Satyr’s Son: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Family Saga Book 5)

by Brant, Lucinda

  “Yes. Yes, he was,” Antonia agreed quietly. “And you said it very well, mon fils chéri. He was more honorable and noble than many of those born to it by blood. You do not have to look further than our own relatives to find those of noble blood who have not lived up to their potential: My uncle, the grandson of a king, was a scoundrel.”

  Roxton looked at his brother. “And this girl—this Miss Crisp… What is she to you, Harry?”

  Henri-Antoine did not hesitate in his response. “Lisa is priceless.”

  There was a stunned silence until the Duke found his voice.

  “And you, Maman? What is your opinion of this g—of Miss Crisp?”

  “Oh? Is someone finally asking me what I think?” Antonia teased, a wink at Henri-Antoine, though the Duke continued to look uncomfortable and anxious. “If my son says she is priceless, then I believe it. So,” she added, looking from one son to the other, “what is to be done with Mlle Crisp?”

  ~ ~ ~

  JONATHON, Duke of Kinross, stuck his cheroot in the side of his mouth and scooped up the discarded fichu from the terrace tiles. He gave it a little shake and inspected it a moment, orientating it to its purpose, and then he smiled at Lisa and held it up, saying jovially,

  “Let’s tie this back on you and then we can have a little talk.”

  With her arms crossed over her low bodice, Lisa stared up at him. Here was Elsie’s papa, and at the wedding breakfast, when she had been seated beside Elsie, also at her end of the table were the Duke and Duchess of Kinross. She had witnessed how father and daughter adored one another, as did the Duke and Duchess. And for her to be seated in their company was an honor indeed. Though she was thankful she had Elsie to talk to, because she felt out of her depth in such exalted circles. Her de Crespigny cousins would definitely be envious, and possibly not believe her. Then again, there wasn’t much she could tell them that they would believe about her stay. And this latest episode—Lord Westby’s attempted seduction—made her feel foolish and embarrassed. So much so that she burst into tears of relief when Kinross placed a comforting arm about her and patted her shoulder.

  “I’d cry, too, if an oaf like Westby had pawed me! Drunken dolt! Come. Let me arrange your fichu. I’m rather an expert in female attire, particularly those outfits belonging to Mademoiselle Yvette and Signorina Simonetta. Elsie can attest I’m the best personal maid those two have. That’s better! You should laugh. You’d laugh even harder if you saw Elsie and her papa having afternoon tea and chattering away with her two dolls in French or Italian or both!”

  “I would enjoy such an afternoon tea, Your Grace,” Lisa assured him with a watery sniff.

  She let him arrange the fichu about her shoulders and turn her this way and that, and finally, when he had tied the bow to his satisfaction she thanked him and would have said more, but he stepped away and disappeared back into the shadows, alerted by a series of moans and muttered threats. And when she heard another yelp, followed by pleas and assurances, she could hardly believe her ears, least of all her eyes, when Lord Westby stumbled out of the darkness and crossed in front of the windows, a silhouette of a man crouched over with a hand to his ear.

  Kinross returned to Lisa, puffing on his cheroot and then exhaling smoke up into the night sky.

  “He’ll not be bothering you or Harry again. That nasty hole to his ear will be a nice reminder. Me threatening to geld him if he ever came near you again was the decider.”

  Lisa’s eyes opened wide. “You burned him with the end of your cheroot?”

  “I branded him with a good behavior mark. He’ll look at it and he’ll behave.”

  Lisa gasped and then giggled.

  Kinross grinned. “That’s better. You have a lovely laugh and it suits you. Are you feeling up to having that little talk?”

  Lisa nodded. “I’m feeling very much better, Your Grace. So yes. Though…” She looked over at the open French doors. “I had expected His Lordship to have returned by now… He went to fetch refreshment. I wonder what has detained him—or who…”

  “Who” was right. Kinross knew. Before his attention was diverted by Westby coming out onto the terrace and bothering Lisa, he had been watching Henri-Antoine through the windows. Saw his brother, and then Antonia sweep up to her sons, before all three disappeared from view. He did not need an imagination to know what was being discussed—this girl standing before him. But he pretended ignorance, his smile just as friendly as before.

  “Possibly detained by some fellow or other wanting a word. You know how it is at these types of functions—Come to think on it, you wouldn’t know… Lucky you! But trust me. So many people want to bleat in m’ear about something.” He lifted his cheroot. “Which is why I come out here. I gave these things up years ago, so don’t tell my wife.”

  Lisa cocked her head. “Somehow I suspect Mme la Duchesse is aware of your ploy, and your habits, Your Grace.”

  “Ha! I knew you had a good brain the first time I saw you. It’s written all over your face, and you have intelligent eyes, just like my wife. Besides, Elsie has taken a shine to you. My daughter may only be eight-and-a-half years old, but she has an old head on her shoulders. Far too grave for a little person, but later that will stand her in good stead, as it has you. Particularly…” His smile turned sentimental. “Particularly when it comes to choosing a mate.”

  Lisa’s smile dropped and so did her gaze. She was thankful they were standing by the balustrade and not by a wall sconce or taper and thus in a blaze of candlelight, for she was sure her face had flushed with color.

  “The thing about being loved by an intelligent woman,” Kinross continued smoothly as if he were blind to Lisa’s sudden awkwardness, “is that I know my wife loves me—for me. She fell in love with a plain-speaking, no-nonsense, bull-headed fellow who doesn’t suffer fools, and sets more store by a man’s courage and loyalty and friendship than he does the type of coronet he’s got stuck on his head. I came late to my ermine, and I don’t mind telling you that being a duke is more trouble than it’s worth. And mine wasn’t worth a groat until I brought to it my merchant fortune.

  “But my wife was a duchess when I met her, and her son’s a duke, and by all accounts the most powerful peer in the realm, who owns half of England. Which means a lot to their relatives and friends, and the many people who surround them. So I’ve bought into the family business, if you like. I trot myself out at functions, and play my part. And I let people bow and scrape to my dukedom when it suits me, or when I must. But I never lose sight of who I am, and neither does my wife.”

  Lisa wondered where he was taking this homily, and could have kicked herself for not realizing at his mention of a mate that his story was leading straight to Henri-Antoine. But she had forgotten her own predicament, fascinated by his story. So when he eventually mentioned Henri-Antoine in the same breath, she should not have been surprised, but she was, and again she felt herself blush. But this time she did not look away.

  “And as you’re an intelligent girl, you won’t take this the wrong way or be missish when I tell you that when we are alone together we are simply Jonathon and Antonia, a man and a woman who love and respect each other and are the best of friends. The ermines and the titles and ancient lineages only mean something on public occasions, and that’s where they belong, and where the earwigs and foot-lickers swarm like flies to carrion, feasting on our self-consequence. What’s important as a couple is that you live as if those trappings don’t exist; that you live honestly, and without the prejudice of family interference and expectation. Do you understand, m’dear?”

  “I think that I do, though for me—”

  “What am I saying? Of course you understand!” he declared, deliberately interrupting her because he had more to say, and because he was aware time was short. Henri-Antoine would return at any moment. He drew back on his cheroot and exhaled away from her. “Which brings me to the family I married into. I can tell you—I’m certain you’ll understand because you’re not one o
f them—it’s not easy being part of this lot. You think I’m being flippant. After all I’m a duke. But my wife’s first husband was the venerated fifth Duke—You’ve heard of him?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I have. My aunt was Mme la Duchesse’s personal maid for many years—”

  “That’s right! Gabrielle! How could I forget that?! Wonderful woman. Couldn’t have done without her at Elsie’s birth. And she was there for the birth of the two boys, too.” He smiled slyly. “I’ll wager she has a story or ten about her time here—”

  “Stories, yes. But nothing inappropriate or any confidences broken. She is—has always been—most circumspect with her storytelling. And she guards her memories.”

  Kinross nodded as if this was a given, and returned to his line of thought. “The fifth Duke was very much his own man, Miss Crisp. And so am I. People take me as they find me, or not at all. And that pleases my wife, and the family know where I stand.”

  “I see that you are. And Mme la Duchesse would not have fallen in love with you and married you otherwise. I dare say she would also have been most disappointed had you changed just to please her or her family.”

  “Precisely! And that brings me to my step-son Henri-Antoine, though except for his mother, we all call him Harry. He’s-he’s—complicated,” Kinross mused, gaze seemingly on his cheroot, but with a heightened awareness of Lisa and her reactions. “He not only looks like his father, but his mother tells me he has his temperament too. He’s not one of these fellows who trumpets his feelings about, or easily shows his emotion, even with family. His illness has left him self-absorbed. And I guess with good reason. It’s a hell of a disadvantage to live with, not knowing from one day to the next if you’ll be struck down with a seizure. Though we—his mother and I—suspect this last episode was of his own making—”

  “Your Grace, I—”

  “—and said more about his emotional state than it did his health. But apart from his aloofness with his fellows, and oft being inscrutable he is also—”

  “—kind, generous, caring, shy, intensely private, and-and—loving,” Lisa stated, and having had the courage to speak her mind she added for good measure, “And I-I am in love with him.”

  “Yes, I rather thought that was the way of things.”

  She bravely looked up at him with a wan smile. “I’m afraid I have allowed my heart to rule this old head of mine…”

  “May I offer you a piece of advice? It’s what I’ve been wanting to say to you from the beginning.”

  “I welcome any advice you care to offer, Your Grace.”

  “Be yourself. Always. Don’t second-guess. He either loves you as you are, or not at all. And I am confident he does love you, Miss Crisp. No man dances with a woman the way Harry danced with you just now and not be in love! That you love one another is evident. And that’s all that matters. Not his family. Not his mother. Most certainly not his brother. And the rest of it—ancient ancestors, this pile of stone, the relatives, society—it’s irrelevant when all is said and done, ain’t it?”

  “To me and how I feel about him, most definitely. But what about my humble circumstances? I see no shame in being poor. It is not something I can alter about myself, other than do my best to find useful employment and try not to be a burden on my family. But I have no family connections, certainly no ancestors worth mentioning, and if we ever did have a pile of stone, there certainly wasn’t enough of it to build anything useful. I wonder if that is irrelevant to him…?”

  “Ha! I made my fortune on the subcontinent, and all I had when I started out was self-belief, a willingness to work hard, and a good business brain. Some things can’t be measured in pounds and pence, or by examining a parchment to see what branch you sit on in the family tree. It is often intangibles that mean the most—they do to me. Things such as honor, integrity, intelligence, love, kindness, faithfulness, generosity, loyalty, I could go on. But I think I’ve put my case well enough, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. And thank you.”

  He smiled and patted her shoulder, and at the sound of voices, straightened and stubbed his cheroot on the sole of his shoe. “Just you remember when the time comes what I said about being yourself.”

  And as he went off across the terrace to return to the ballroom, Lisa wondered what he meant by “when the time comes,” but she certainly remembered his words, and they were to be a comfort and a strength when she needed them most. For now, Teddy and Jack had escaped their guests to join her on the terrace, and Henri-Antoine was a few steps behind them, and at his back a footman carrying a tray of drinks.

  “Here you are!” Teddy announced, rushing up to Lisa in a whirlwind of silk petticoats and smiles. She gave Lisa a hug. “We were looking for you inside everywhere, were we not, Sir John?”

  “Everywhere. Didn’t think to look out here,” Jack admitted. “Until Harry told us where you were. At least you had Kinross to keep you company.” He frowned. “Thought I saw Seb slip out here, but Uncle Charles and I were deep in conversation about his plans once he gets to these new United States of America, so I couldn’t get away. Must have been mistaken…”

  Henri-Antoine distributed glasses of champagne, and held his up, a wink at Lisa.

  “Before I toast the newylweds, I first must implore your forgiveness for my asinine behavior at the cricket match, the results of which are still starkly evident—”

  “No, Harry. No! Not tonight,” Jack said firmly. “All’s forgiven and forgotten. To point out fact, I’d forgotten all about it until Lady Fittleworth asked how I’d come by my purple eye.”

  “I was very helpful and said he’d run into a door,” Teddy told them with a grin.

  “A door! Might as well have said I’d stuck myself in the eye with my viola bow!”

  Everyone laughed, except Jack.

  Teddy kissed her husband’s cheek. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time. I’ve sworn off hitting best friends.”

  “So have I, Jack. Never again.” Henri-Antoine raised his glass. “To Sir John and Lady Cavendish. Wishing you a long life, a happy marriage, and infants aplenty. The best friends this best friend could have.”

  The other three raised their glasses in reply and sipped.

  “Thank you, Harry. And I should like to toast my best friend,” Teddy said, raising her glass again and smiling at Lisa. “To Lisa Crisp. The best friend a girl could possibly have. I am so happy you are in my—our—lives.”

  They all sipped again.

  “But you’re not coming to live with us, are you?” Teddy added wistfully, gaze still on Lisa.

  Lisa teared up and shook her head. “No, dearest. I am not. But—but I do hope you will allow me to visit you—both of you—”

  “Most definitely! Whatever the circumstances,” Jack stated emphatically, not a glance at Henri-Antoine. “Would never turn you away. Always welcome. Always. Isn’t that so, Theodora?”

  “Yes. Whatever the circumstances,” Teddy replied forlornly, giving Lisa’s arm a squeeze. “Always…”

  As she, too, avoided looking at Henri-Antoine, Lisa wondered if Jack had confided in his bride, and precisely what it was he had said to her. It did not bode well that Teddy was regarding her as if she were about to be sentenced to hanging, or her neck was for the chopping block. There followed a moment’s awkward silence between the four, until Henri-Antoine coughed into his fist again and said quietly,

  “This is your day, Teddy—Jack—so I do not wish to say anything further tonight. But tomorrow… Tomorrow I hope to have something to tell you both.”

  “We’ll still be here tomorrow, won’t we, Sir John?” Teddy replied, suddenly bright and eager again. “We aren’t departing for Bath until the day after tomorrow. We have all day tomorrow.”

  Jack looked at Lisa and then at Henri-Antoine and noted they were going out of their way not to look at each other. “Yes. That’s right. All day tomorrow, and night. We’ll be here tomorrow night, t
oo. And when we leave the day after tomorrow, it won’t be until mid-morning. So plenty of time…”

  Teddy and Jack hoped that Henri-Antoine’s announcement was what they were both secretly wishing for and wanted to hear but had not voiced out loud for fear it might not come true. Lisa had no idea what that announcement could be. When Henri-Antoine enlightened her some hours later, she was speechless. It was not the reaction he had hoped for. He was left mystified. She was left miserable.

  TWENTY-SIX

  NOT LONG AFTER the toasts on the terrace, Henri-Antoine dismissed his lads for the rest of the evening, and taking Lisa by the hand, slipped away from the ball, to his apartment. He took her through a labyrinth of passageways, ill-lit back stairs, and rooms that seemed to go on forever. Most rooms had some form of lighting, or a fire in the grate, and if there wasn’t either, there was always a manservant or a maid just around a corner, going about their duties, and who could offer His Lordship whatever he required. At one stage she asked, “Are we still in the same house or have we trespassed onto another’s property? This place goes on forever!”

  “If you do not know your way around, it does. I am taking the shortest route possible.”

  “So your apartment is closer to Paris than it is to London?”

  “You may well be right. It is as far from everything as I could possibly make it. And it might as well be in France. It is staffed with my servants. I bring them down with me from the London house, even my cook.”

  “Of course you do,” Lisa muttered and tried to quell her surprise. “Who else is to cook for you in your own kitchen, if not your own cook—”

  “Precisely, and—” He frowned and flushed. “Is that your tongue I see planted in your cheek, Miss Crisp?”

  “A trick of the light, my lord.”

  He said nothing further, though he gave her a sidelong glance so she knew he had noted her playful impudence, and then she made him stop again as they were about to pass through one room in particular that made her wonder if they had stumbled upon a smuggler’s horde. The room glittered with gilding and gold metal thread in the furniture tapestries. One wall was covered floor to ceiling in the largest mirrors Lisa had ever seen. But it was what was reflected in the candlelight, as Henri-Antoine walked about with his taper, that opened wide Lisa’s eyes: A treasure trove of trinkets, boxes, statues, paintings, furniture, fixtures, and oddments, all piled up and in a jumble, as if these items had been ransacked, not only from other houses, but previous centuries.