Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance, page 15
“I warned De Chesnay that last fence was damned difficult,” said Lord Vallentine over his shoulder. “But the silly fellow had to try and jump it anyway. It’s a small wonder something other than the whalebone in his corset didn’t snap!”
“I seem to recall you only warned the—er—silly fellow as he and animal were in full flight of the attempt. Not the most opportune moment to shout out a warning.”
His lordship’s smile broadened into a grin. “Damned inconsiderate of me, wasn’t it?” He glanced back into the room to discover the Vicomte with his arm about Antonia’s waist. He was holding her to his chest and kissing her on the mouth. Vallentine sucked in air through his clenched teeth and pretended an instant of blindness when the young couple sprang apart and stood red-faced and guilty in the middle of the carpet. “Where’s Duvalier with that bottle of burgundy?” he demanded in a loud voice. “You sure the man ain’t getting on a bit in years to be of use to you, Roxton?” He saw the Vicomte as if for the first time. “Didn’t know you’d come to visit, d’Ambert. How goes the Academy? I hear you’re top of your fencing class.”
The Vicomte mumbled an answer and declined to say more. He was acutely conscious of Roxton’s hard gaze upon him and he brought himself to stand up tall, despite the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The grey whippet still pawed at his leg and refused to be shaken off.
“I came to visit Mademoiselle Moran,” he explained looking straight at Lord Vallentine, his face burning bright with a hot flush. “It has been an age since last we spoke. My father, he is to visit also, in a little while. He has a most important letter for M’sieur le Duc. It is from the Comtesse de Strathsay.”
“How dare you take such a liberty,” hissed the Duke, a sudden constriction in his throat forcing him to swallow hard. He turned his furious gaze upon Antonia, but when she could not bring herself to look up from the riband in her hand he flung his frockcoat over the back of a chair and strode to the writing desk to sort through several cards and invitations awaiting his attention. “Get out, d’Ambert,” he ordered, and with one quick snap of his fingers the two whippets came to heel. “Get out before I whip some manners into you!” And turned away, a gilt-edged invitation crushed in his fist.
The Vicomte took a step forward then thought better of it, an eye on the dogs growling softly at their master’s feet. A bow to Lord Vallentine and a glance at Antonia and he was gone. She looked at his lordship not knowing what to say by way of explanation. The Duke had his back to her. It was straight and stiff and very unapproachable. She glanced at the ball of paper he had thrown on his desk and swallowed.
“I did not ask him to kiss me. I made him angry and he just grabbed me,” she explained to his lordship who smiled encouragingly. “When he gets angry he does strange things and I think he only kissed me because he knew I did not want him to in the least. I should not have made him angry, I know, but he said some horrid things I did not like at all. So I could not let him say them and get away with it could I? You believe me, do you not?” she asked Vallentine in a whisper and added naïvely, “I am glad you interrupted when you did.”
“Never would doubt you, little one,” he said kindly and brushed her cheek. “’bout time, Duvalier. Where did you trot off to for that bottle—Bordeaux? I’m parched, and you, Roxton? On the table there, and another glass for mademoiselle.”
The butler sniffed and bowed, then startled his lordship by smiling at Antonia in a grandfatherly way. “It will take but one moment to fetch mademoiselle a glass.”
“If that don’t beat all!” announced Vallentine, the butler not quite out of earshot. “The old devil just smiled at Antonia, Roxton. Fair smiled at her and you missed it! Wait ’til I tell Estée. Never seen the old sober-sides smile, ever.”
“Do shut up, Vallentine!” The Duke tossed to one side a card he’d been inspecting through his quizzing-glass and propped himself on a corner of the desk. “In half an hour we leave for our drive,” he stated to Antonia, finally meeting her gaze. “I suggest you see to your—your hair. Tie it up.”
“Yes, M’sieur le Duc,” she murmured and hurriedly threaded the crumpled velvet ribbon through her curls. She could not understand why he was angry with her when it was the Vicomte who had taken unwanted liberties. It should have been evident that she was not a willing participant, besides which it had been a very clumsy kiss. “Monseigneur, you cannot think I wanted Étienne to kiss me?”
“We will talk about this later.”
Antonia blinked at him. The heightened color in his cheeks and the hard set of his jaw confused her, as did his continued anger. “No, M’sieur le Duc, we will talk about it now because it is obvious you are angry with me and I do not know why when I explained to you that I—”
“Later,” the Duke enunciated through clenched teeth, a quick glance at Lord Vallentine who had discreetly retreated to inspect a row of leather-bound books on one of the library shelves.
But Antonia stood her ground, clear green eyes never wavering from his tight face. “You think because I am a female who barely reaches your shoulder that I am incapable of defending myself? Had you not interrupted when you did I would have slapped his face for his impertinence, or put my knee into his tender male parts as Maria Casparti showed me is the way to fend off unwanted attentions. How else did M’sieur le Duc think I managed to defend my virtue in a place like Versailles?”
Roxton stared at her for what seemed like minutes. “I did not think about it, Antonia. And for that I am truly sorry,” he answered softly. “Now please fetch your cloak and muff, there is a cool breeze today.”
“Yes, Monseigneur,” she smiled and dropped a quick curtsey before she fled to the door. A glance at Lord Vallentine and she wondered why that gentleman’s jaw was swinging.
His lordship was staring open-mouthed at his friend because he had never heard him be contrite. He had to concede that there were depths to the Duke that he had not known existed, depths that were being brought to the surface by a plain spoken girl who was barely out of the schoolroom.
At the door, Antonia chanced to look back into the room and caught the Duke regarding her steadily. Their eyes met. His were the first to look away. For once she was unable to interpret the emotion in his face and that bothered her, as did the Vicomte’s declarations concerning Salvan having a signed marriage contract from her grandfather and her grandmother’s unconcern for her welfare. But she forced herself to push these fears to the back of her mind. She wanted this day to be special. After all, it was her birthday and she wouldn’t allow the Salvans to spoil this of all days.
The Comte de Salvan bowed low over his cousin Estée’s plump white hand, brushing it with his wet lips. As he straightened he smiled into her fair face and cursed himself for the hundredth time for not taking his mother’s advice. He should have offered for her as soon as she was out of mourning. In the years since the death of her husband he had hinted that it would not be such a bad thing for both families if they were to marry. She had laughed him away and he had joined in her amusement, but was uncertain if she laughed with him or at him. He wondered if he should still make her an offer and if Roxton would be favorable to such a union. He thought not and was not about to try his luck.
Estée rang a small silver hand-bell and to the maid who came at her bidding she ordered the afternoon coffee tray to be brought to her salon. The Comte perched on a dainty chair of gilt and striped silk and flicked out his skirts of stiff gold thread careful not to crush them. He set his walking cane with its polished gold top between his high heeled leather shoes with their enormous tongues and leaned on it in an affected manner.
“It has been an age since last I visited you, Estée,” he said with a quick pleasing glance about the decidedly feminine room. “I must try and visit more often, but you know how it is at court. Again I tell you to come to court where your beauty can be appreciated. And I am selfish. I want someone to gossip with. Someone who understands Salvan. Who better than you, Cousin? We would enjoy ourselves. I would enjoy myself if you would only come to court once in a little while.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed dramatically.
“Not even mon cousin visits Versailles these days. His sexual escapades have always amused. I ask myself: what keeps him in Paris? Thérèse, she tells me on her honor—which in itself is amusing, yes?—that he neglects her! Can you believe it? I would not have believed it possible had I not seen with my own eyes that he does not show himself at her soirée. All Paris wonders at his absence. Poor Thérèse, she was most offended, was she not.” He sniggered and intended to go on but a footman came in with the coffee things and a large plate of the Comte’s favorite gateaux. A compulsive sweet-eater this was enough to divert him from his run of conversation.
“You overwhelm me, Salvan,” said Madame with a smile. “I am flattered you think me needed at court, but I have been away so many years now that my interest wanes more and more. There was a time when I, too, could not go a day without knowing the latest on-dits. And so many sleepless nights did I have worrying about what was being said of me behind my back and by whom. Now, I do not care in the least. It is not important to me. I am happier in Paris.”
“I wish it was so with Salvan,” said the Comte and licked the cream from his lips. “It is a constant worry to me that you do not remarry. You need a man to take care of you. Not as Roxton does; that is a brother’s way. That can hardly satisfy a woman of your beauty. No, a man who can appreciate you. This cake, it is delicious. I must have its recipe. Will you part with it?”
“I will have Jacques write it out for you,” she promised. “Though I warn you he does not like giving away his little secrets. Another slice, Salvan?”
Salvan put out his plate. “What is it about you, Estée, that intrigues me today. Last time that sparkle was not in your so lovely eyes. Ah, you blush! Tell, Salvan. You have a new lover?”
“There is no secret,” she said. “I am betrothed to the Vicomte Vallentine. You are the first in Paris to know. Are you pleased for me? Shall you congratulate your cousin?”
It was only for a matter of a moment that the Comte’s total surprise showed itself in a heavy frown but almost instantly he set aside his dish and threw up his hands. “So sudden,” he said with forced gaiety. “It is a most interesting piece of news. All Paris must be told. It must be shouted from all points. Bon Dieu, but I cannot believe it! And here was Salvan always ready to offer his name and rank to no other, and you, you take another in his place!” He kissed his fingertips. “Just so! I am devastated. But I will rejoice for you. This M’sieur Vallentine is a good sort of man I think. Very handsome and tall and of the English complexion. A most exceptional swordsman. I envy him. I congratulate him too. Tell me your plans. When do you marry? Will you invite Salvan to the festivities?”
“It will be soon. That is all I can tell you. Lucian only spoke to my brother last evening so there is much that still needs to be finalized. We have not discussed where we will live permanently. We will of course have a house here in Paris but mayhap we will spend a good deal of our time in London.”
“London! Parbleu, but that is another world away. You cannot be serious. London? It is not Paris. I must persuade this Vallentine to keep you in Paris. Let him return to London by all means but, Estée, you will wilt in London.”
“It will not be as bad as you think,” she said defensively. “London is Lucian’s home. That is where his family is.”
The Comte was not to be convinced. “Where will you shop? What will you eat? Where will you get a decent chef? It is a horror you cannot imagine, Estée. Love has blinded you. You cannot even speak the Englishman’s barbaric tongue.”
“La! Salvan! You think me going into exile. You forget I am half English. My Papa, he was an Englishman. Lucian assures me all well-bred Englishmen speak our tongue. So, these problems they solve themselves.” Madame poured out more coffee into the Comte’s dish. “And I need not concern myself with these trifles immediately. Lucian is taking me into the Italian States for our honeymoon. He has a cousin with a villa in some quaint little town I cannot remember the name of, but it will be wonderful.”
Salvan shrugged one shoulder in a gesture of finality. He smiled. “I wish you joy. My mother, she will be delighted. For years she has lamented your continued widowhood. And now! What a surprise for her.”
“Thank you, Cousin. I could not face Tante Victoire with the news so soon. She-she does not know Lucian and she loathes all things English with a passion I find incomprehensible.”
“I understand. Salvan, he will arrange it all.” He shifted to sit next to her on the damask covered sofa, his smile no less broad. “It is as well I visited today,” he said in a low voice, “so that arrangements can be made post-haste for the little demoiselle’s future. I will applaud your sensibility in this matter. It is for the best. I know you cannot but agree with me. Everything arranges itself. The last thing you need is to watch over a girl when you have so many preparations of your own to consider. She will only be under your feet.”
“We-we have grown very fond of her,” said Madame quietly. “She is not the least burden to us. In fact I will miss her very much when she leaves to go to her grandmother in England.”
The Comte let fall his gay façade. “She is not going to England,” he stated bluntly. He produced a letter from a flowered waistcoat pocket. “Read this. It is of enormous interest. It is from the girl’s grandmother.” He smiled to himself when Estée snatched the papers from his hand and he sat back and watched her scan the lines of scrawl, enjoying her look of growing outrage and discomfort with an expression of sympathetic superiority.
“As you see, the Comtesse is happy indeed to have the child placed in the care of my mother until my son’s wedding,” he said. “A double nuptial for the Salvans! Madame Strathsay, she wants what is best for the child. And what is best for the child is to be married to my son without delay. Are you not pleased for us? And the little demoiselle, she is done a great honor to be chosen to be my son’s bride. Her grandmother recognizes this fact and wishes the union joy.”
All Estée’s usual buoyancy drained from her. She did not know why she should feel a sudden dread at the prospect of Antonia’s marriage to the Vicomte d’Ambert because she had been in favor of the match from the beginning. Perhaps it was her own recent betrothal that had put everything into perspective and she could more readily see Vallentine’s point of view. Besides it was basic female intuition that told her to be wary of her cousin the Comte and his motives and she would trust in this instinct before anything else.
“I am not at all convinced the girl is well enough to leave the hôtel so soon,” she said, grabbing at straws. “Mayhap in a couple of weeks…”
“Oh no, dearest cousin,” stated Salvan with a sweet smile and pocketed the letter. There was a flat note of anger in the nasal voice which put Estée on the alert. “The girl has had ample time to recover under this roof. Tomorrow I will come to collect what is mine.” He placed his hand over hers and squeezed. “Think, Estée. The child cannot possibly remain here once you are married. One shudders at the thought of her here, without you, without a proper chaperone, and with only mon cousin in residence.”
Madame withdrew her hand. “Roxton looks on Antonia as one would one’s own child, as a father would a daughter. I will not allow you to make anything more of the situation. It is ridiculous that you should do so to me, his sister.”
“No? You know your brother better than I,” said the Comte and took snuff. “You do not believe the past dozen or more years attest to a reputation most disreputable? What is one pretty female compared to another? They all serve to satisfy an enormous appetite. Is he not au fai in such matters?”
“Antonia is different. She does not play the coquette with him and he—he has become very protective of her.”
“I do not believe you can be so easily duped by his many techniques of seduction?” said the Comte incredulously. “I admire his ingenuity in orchestrating these little affairs of the heart. Such resourcefulness! Not even that consummate player of such games, the Duc de Richelieu, could think up a more complete way to capture the heart of a young and impressionable girl.”
Estée brought herself to sit up tall and she glared at the Comte de Salvan with large blue eyes full of alarm. “What are you suggesting, Salvan?”
“You have not heard the latest rumor concerning your brother?” asked the Comte affecting surprise. “Me, I do not know if I believe the whole. But there are those who do, a great many who do. They applaud M’sieur le Duc his tactics on the one hand, and on the other?” He shrugged. “They deplore such vulgar use of an innocent. I say the girl’s injury was an accident. Not even he would dare stoop so low. No. That is too much even for Salvan to believe. He hired one too many scum. That two died is no matter. We are well rid of them. The one who shot at the carriage, he disappeared, and mayhap he feared he was the next for the bullet? Roxton will find him, have no fear of that. To shoot your accomplices dead is very ingenious. There can be no tales. Then who can say it was anything but truly a hold-up on the Versailles road?”
“That is what happened,” Madame declared angrily. “These highwaymen they are everywhere. We are not safe, our carriages are never safe from attack. It is a daily occurrence. I do not understand at all what you are implying. What is this rumor?”
“Do not alarm yourself, my dearest cousin,” soothed the Comte. “As I said, me, I do not believe it. But if for one moment let us pretend we do believe it. Why! M’sieur le Duc your brother is a genius. He spirits away the little demoiselle to Paris where she will be safe from unwanted attentions. And then? They are held up by these men who call themselves highwaymen. M’sieur le Duc is very brave and mur—kills two of them who dare to offend his person and his property. The little demoiselle, she is hurt. An unfortunate circumstance he did not account for, but she will recover. So! What has mon cousin achieved? He has the girl and her total devotion for his daring deeds. He must wait out her recovery but what is that to him? He has the prize! His plan worked, and my son’s life it is made miserable! I tell you, Estée, what am I to do to restore my—my son’s happiness?”
