The couple were seated over a late breakfast. Lady Trenton had just sent around a long and anguished message that they hadn’t meant to be cruel, it had all been in a spirit of fun.
“Is Miss Chatterton awake yet?” she asked the hovering Curzon. The butler shook his head. “I do not think so, my lady. Miss Chatterton is still in her room, I gather.”
“Sulking,” commented Angela, buttering a piece of toast. “If we don’t unload her this Season, Davy, she can go and join her father or go back to her methodist chapel or something.”
Both the Earl and Countess turned around in surprise as Captain Richard Brothers was announced. “Show him in,” said Angela, with an elegant wave of her toast. “One of your friends, Davy?”
“Never heard of the chap,” said the Earl languidly.
“Perhaps we should tell Curzon to send him away. He may be after money…” But the handsome Captain was already being announced.
Angela smiled charmingly at his expensive gray suit and at the sunlight twinkling on the gold thread of his waistcoat.
“I called to ask your permission to take Miss Chatterton on an outing,” he said. “She confided to me that she had not yet seen very much of London and since I’m just back from India, I would like to see some of it myself.” His blue eyes twinkled appreciatively at the Countess who dimpled back, while the Earl looked gloomily into his coffee cup and reconsidered the charms of the new upstairs maid.
“I am sure any girl would be delighted to have such a gallant escort,” said the Countess, leaning toward the Captain who was now seated at the table next to her. A waft of her musky perfume twined itself around him and he gazed at her in a bewildered way. Without taking her eyes off him Angela rang the bell and sent the glad tidings of the Captain’s arrival upstairs to Daisy’s room.
Daisy was still miserably smarting under her humiliation of the night before. The news of the Captain’s arrival by the recently returned Amy broke up her dismal mood. Her heart was fluttering and she felt very young and nervous. Did Amy know anything of the Captain? No, Amy didn’t. But if Daisy would only wait a minute she would inquire in the kitchens. But Daisy had a sudden revulsion against listening to servants’ gossip. She must trust somebody after all.
In a record length of time, she entered the breakfast room in all the glory of a new pink organza dress with a high-boned collar, leg-o’-mutton sleeves, and a frivolous parasol to match. Her wide picture hat was swathed with pink tulle and prettily shadowed her small face. The Captain broke away from the Countess’s spell with a little mental wrench and hastened to her side. Before he took her hand a black cloud composed of tailor’s bills, club bills, and the bill for the smart rented brougham outside crossed his mind, but was soon dispelled. This little girl’s fortune would soon settle them all.
It had been difficult to make a play for wealthy girls in the small, enclosed society of Ranchipoor, but here, in the bigger marriage market of London, it should be possible to marry some money before his unfortunate reputation followed him home.
Looking the very picture of youth, beauty, and wealth, the couple left the mansion and climbed into the brougham. The coachman cracked the whip and the carriage moved down the street.
They had a magic afternoon as the carriage ambled through the streets and parks of London. Modest as she was, Daisy’s head under the pink tulle hat was turned by the admiring looks and comments the pair received.
The Captain was charmed. His large hand lingered a little longer on Daisy’s each time he helped her down from the carriage to view a building or a park and Daisy’s heart began to beat faster and faster with a strange triumph. This was it! Love at last. She would travel with him to exotic India and break the hearts of every young subaltern in his regiment.
He proposed they finish their day with a trip to Greenwich for dinner. Daisy climbed happily aboard the coaly steamship, pleasurably aware of the admiring glances the women passengers cast at Captain Brothers.
The late afternoon sunshine had transformed the muddy waters of the Thames to molten gold. All the filth and misery of the great city were washed away by the dazzling light and London looked as if it had been newly painted by Canaletto. Heavy coal barges became black and gold gondolas as they slid past, and the bargee’s washing, the flags of some Italian state.
The cupola of St. Paul’s seemed to hang over the motionless city and the pennants on the Tower stood out stiffly like cardboard. Daisy felt suspended in time, alone in the middle of a golden world with her handsome Captain.
“Richard… Richard Brothers!” A shrill female voice at their elbow broke the spell. Daisy suddenly became aware of the chill wind from the river and shivered as she turned around.
A faded, raddled female in her forties stood clutching the arm of a gentleman who could only be described as a masher.
From his insolent, protruding eyes and his curly brimmed bowler, to his flamboyant waistcoat and natty elastic-sided boots, he looked like a stage version of a bounder. The lady was peering anxiously at the Captain over a sort of hedge of puce feather boa. Her painted face creased into a smile of recognition. “It is Dickie. Recognize those shoulders anywhere.”
The Captain leaned against the rail and surveyed the pair. “I am afraid I haven’t had the pleasure…”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “’Course you have, love. Many’s the time.” Her companion brayed with laughter and gave Daisy a broad wink. “It’s me… Lottie Struthers from old Ranchipoor. This is me brother, Bert. ’Member Bert?”
Although the afternoon had turned cool, beads of sweat began to form on the Captain’s upper lip. “I beg your pardon, madame. I have never seen you before,” he said, grasping Daisy by the arm. “Now if you will excuse us…”
Lottie’s eyes narrowed even more and the feathers of her boa stood up stiffly in the wind. She looked like a small, enraged cat.
“Ho, so that’s the way of it. Finally got your heiress, eh? Don’t want to remember old Lottie what knew’d you ’fore you started after the debs. Just you watch it, missie,” she said swinging around to confront Daisy. “It’s your money he’s after, mark my words.”
Daisy lost her temper completely. How dare this insolent woman malign her handsome escort and threaten to ruin her day. She surveyed Lottie from head to toe and remarked in a voice like ice, “Captain Brothers is no fortune hunter. He is with me… and I have no money at all.”
“Come along, Lot,” muttered her brother, dragging Lottie off. “’Course Dickie don’t want to recognize you. You’re queerin’ his pitch.” He twirled the ends of his mustachios and calmly undressed Daisy with his eyes. “Can’t say that I would mind havin’ a go meself, what!” He brayed with laughter as he led his sister off along the deck.
Daisy found that she was still trembling with rage—so much so that she was unaware that Captain Brothers had put an arm around her waist. “Pay no attention,” he was saying. “It’s obviously a case of mistaken identity, or that pair are stark, raving mad. I say, Daisy, don’t look like that. Don’t let that terrible pair spoil our day.”
Daisy gave him a weak smile and then blushed as she became aware of his arm around her waist, and moved a little away. The Greenwich Observatory was just coming into view and the passengers were collecting their belongings, preparing to disembark.
Captain Brothers reserved a table at the dining room window of an inn called The Cardinal which had tottered picturesquely at the edge of the water since Tudor times. The sun sparkled on the diamond panes of the bow windows and Daisy felt all her happiness returning.
Little sunny prisms of light danced in the wineglasses and across the silver. Captain Brothers was once again talking about India, the splendid sunshine, the bizarre sights and sounds of the markets, the majesty of the huge elephants, and the scares of the tiger hunt. Visions of peacocks and ivory, rubies and pearls—and in her mind’s eye, two figures walked slowly in the moonlight in front of the Taj Mahal—danced in front of Daisy’s dazzled eyes.
Daisy looked at him with some surprise. “But I haven’t any money. I do have an allowance from my father. But I understand that I have no dowry. Poor Papa! I wonder how he can manage to send as much as he does.”
Unaware that her partner had suddenly been turned to stone, she prattled on happily. “I’ve never met my father, you know. It was amazing how it all happened. You see I had been brought up as Daisy Jenkins, but the lady I believed to be my aunt was in fact an old servant of my father’s and… and… Is anything the matter?”
Captain Brothers’s charming laugh seemed a trifle forced. “No, of course not. Here! I say, you! Waiter!”
“Sir?”
“Bring the whole brandy decanter, will you? And jump to it, man.”
Daisy recommenced her narrative, but once again her voice faltered off into silence. Captain Brothers seemed to be downing large goblets of brandy, one after the other.
Daisy tried again. “Oh, I would so like to see India. The way you described it. All sunshine and flowers…”
“And heat and flies and dust and damned natives and bloody mess bills,” said her companion thickly, addressing his goblet. “And the Colonel’s wife supervising all the gels like a damned governess.” His voice suddenly rose to a high falsetto. “Don’t go near that dreadful Captain Brothers, gels. No prospects, I assure you.”
Daisy looked at him in bewilderment, her childish mouth beginning to tremble. “But all the lovely stories you told me… about… about the flowers and how pretty…”
“Oh, tommyrot!” he interrupted her rudely. “That was when I thought you had money.”
Anger drove the tears of mortification from Daisy’s eyes. She got to her feet and her voice rang around the small dining room. “You, sir. You are no gentleman!”
His eyelids, which had begun to droop, flew up and a cynical gleam flashed through the drunken sea of his blue eyes like a surfacing shark. He raised his glass. “That’s the stuff, Daisy. Daughter of the regiment, and all that. Thump the tub, fly the flag, stiffen the upper lip. Captain Brothers is not a gentleman.” The clouds of drunkenness closed in and he began to mutter, “What a waste of money. Hire of brougham, hire of coachman, pay the meal…”
Daisy half opened her reticule to throw money on the table and then closed it again with a snap.
“No! I shall not give you any money. I hope the expense of today hurts you in your pocket because I think that is the only way you can be hurt. Here! Here’s a wreath to put on the graveyard of your hopes, sir!”
She swept a bouquet of roses out of their vase on the table and crammed them, thorns and all, on top of his head and then fled from the room.
Captain Brothers sat for a long time over his brandy, the water from the roses trickling slowly down his handsome face like tears.
“Captain Richard Brothers! Good God! The pair of you must be mad!”
His Grace, the Duke of Oxenden paced up and down the Nottenstones’ drawing room, the scarlet silk lining of his evening cloak flashing as he moved.
“But, my dear Toby,” wailed the Countess. “Are you absolutely sure. He is so handsome.”
The Duke took a deep breath. “Richard Brothers is a fortune hunter, a notorious cardsharp, and an unpleasant drunk. Harry Trenton told him that Daisy was an heiress. The silly chump meant it as a joke. Dammit! If Brothers still thinks Daisy has money, he’ll be trying to seduce her. If he’s found out she hasn’t and he’s been drinking, he may very well seduce her all the same, out of spite. He’s got a filthy temper.”
“But how can we find out where they’ve gone? They went off in a very smart carriage.”
The Duke ceased his angry pacing. “Brothers hasn’t got a carriage. He must have rented it. I’ll send someone around to the livery stables and I’ll wait here to see if there’s any news.”
Angela, Countess of Nottenstone, surveyed the Duke from under lowered lashes. “Dear me!” she said in a deceptively mild voice. “You haven’t fallen for our little Daisy, have you, my dear Toby? Such anxiety!”
“Balderdash! Absolute twaddle, Angela. I have a natural concern that any young innocent girl should be in the paws of a cad like Brothers. And, may I add, my anger has been heightened by your very patent lack of concern.”
Angela shrugged. “Don’t glower in that antique aristocratic manner at me,” she said petulantly. “Maybe a seduction is just what she needs. All that damp and dewy innocence can be a teensy bit wearing.”
The Duke threw up his hands and then resumed his pacing. The Earl and Countess watched him for a while and then began to giggle behind his back like naughty children with an irate parent. Then they started to make paper darts with messages like “Do you think he’ll wear out the carpet?” and launched them to each other. Both were weeping with suppressed mirth by the time a footman arrived with the news that Captain Brothers and Miss Chatterton had taken a sail to Greenwich and Captain Brothers had sent the carriage back to the livery stables at the back of St. James’s.
“I shall go and meet them at the pier,” said the Duke stiffly. “Oh, don’t be such a silly ass!” The last remark was to the Earl who was pantomiming a horsewhipping.
A glorious fiery sunset was flaming across the evening sky as the Duke of Oxenden waited for the arrival of the Greenwich boat. Down the river, the spars and masts of the ships at anchor stood out black against the burning sky like the charred remnants of a forest fire.
He began to feel foolish standing on the edge of the pier in his evening clothes. Perhaps she would not be on the next boat. Perhaps he was being overly concerned for her welfare. Perhaps she would misinterpret his concern.
Then he saw the steamer chugging toward the pier, lurching drunkenly on one side as the passengers gathered along the rail facing the shore.
He saw Daisy almost at once, standing in the bow, her arm raised to keep a ridiculous confection of pink tulle on her hair.
She waited, motionless, until almost all the passengers had left, and then she turned and made her way with little mincing steps down the gangplank.
The Duke moved forward to meet her, still hoping that Daisy would not think that he was in any way in love with her. But she merely regarded him silently with a mixture of tiredness and irritation. The Duke suddenly realized that Daisy regarded him as a sort of overwhelming parent who was forever finding her in the wrong.
She did not ask what he was doing waiting on the pier, but burst out with, “Well, how was I to know he was a masher?”
The Duke smiled and led her toward his carriage. “No way at all, my dear. Captain Brothers is reputed to have great charm when he is heiress hunting.”
“I don’t know why he should consider me an heiress,” said Daisy crossly.
Perhaps, because of your impeccable taste in dress,” drawled the Duke, eyeing the pink organza with an appreciative eye. He did not feel like betraying his friend Harry Trenton. “And on the subject of hunting, are you not tired of searching for the man of your dreams?”
Daisy was indeed tired. She felt very disillusioned, very young, and very silly. But she was not going to back down. A bet was a bet.
“I am not searching as you put it, Your Grace… I mean, Toby. I am like any other girl having her first Season. I am looking for a suitable young man.”
“Then you are not like ‘any girl,’” said the Duke. “Most would shudder to admit that that is their role in life. I notice that the new wave of women’s emancipation does not seem to have touched you.”
Dairy looked out at the jumbled lights of nighttime London. “Oh, I agree with the women’s movement,” she said with an odd maturity. “But I am no leader and no world changer. I could become a nurse or a stenographer and work hard for a pittance. I may yet have to become a governess. But strange
as it may seem I would like love, a home, children.”
She continued, almost talking to herself, “Perhaps I have been trying too hard. Perhaps I have been too trusting.” She gave a little shiver and turned to the Duke. “I shall not go anywhere again unchaperoned without first finding out as much as I can about the gentleman.”
“Really, Daisy,” he mocked. “You are alone with me. I am glad I do not make you nervous.”
“Oh, no,” she said seriously, looking at him wide-eyed in the light of the carriage lamps. “I feel quite comfortable with you… that is, when you don’t make me feel like a guilty schoolgirl. You are like a sort of uncle.”
Now the Duke of Oxenden was well aware of his attraction for the opposite sex. He had been courted and toadied to all his life. Women hung around the doorstep of his town house waiting for a glimpse of the “handsome Duke.” Society women wrote him impassioned verses and even sent him flowers.
He found to his surprise that Daisy’s remark about him being a sort of uncle annoyed him immensely. It was high time he gave Miss Daisy Chatterton less of his distinguished attention.
He pulled the high collar of his opera cloak around his ears and pretended to go to sleep.
“Don’t sulk,” said an infuriating voice from the opposite corner.
Impertinent child! He was not sure that he liked her at all!
Chapter Eight
The London Season had nearly come to an end. Daisy had done the rounds—Ascot, Henley, Goodwood, ball after ball and party after party. The novelty had worn off and she felt tired and somehow rootless. The Nottenstones’ town house was charming with its huge bowls of flowers and frivolous cane furniture and bright wallpaper, but it managed to convey the very essence of impermanence. It was not a home to be lived in all year round and sometimes Daisy could not help wishing there were a few dogs or children around to break up the impeccable facade.
The grand marble staircase seemed to have been expressly designed for the Nottenstones to make stately descents or furious and dramatic exits. The conservatory appeared to have been built on so that indiscreet and intransient amours could take place behind the potted palms. The music room was for changing partners, and the library, an ideal place to make an assignation. The whole gave the impression of a stage set with the couples changing their affections with all the complexity and intrigue of a Restoration comedy.
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