Father grinned. “Daughter of mine, how intelligent you sound!”
“Yes,” Mother muttered. “It is no way for a lady of three-and-twenty to sound. So arrogant, and yet still unmarried! I wonder if the two are not connected in some pernicious way! Young lords aren’t overly fond of arrogant women, dear. You ought to know that by now.”
“Oh, leave the poor girl alone,” Father said. “She is merely cutting to the heart of it, as she always does.”
Auntie Garnet Leverton looked up from her knitting with a furrowed brow. “I am afraid I must agree with my dear sister,” she said. “If I had known thirty years ago what brashness gifted a woman, I would have become quite meek indeed.”
“You are threatening the girl with your own fate,” Father said, with a kind smile to take out the sting. “You will send her to the Colonies if you keep up such talk.”
“The Colonies?” Mother said. “Did you not hear, my love? There has been a Revolution.”
Father waved his hand. “Revolutions, what a phase! What next, pigs that can ascend to the heavens! Oh, the world! The world!”
Rebecca listened to all this with a profound sense of anticipation. She was to attend a ball at His Grace’s castle in Wells. Oh, how many lords and ladies would be there, how much beauty! She had not lost all the novelty of balls and dances, though she had become slightly jaded by it all. This was her fourth season without a husband, after all. And Mother and Auntie were quite keen to use this ball as an opportunity to find her a husband. It was only her beauty and her family’s wealth that had stopped her becoming a wallflower.
“It will be quite the party, I am sure,” Father said. “Yes, yes, quite the party indeed. Perhaps Rebecca, my sweet daughter, will cause another lord to nearly throw up his lemon cake!”
Rebecca hid a smile. “That is quite scandalous, Daddy,” she said. “I did not cause him to do a thing. He was merely surprised by something he had not hitherto known existed: a woman’s wit.”
“It cut him like a saber!”
“Really, daughter, must you…”
*****
The four of them arrived at the ball on a sweltering August day, when the sun burnt down rays of preposterous heat, and Mother and Auntie looked up at the sky as though mortally offended. The footmen escorted them from the carriage and led them through into the chamber, wherein lords and ladies in tight circles talked, and the dancing floor was Quadrille, that new French dance which caused Mother and Auntie to turn their noses in disgust, but which they had to accept because it had made its way into His Grace’s ballroom.
The lords wore tight britches with long-tailed jackets and knee-high boots. The ladies were dressed much as Rebecca was, with tight ringlets of hair and elaborate dresses. Rebecca’s dress flowed around her as though she was walking upon clouds. Father leaned in and whispered. “What do you make of our chances of coming face to face with His Grace, himself?”
“They have just increased, I should say,” a voice came from behind.
Father almost jumped up in surprise. Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca turned swiftly. A footman circulated, handing out cups of wine; and for a moment the voice was obscured by two of these footmen passing in opposite directions, creating a momentary shield. But then they passed, and His Grace came into view. It was clear that it was His Grace; he was the only man wearing military garb, his jacket studded with medals and commendations. He was a well-built man, with a handsome face and cold, blue eyes.
“You are the Emersons, I should say?” His Grace said.
Father bowed profusely, and Mother, Auntie, and Rebecca curtseyed so deeply their knees almost touched the ground. There was a general murmur of Your Grace, Your Grace. “Lord Lloyd Emerson,” His Grace said, facing Father. “I was thrilled when I heard you were coming, I must say, but now I am doubly thrilled.” A caustic spark played in His Grace’s eye. “Not only have you partaken of my hospitality, but I have also been the tool to facilitate your witty gossiping. It is rather a bifurcated vindication one feels at present.”
“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” Father said in deep tones of apology. “One sometimes forgets one’s surroundings.”
“You must crash into a lot of walls,” His Grace said, but then he allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “I am merely making sport of the encounter,” he went on. “You need not fear that I am genuinely distressed. Once one has faced hordes of bloody men, one does not fear ballroom gossip.”
“I must protest, Your Grace, I really did not mean to gossip—”
“It is irrelevant,” His Grace said. He moved around Father and stood before the women. “You must be Lady Esther Emerson.” Mother curtseyed once more. “And you are Miss Garnet Leverton.” Auntie curtseyed, somewhat awkwardly. “And you are Lady Rebecca Emerson.”
Rebecca curtseyed deeply, and snuck a quick look up into his face. He was smiling down at her as though mightily pleased with something she had done. When she rose, His Grace smiled at her once more. “Bantering aside, I must say I am glad you are here,” His Grace said. “One must extend one’s home to as many people as possible when one has been at war for so long.”
This was not the sort of thing a lord should say to a lady, and if some minor lord had broached the topic of war in the presence of her daughter, Mother would swiftly end it. But this was His Grace, the Duke of Waltren, and different rules applied to him. The Emersons (and the Leverton) stood in a circle and looked at His Grace with anticipation for his next comment, but presently some esteemed guest arrived, and he was forced to go and greet them. “Lady Emerson,” he said, facing Rebecca. For a moment Rebecca felt as though His Grace and she were the only people in the ballroom. “May I take a dance, once I am free?”
“If chance permits it,” Rebecca said, before she could stop herself.
“Daughter!” Mother cried, at her shoulder.
Even Father looked abashed.
But His Grace only smiled once more. “Let us hope chance is on our side this day,” he said.
Then he left them and circulated the room.
“That was frightfully silly of you,” Mother said. “He is a Duke, my daughter. You cannot play your bantering games with him. And you,” she went on, turning to Father. “What madness caused you to speak so carelessly when your tongue should have been guarded?”
Father looked at his wife – who was half the size of him in stature – like a chastised boy. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said. “We all know my traitor tongue can say such ghastly things. I do believe that was why you married me.”
Mother shook her head, but a smile touched her lips.
“I do hope he returns for that dance,” Rebecca said.
*****
Rebecca’s hopes were not disappointed. His Grace walked over to them around half an hour later and asked her to dance with him. They held each other at arm’s length, and strutted around the dance floor in practiced, and sometimes graceful, steps. “You would scare a lesser man away, with such a display of brazenness,” His Grace said, barely moving his lips.
Rebecca danced as naturally as before, but her heart was beating like a hammer in her chest. “I do not believe I have been called scary before,” she said. The dancers twirled around and around the floor, and yet Rebecca felt as though she and His Grace barely moved.
“I can envision may types of men being frightened by you, my lady,” His Grace said, with a wry smile. “Perhaps it is only that my heart has been hardened by years of war that I am able to sustain such punishment from you, my lady.”
“I do not believe even war could prepare you for my concentrated scorn,” Rebecca said. Mother will not be happy. She quickly added: “Your Grace.”
She knew full well that it was within His Grace’s power to ruin her there and then for speaking so out of turn. Her family would be labelled impudent and presumptuous and Mother would never talk to her again and Father would grow more and more distant. She knew all of this, and yet she could not stop herself. There was an exci
tement in this moment that could not be found in diurnal life. She awaited His Grace’s response with a building sense of dread.
Finally, His Grace spoke (all the while they were dancing, moving as one, in measured steps around the ballroom). “I do believe you have me stumped, my lady,” His Grace said, his voice suddenly become cold. “I do believe that quite bested me, in fact. And look, the dance has ended.” He dropped her hands and retreated from the floor as though it was a battlefield.
Rebecca watched him go with a sense of dread. Had she just offended His Grace in some way? Had she just put her family in an awful position?
*****
“But what happened?” Mother said. “What did you say to His Grace?”
They were in the carriage, the ball was over, and they were going home. After the dance with His Grace, many other lords had danced with Rebecca, but they had found her cold and distant. No matter what they said, her mind had gone back to His Grace, and the conversation they had had; and the possible outrage she had caused. She had thought that they, for a moment, were outside the normal realm of things; that they existed alone. But now she saw how foolish that was.
“Rebecca,” Mother said seriously. “What happened between you and His Grace that caused him to flee like that?”
“He did not flee, Mother,” Rebecca said stiffly. “The dance was over. What did you expect him to do? He could not simply stand there, once the dance was over, could he?”
“Do not be rude, Rebecca,” Mother said. “He left the floor with considerable alacrity. Would you really have me believe that there was not a reason for his swiftness?”
“I do not presume to know the motives of His Grace, Mother,” Rebecca said, struggling to hide her anger—and her shame. “And neither should you.”
“Come, now,” Father said. “Cannot we be friends? An Emerson does not treat an Emerson with such suspicion.”
“And a Leverton does not treat a daughter so,” Auntie muttered.
“Fine,” Mother said, relenting. “I can see you are all against me.”
*****
Rebecca, no matter how much she tried, could not prevent herself from going over the events of the ball. She kept seeing His Grace in her mind’s eye, the gracefulness of his dance steps, his wry smile and his cold eyes. She could not believe that she had offended a man like that. Indeed, going over the events in her mind cause her great confusion. What, exactly, had she done to offend him? Of course, what she had said was wildly impudent, and one should never talk to His Grace in such terms, but she had sense that there was a robustness to him that other men lacked. Perhaps she was wrong? Perhaps he was like the other men she had met, and feared a lady whose speech was not like a flower, or like the call of a pretty songbird? Perhaps she was wrong and he detested women who did not confirm his thoughts about the world like all men did.
Rebecca spent two long months doing little but going over these events in her mind. There was nothing else to do in the long endless countryside of southern Somerset. Lest she wanted to journey to the nearby village and attend fayres or visit with friends, which of late had become less and less interesting to her, all she could do was walk the grounds and spend time in the library. There were no suitors through August and September, and Mother talked at length about how her time was running out. Rebecca sighed at this speech. She had been reminded of it her whole life.
And then something happened that shattered the monotony. It was like a summer’s breeze in a desert. A letter came, addressed to Father. They were sitting in the drawing-room when he opened it. His eyebrows knitted and he leaned over the letter for a closer inspection. “Hmm,” he said, reading through the letter once more. “Hmm,” he repeated, and read through it again. “This is a surprise!”
“What is it, husband?” Mother said.
“A surprise! A very great surprise!”
“Daddy, what is it?” Rebecca said, curiosity getting the better of her.
“It concerns you, Rebecca.”
“Me?”
“Yes, oh, I suppose you better read it.”
He handed her the letter. Rebecca, having no clue what it might be, read it quickly, hungrily. When she reached the end she had to go back over it, just to confirm what she had read.
Dear Lord Emerson,
I am writing in relation to your daughter, Lady Rebecca Emerson. I was greatly interested in her when we danced at the ball, and I humbly ask your permission to visit with you and spend more time with her. I wish to court her; that is the truth of it. Excuse my openness but war does much to assuage a man of courtly practices.
Again, I humbly ask your permission. It would so greatly please me. And I cannot stop thinking about her.
Yours hopefully,
Brigadier Edison Wells, Duke of Waltren
“What!” Rebecca exclaimed.
Mother snatched the letter from her hand and read it quickly. “Oh, my!” she cried. “This is a very big surprise indeed!”
“Please say yes, Daddy,” Rebecca said.
It would be wonderful to break up the monotony of provincial like with a visit from His Grace! He wished to court her! She was ecstatic even as she was confused. He had deserted her at the ball in a strange fashion, and had ignored their family for two months, and now he wished to court her. It was curious behavior. “What will you say?” Rebecca went on, when Father did not respond.
“We cannot say no,” Mother said. “We couldn’t dream of it. He is a Duke.”
Father sighed. “Your mother is right,” he said. “I will write to him and agree to his proposition. If he wishes to court you, then court you he shall. But there will be no modern, French business! If he courts you for any length of time, marry you he must!”
Rebecca’s heart skipped. It was not so much the prospect of marriage that excited her, but the knowledge that soon she would meet His Grace again. She told herself that she would be on her best behavior: that she would be the quiet, calm girl Father and Mother so desired. She would be an absolute rose for His Grace. But a mischievous part of her mind knew that the temptation to duel words with His Grace once again would be too great.
Father wrote the letter and then sent it by messenger into town, to be sent further on to Wells, and to His Grace himself.
Rebecca lay awake all that night, trying to picture His Grace’s expression when he received the reply. Would he be stony-faced, as he so often was? Or would that wry smile played about his lips? Would he nod, as though it had been the only possible outcome? Or would he become boyish and grin in excitement?
So many possibilities, Rebecca thought, smiling into her pillow. Oh, so many possibilities! I wonder what it will be like! I wonder if I will become His Grace’s wife!
*****
Two weeks later, His Grace arrived in a carriage that dwarfed the Emerson’s. He emerged from the carriage with a cane tucked under his arm, wearing a long-tailed jacket of the finest material, and looking around at the grounds with a critical, detached eye. The Emersons were gathered in front of their estate. Father walked forth. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to our home, Your Grace,” he said.
“It is a pleasure to be welcomed,” His Grace said easily.
Father bowed.
His Grace approached the women. He greeted Mother and Auntie, who curtseyed deeply, and then he bowed down before Rebecca. Rebecca, who had been halfway into a curtsey, stopped in surprise. Then Mother nudged her and she continued the curtsey. “It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady,” he said.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Rebecca said, her mouth suddenly dry.
Father led them into the drawing-room where the footmen served food and drink. His Grace sat beside Rebecca, their legs almost close enough to touch. Rebecca fancied that she could feel the heat coming from him. His ice-blue eyes regarded her closely, like a wolf regarding its prey. Far from making Rebecca uncomfortable, it thrilled her. He looked at her like she had dreamed of being looked at before. And though men had looked at her with
interest, they had always been men whose interest did not interest her that much. His Grace’s interest interested her greatly.
“I am sure you were surprised to receive my letter,” His Grace said boldly, looking around the room.
Mother faltered—Rebecca cut in. “Absolutely astounded,” she said, smiling up at him.
“I must apologize,” he said easily. “I left you alone at the ball. I feel as though I owe you an explanation.”
“No explanation—” Mother started
“You absolutely do,” Rebecca said, unable to stop herself.
Mother blushed but Rebecca held His Grace’s gaze. His eyes seemed to burn into her. “I was intimidated,” he said, more sincerely that she’d hitherto heard him speak. “I was intimidated by a lady whose wit and cynicism of life was equal to my own. You see, I have developed a frightful regard for the world, and the ladies I meet are always so full of roses and sweet things, and then I meet you, Rebecca, who has every reason to be blinded and yet sees perfectly.”
The room fell silent at that, and Mother made some remark about the tea. Father said something or other about France. And though Rebecca and His Grace appeared to listen and engage, the whole time they were sneaking glances at each other, inventing excuses to talk directly to one another. Right there, in front of Father, Auntie, and Mother, His Grace was making love to her surreptitiously and wordlessly, through stolen glances and innocuous words alone.
“It must have been awful, in the war,” Rebecca said carelessly.
“Daughter!” Mother cried, setting her teacup down. “I do not think that is appropriate for a lady!”
“It is quite alright,” His Grace said, not even looking at Mother, but keep his eyes locked on Rebecca. “Do you really wish to know, my lady?”
Rebecca nodded.
“It was awful,” he said. “It was in the war that I learnt the only possible response to the world, that of cynicism and humor. One must see and know that the world is a ghastly place but one must not allow oneself to fall in despair. Instead, one must accept and then laugh. Yes, laugh!” He smiled at Rebecca as she smiled back at him. She had often thought similar things about the state of the world, only she had never had anyone with whom she could discuss it; and her knowledge of the world was necessarily limited. “When I saw my friends die – all of them – and then nothing happened, I realized the one truth I had always neglected, that the world and all its bindings cannot be comprehended by man. Only God knows the full extent of the world, and to presume to know it is arrogant. So what else is there for us to do, but laughter and joie de vivre?”
The Duke of Ice Page 6