The Ladies In Love Series

by M. C. Beaton

  “Keep your dreary middle-class morality out of this,” snapped Sir James, “or I shall have the local magistrate remove your license.”

  Daisy looked at him, sobered for the minute. Then she tried to tell him how much she disapproved of his manner, but the waves of drunkenness had come back and all the words seemed to come out the wrong way.

  One of the young men, the Honorable Clive Fraser, produced a hunting rifle and, after setting up a row of glasses along the bar, proceeded to challenge the rest of the men to a shooting match. Again the landlord’s wife rushed forward to protest, and Jo Phillips aimed a soda siphon at her face, drowning the poor woman’s complaints, and then jumped on top of the bar, offering her garters as first prize.

  Colonel Witherspoon had drifted into some drunken dream where he was in Imperial Russia and after each glass of champagne, he smashed his glass into the fireplace and called for his horse. One of the foxy girls was being sick in a corner and the other two were trying to set fire to the curtains.

  Daisy grabbed hold of her remaining wits and pleaded with Sir James to take her back to the manor. Sir James had already spied the landlord’s son leaving by the door and knew that it was only a matter of time before the local police force descended upon the inn.

  Daisy stumbled into the courtyard of the inn. Far, far above her, a tiny moon reeled and swam through the clouds, its reflection raced through a puddle in the courtyard and Daisy suddenly felt as if she was standing on her head.

  “You need fresh air, my dear.” Sir James’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Let’s take a little walk down the road.”

  Daisy agreed thankfully. She felt if she got back inside the stuffy carriage, she would be sick. Soon the sounds of merriment and crashing glass faded from her ears. They plunged into the gloom of a tunnel formed by arched trees, Daisy trying to bring her eyes back into focus and Sir James restlessly searching for a convenient place to sit down. Suddenly they turned a bend in the road and came to the edge of the trees. The moonlight washed over the empty fields spread on either side and far, far away a train whistled, opening up mental vistas of immeasurable plains of loneliness.

  Sir James guided Daisy gently from the road, across a field, and settled her at the foot of a large oak. Unaware that he was standing looking down at her, Daisy leaned back thankfully and stared up at the gently moving leaves of the tree.

  He sank down beside her and put his arms around her and began to kiss her very, very gently. It was pleasant to be kissed and stroked and caressed, thought Daisy lazily. He moved slightly and she shivered as a cold breeze crept across her breasts. A little warning bell of returning sobriety sounded far back in her brain. She looked down.

  He had unfastened the scarlet dress at the back and slid it down over her arms to bare her breasts. She gave a little moan of alarm and tried to sit up, but he forced her back and then she felt the rough stubble of his chin against her chest as he passionately bit and kissed her breasts. The more she tried to push him away, the more excited he became. Daisy pushed at him with all her strength and found she was helpless. His mouth was wide open and fastened over hers like a gag, while his exploring hands started to fumble under her skirt.

  What did all the sophisticated wit and elegance matter now? This heavy weight, gasping and muttering obscenities and groping around on top of her, was about as sophisticated as a gorilla. As fright sobered Daisy completely, her reaction became just as primitive. She wrenched herself free and screamed at the top of her voice. She then scrambled to her feet and stumbled across the wet grass of the held. Then she tripped and fell and twisted around to look up wide-eyed at her pursuer. He stood looking down at her, his eyes gleaming wetly in the moonlight. A slow smile curled his long mouth and he spread his large hands and reached down to her. Daisy closed her eyes.

  There was a sound of running feet, a tremendous thud. She slowly opened her eyes.

  Sir James lay sprawled on his back in the long grass. The Duke of Oxenden stood looking down at her.

  “Good evening, Miss Chatterton,” said the light, hesitant voice. “Dear me, what an exciting life you lead. Would you please cover yourself up or I shall be tempted to take over where Sir James left off.”

  Daisy rose to her feet and pulled her gown back onto her shoulders. “Before we leave the scene of battle,” the Duke went on, “we had better find out just how far Sir James did go.”

  Sick and shaken, Daisy clung to him for support. “I have… been… raped…”she gasped.

  The Duke turned a stony face toward the recumbent Sir James. “Then you had better wait for me at the edge of the fields, my dear,” he said, in a deceptively gentle voice. “For I am to thrash the life out of this cad.”

  He took a step forward toward Sir James and then halted. He turned to Daisy once again. “Now you will answer my questions no matter how embarrassing they may be. Just pretend I am the uncle you believe me to be. Did he… remove your drawers?”

  Daisy let out a faint squeak. “No… Toby… but he…”

  The Duke suddenly smiled and took her arm. “One cannot rape a bosom, even one as beautiful as yours, my dear. Come along. We will return to the manor. You will get the excellent Amy to get you a hot drink and you will forget all about this.”

  “Forget about it!” cried Daisy. “How can I face that man again. After what he tried to…”

  “Now, now,” said the Duke, with infuriating calm. “We are not living in one of your romances. With all the opiate and drink you young things consume, this little scene has become pretty much an everyday affair at a house party.

  “Good heavens, girl, if you insist on pickling yourself in champagne and wearing a gown that could be the envy of every Parisian courtesan, what else do you expect? Sir James is not entirely to blame, you know.”

  “But I wanted to be up-to-date,” wailed Daisy.

  “Being up-to-date in this society of ours seems to mean that one little virgin eggs the other on to say bold things and wear tarty gowns.

  “The young ladies of your party are now, for example, under arrest, and are crying for their mothers like lost lambs. The unquenchable Mrs. Phillips, on the other hand, will be charged with assaulting an officer of the law.”

  “What did she do?”

  “Using her garters as slingshots she bombarded the constables with champagne corks and used language that would make a sailor blush. All of the party are fortunately rich enough to pay for the damage and will only be read a lecture by the magistrate.”

  They had now reached the Duke’s carriage and Daisy sat silently in the darkness. At last she said in a small voice, “I must offer you my apologies, Toby. I did behave very badly.”

  “You don’t owe me any apologies. But, as I told you before, I cannot always be on hand to rescue you. Do try for a little more common sense.”

  “Oh, you always make me feel young and foolish,” said Daisy. “Have you never been in love? Have you never done anything silly?”

  “No,” he said bluntly. “I came into my inheritance at an early age and by the time I had learned to handle my responsibilities, I already felt old and cynical. I had enough opportunities to learn that passion alone does not mean love. Practically all the marriageable girls I meet would gladly marry me for my title.”

  “And you are looking for true love,” said Daisy gently.

  He roared with laughter. “You forget, my romantical duckling, that I don’t believe it exists. I enjoy my life very well and, in time, I shall marry someone suitable.” He leaned his head against the squabs and looked at her thoughtfully.

  “Sometimes, of course, when I was much younger, the moonlight and champagne would play tricks and I would fancy myself in love.”

  “Love!” said Daisy dismally. “Are all the men going to be like beasts, and maul and grab?”

  “Not necessarily,” he teased. “Unless of course when you are so head over heels in love that you will be delighted when a man… mauls and grabs.”

 
“Never!” said Daisy with a shudder. “Sir James seemed so elegant and poised that I thought…”

  “You thought that he would make love in a cool and sophisticated manner… like this…”

  He gently took her chin in his long fingers and placed a fleeting kiss on her lips. Daisy felt strangely breathless and dizzy. The effects of the champagne seemed to be coming back.

  “Oh, you are always laughing at me,” said Daisy. “You like to control the situation. I would love to see you being controlled for a change.” She suddenly grinned mischievously, “What if I should suddenly begin to make love to you?” She wound her arms around his neck and leaned against him with a mock sigh. He closed his arms around her and looked down at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

  “I should have thought this evening would have taught you not to play with fire, Daisy Chatterton.”

  “Oh, pooh!” laughed Daisy. “I’m only playing with my old Uncle Toby.”

  His grip tightened and he bent his head. His lips came down hard on hers and Daisy closed her eyes. The world spun away in a mixture of champagne bubbles and moonlight. She felt as if every bone in her body were melting.

  His breathing was slightly ragged as he abruptly put her away from him. “There you are,” he said in a husky voice. “Don’t ever play with old Uncle Toby.”

  Whatever she was to reply, he would never know, for the carriage had come to a halt in front of the manor. The Duke swung off his evening cloak and placed it around Daisy’s shoulders as they stood together in the driveway. He bent and kissed her forehead and led her into the house.

  Harry Trenton was lounging under the horse’s head and got to his feet when they came in. “So you escaped the long arm of the law,” he laughed. “I gather the rest have been released and are on the road home.”

  “What on earth were you playing at, Harry, running off like that and leaving your guests stranded?” demanded the Duke.

  Harry gave an enormous shrug. “Oh, Mother forgot all about a dinner engagement until the last minute. She thought you’d all be able to amuse yourselves pretty well but she forgot to give the cellar keys to Beskins.” Beskins was the butler. “She has the long-standing belief that Beskins is a drunk although the poor old boy never touches the stuff. And when she remembered that you lot were boozeless, she merely pointed out that you’d all guzzled too much champers on the train anyway. Seemed to amuse her—the idea of you all being sober, I mean. Never thought you’d leg it for the nearest hostelry and start breakin’ the place up.

  “Fancy a game of billiards before turning in, Toby?”

  “All right, Harry. Run along to bed, Daisy. Get a good night’s sleep.”

  Daisy paused at the foot of the staircase and looked back at the Duke. But he had turned away laughing, his arm around Harry Trenton’s shoulders. Obviously their kisses had meant nothing to him at all.

  Amy was waiting in the bedroom and exclaimed with horror over the wreck of Daisy’s gown. Unlike the Duke, she did not take Daisy’s adventure lightly. “We’ve got to leave, Dais’. You can’t meet him tomorrow.”

  Daisy sighed. “Oh, the Duke says it happens all the time.”

  “I don’t like this here kind of society,” said Amy roundly. “It’s bad for you, Dais’. Why, in Upper Featherington, he would have had to marry you.”

  “Well, thank God we aren’t in Upper Featherington,” said Daisy. “Maybe the Duke is right. Maybe love doesn’t exist.”

  “Yes, it does,” said Amy, jerking the pins from Daisy’s hair. “But it’s based on respect and trust and having a bit of fun together. You ask for too much, Dais’. It’s all them novels you read.”

  Amy paused and looked at the childish face in the mirror. “Just have a bit of common sense. Don’t get yourself alone with any chap until you’ve got the ring on your finger.” She slipped Daisy’s nightdress over her head and then leaned forward to blow out the candles.

  “Leave them, Amy,” said Daisy. “I want to think for a bit.”

  After she had gone, Daisy sat in an armchair by the window, turning over the events of the evening in her mind. The episode of Sir James Ffoulkes had been a disaster. She heard the noises of the returning guests and then doors slamming along the corridor as they returned to their rooms.

  She rose wearily and crossed to the window. The leaves blew back like a curtain exposing a moonlit square of garden. A couple stood clasped in each other’s arms—the Duke and Mrs. Phillips. Then the leaves blew back over the window again.

  Daisy had a sudden desire to cry.

  In the garden below, the Duke of Oxenden deliberately unwound Mrs. Phillips’s arms from his neck. “Go to bed, Jo,” he said kindly. “You’re squiffy.”

  “No man pushes me away I—like that,” hiccupped Jo Phillips. “I’ll make you pay.” She stumbled into the hall and nearly collided with Sir James Ffoulkes. “Want to get even with Oxenden?” he said. “I have a little plan that may interest you. Come to bed and I’ll tell you all about it…”

  Chapter 9

  Daisy struggled in the throes of a nightmare. She was strapped to a table and Mrs. Phillips was pouring champagne over her. No matter how she twisted and turned, the liquid kept pouring down on her face in a steady stream.

  She awoke with a start and thought for one horrible minute that her dream had come to life. A steady stream of water was trickling down through the ceiling. She jumped out of bed and stood shivering on the rug. Trickles of water ran through the leaves outside and down the tiny mullioned panes of the window. Water descended on the roof with a steady roar.

  Daisy tugged at the bell rope which came away in her hand. Amy came bustling into the room followed by a diminutive maid bearing cans of hot water.

  “Get some footmen here to move the bed,” ordered Amy after a quick look around. “Look Daisy. I actually found some dry wood. We’ll have a fire going in no time. Lor’ you should see the place. Water dripping everywhere. Evidently my lady spent a mint recently getting the outside cleaned and forgot to tell them to fix the roof. I heard her this morning saying to Lord Harry, ‘Really, the way you all go on about a little water. When you come into your inheritance, dear boy, you can patch it up. I have spent enough.’ And then she gives that horse laugh of hers.”

  She helped Daisy into a warm, blue-velvet dress and jacket and stood back looking pleased with the effect. “Now, you look more like your old self and less like a floozy.”

  “Really, Amy…”

  “It’s true. You looked a real tart in that red thing though I didn’t like to say so at the time. Fact is Daisy, you need a mum… or a good strong husband.”

  “At the rate I’m going, it certainly looks as if I’m not going to find a suitable man. Let’s go to France, Amy.”

  “Ask the Duke about it,” was all Amy would say.

  Daisy went down to look for the Duke of Oxenden. He at least could supply her with her father’s address. She paused on the center of the oaken staircase and looked down into the gloomy hall. Footmen were placing more buckets under the leaks and carrying away ones that were already full. Bertie Burke clattered down behind her, seemingly none the worse for last night’s roistering and carrying a large, black-silk umbrella over his head. “Like to share my brolly, Daisy?” he said cheerfully. “Honestly, new leaks keep springing up the whole time. That’s a very fetching outfit.”

  Daisy smiled and thanked him. He had a pleasant round face with a slightly receding chin and small weak eyes which blinked at the world with unshakable good humor. “Perhaps I’ll join you later,” said Daisy. “At the moment I’m looking for the Duke.”

  “Good luck to you,” said Bertie amiably. “I keep out of Oxenden’s road myself. The day’s chilly enough without having to endure that cold yellow stare. Wouldn’t mind his money though. ’Cept I wouldn’t like to work as hard as he does. He’s keen on agriculture and all sorts of worthy stuff like that. Harry Trenton swears that he even works in the fields come harvest time. Now that’s carr
ying democracy too far.

  “Anyway, I’ll see you later. Going to make some cocktails tonight if our horsey hostess can part with the keys. What’s a cocktail? It’s a superduper American invention. Super drinkies. Lift the top right off your pretty head. Toodle-oo.”

  He ambled off in the direction of the billiard room, waving his umbrella and dodging the drips.

  Sir James and Jo Phillips were sitting together at the breakfast table. As Daisy entered the room Mrs. Phillips said something to Sir James and both burst out laughing. Daisy was surprised. She had thought Sir James would be too ashamed of his behavior of the previous night to put in an appearance. A slow blush crept up her face and she was the most embarrassed of the three.

  She retreated quickly from the breakfast room and collided with the Duke of Oxenden who had just come down the stairs.

  “Oh, Toby, may I have a word with you in private?”

  “Certainly. I gather from the look on your face that you have just met James Ffoulkes.” Daisy nodded mutely.

  “And I also gather,” he said leading her into the library and neatly sidestepping several buckets and ewers, “that he seemed quite unconcerned about the whole affair?” Again Daisy nodded. “Feel assured he has been in similar circumstances before,” said the Duke. “Now, what is it that you want to see me about?”

  Daisy sat down on a hard chair by the window. The upholstered ones looked too damp. “Please… could you give me my father’s address in France? I think perhaps I might be able to travel soon to see him. I have the money from the sale of The Pines—Miss Jenkins’s house—and also a small amount I have managed to save from my allowance.”

  The Duke sat down at a desk and started scribbling on a blotter with his back to her. What on earth could he say! He realized he had scribbled “ffinish Ffoulkes” over and over again and hurriedly scored it out.