suspect,” offered Wilmington, who had startled both ladies by offering to escort them and who had, furthermore, displayed remarkable diplomacy in dissuading Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson from adding a monkey to her menagerie, “that she was pleased enough to see us until she discovered that the bird had flown.” The Duchess regarded him with interest. The Earl’s good temper had miraculously survived prolonged visits to her favorite dressmaker and milliner. “It was obvious that she thought the girl safely in the house, and she suffered severe discomposure when she learned otherwise.”

  “What a suspicious mind you have,” Tilda remarked. “Are you imagining Miss de Villiers involved in some sordid intrigue? I think it far more likely that she was shopping with her cousin, just as her aunt said.”

  “More fool you, then!” snapped Agatha. “That pudding-faced creature was in the house, for all she played least in sight. Letty had no more idea of where Madeleine had gone than do I, and perhaps less. She’s not what I would consider a suitable chaperon, being far too light-minded for the task. Heaven only knows what scrape the girl may involve herself in.”

  “I hope she may enjoy it,” Tilda intervened. “But if you are correct in your assumption, why would Letty try and fob us off with such a clanker? She could have said instead that Miss de Villiers was unwell, or any number of unremarkable things.”

  “Letty Jellicoe’s imagination is not powerful,” commented Micah, unperturbed by the prospect of a visit to a select establishment on Oxford Street where the Duchess proposed to inspect ostrich plumes. He appeared equally unconcerned with Maddy’s whereabouts. “She was cast into the liveliest apprehension lest Agatha prove inquisitive.”

  “And well she might!” retorted that worthy, not ill pleased. “Letty is far too lax, as is evidenced by her daughter’s unseemly behavior. But Madeleine appears to be a well-brought-up young woman, and I do not suspect that she has stolen away to visit the fleshpots.”

  Tilda, who was contemplating just such an excursion, regarded Agatha with curiosity. “And the cousin does? You shock me!”

  “I meant to,” the Duchess retorted. “You’re becoming far too complacent, my girl, and I know what that means. If you must indulge in one of your hey-go-mad humors, pray wait until you may not involve me.” She assumed an attitude of feebleness. “I am an old woman, and not up to your fits and starts.”

  “Never fear,” soothed Tilda, who, with the one exception of her stealthy excursion to Vauxhall, considered that she had thus far comported herself with the utmost propriety. “I shall cast no shadow on your good name.” The Earl’s discretion was such that he had never made reference to that memorable night.

  Agatha snorted. “Ripe for mischief,” she repeated, “mark my words. Not that anybody shall! As for Letty’s daughter, I do not say that she has fallen into dissipation, but she has been seen where she should not be, and in far from the best of company. There’s not a bit of harm in the brother, however. He appears to think and behave just as he ought, which I must consider to be little short of miraculous in that woman’s son!”

  “Your sources of information are not infallible,” Micah remarked. “The young man is among the fair Clemence’s swains.”

  “The actress?” The Duchess shot her godson a speculative glance. Even were the current rumors true, there’d be no harm done, except to Letty’s delicate sensibilities. Agatha liked Kenelm all the more for his bit of rebelliousness. “I’m told you are also among her admirers. Is that true?”

  “True enough,” Tilda interjected mischievously, “but you need not fear that Micah will sire his heir there. Alastair means to have the girl.”

  “A pity,” Agatha sighed, although she did not explain whether this was for Clem’s fate or the missing heir. “The chit is said to be of good birth, though sadly lacking in talent.”

  “With her face,” Micah commented, somewhat caustically, “it matters little. She’ll do well enough for the role Alastair has in mind.”

  “I am relieved to learn,” the Duchess growled, “that your heart is not involved.” Tilda grinned, and Micah raised a lazy eyebrow. Having managed to silence her godson, the Duchess turned her attention to Tilda, who was provokingly perverse. Rather than engaging in a series of flirtations, natural behavior after a year of country solitude, Tilda had limited herself to arguing with Micah, baiting Alastair Bechard, and appearing everywhere in the worthy Timothy’s company.

  “You’re being mighty circumspect,” Agatha remarked, and Tilda started. “Too much so by half. I had expected you to entertain me, but you’re proving tediously humdrum.”

  “Agatha!” Tilda ignored Micah’s crack of laughter. “Only a few moments past you begged me not involve you in a scandal. You’ve only to tell me which you prefer, and I will do my utmost to oblige!”

  “You want,” Agatha said firmly, “a little more dash. I realize you’ve taken the town by storm, but that is not sufficient. You are a widow of nine and twenty. It will not do to let people consider you on a shelf.”

  Tilda wore a rueful expression. �
��I begin to see the trend of this conversation.”

  “I always said you were needle-witted,” Micah applauded. The Duchess ignored them both.

  “You must make a push to get yourself settled,” she insisted, “before it is too late.”

  “Before I sink into decrepitude?” Tilda inquired. ‘Thank you, but no. I’ve no great desire to reenter the married state, Agatha, despite Timothy’s efforts to change my mind.”

  “Timothy!” Agatha repeated with horror. “I implore you, Mathilda, not to waste yourself on him.”

  “What’s this?” Tilda inquired, surprised. “I did not realize you held poor Timothy in such low esteem.”

  “He is not the man for you,” Micah explained kindly. His godmother awarded him a fulminating glance. “After all, you have been used to life with a libertine.”

  Unaccountably, Tilda blushed. “Who then?” she demanded. “Am I to wed another such?”

  “I, alas, am out of the running,” Micah remarked. He appeared to enjoy the conversation. “For Agatha has decreed that I must have an heir, and you have shown yourself sadly inefficient in that department. Nor do I imagine that she could countenance a match with Alastair, or that you would care to play second fiddle to the actress who seems fated to become his next light-o’-love. Since Timothy is not to be considered, I suggest you leave the choice of a husband to her. Though she has not chosen to confide in me, I am sure she has some fortunate gentleman in mind.”

  The Duchess was torn between irritation with her godson, whom she considered to be employing unfair methods in the matter of their wager, and surprise at Tilda’s discomfort. She wondered at it, for Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was not one to balk at frank speaking. “You might do worse, my girl,” she said, “than to leave the matter to me.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Tilda retorted, “but it is unnecessary. I am of age to determine my own future, you know. You would do better to try and make a match for your young friend.”