Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance, page 17
“Acted, m’sieur?”
“Yes. Not very gentlemanly of him to force his damned attentions on the girl—”
“What!” gasped the Comte. “He told me nothing of this. What did he do, Roxton?”
“It don’t bear repeatin’,” said Lord Vallentine as he guided the little man to the door. “Just be glad Roxton had the presence of mind to forgive the lad his forwardness. Now, if he’d been in my house, well, I’d not have let him off so damned lightly. But let’s not discuss it. We want our dinner and you’ll be wanting yours. It’ll be a long affair so you needn’t be on the doorstep too soon. I’m sure you understand the situation—”
“Understand?” the Comte scoffed. “I only concede because Roxton, he is mon cousin. It is a family matter and so I am a gentleman. As a man I recognize the power of the little demoiselle’s attractions. So, I let him have his last supper!” He laughed at his own wit and allowed himself to be guided down the sweeping stairs to the foyer. “A last supper, eh, Vallentine?”
“I heard and it ain’t humorous.”
Lord Vallentine pulled the Comte by his great cuff out of earshot of the porter and an attending footman. “Now listen to me, Salvan,” he said quietly. “If I had my way you’d not get a greasy paw on that girl. But it ain’t my affair, so I don’t draw my blade and teach you the lesson you deserve for preying on the likes of innocents. And one other thing I’d like you to remember next time you feel free and easy ’bout spouting my friend’s intentions about the place: You’ve got it all wrong about Roxton. I’ll tell you this and you won’t repeat it because you’re a sensible man, and I’ll run you through if I hear one whisper of it: the Duke’s only got the girl’s best interests at heart, nothin’ more or less. He ain’t goin’ to seduce her, he merely seeks to protect her.”
“Malheur! A man such as mon cousin not want to seduce a pretty female?” exclaimed the Comte with a swagger to his gait. “With his reputation? That I do not believe! I laugh at the very idea!”
“Remember, one word and I’ll run you through.”
The Comte de Salvan affected a wounded look. He permitted a footman to shrug him into his roquelaure and another to open the door to his sedan-chair. “Why would I repeat what you have told me because no one would believe me should I say a word. And I will forgive you your great rudeness in threatening me because, although you are a barbarian, you are to marry Estée. It is for her sake I will not be offended. That you are to marry her causes me great sadness. It wounds me but I shall live. You think Salvan cares nothing for what is in the child’s best interests. You are wrong, my friend. Mademoiselle will be well cared for once she is my daughter-in-law. My son, I shall see to it, will make her happy. All will be respectable. I give you my word.”
Lord Vallentine watched the Comte assisted into his sedan-chair and be carried away. He dragged himself up the stairs to change for dinner. He had no faith whatsoever in the Comte’s assurances.
When the Duke escorted Antonia through to the vast dining room she found Madame and Lord Vallentine already standing behind their respective chairs. The long mahogany table had had two leaves removed to make the meal a more intimate affair. It was set with the best Dresden china and gold plate. Both crystal chandeliers were polished to dazzling brilliance and blazed with light. On the polished table crystal bowls brimming with freshly cut flowers mingled with dome-covered silver dishes of various shapes and sizes. Duvalier and four liveried footmen stood by the sideboard in attendance and awaited the Duke’s pleasure.
Antonia hesitated. “Why is Madame not at her usual place at the foot of the table?” she asked.
“Tonight you are to sit there,” answered Estée with a bright smile.
Antonia looked to the Duke for confirmation and when he nodded she went to her place, a footman quick to draw out her chair. “You’ve put the best service out tonight and there are—Eh bien!” She saw the wrapped packages tied up with ribbons and her eyes widened. “I thought you had—I didn’t expect you would know—” She glanced up at the others who had sat down and gave an embarrassed laugh. “You knew it was my birthday all along!”
“Well, sit down and open your gifts,” demanded his lordship. “Mine’s the one with the big red bow.”
Antonia obediently spread out her petticoats and sat down, her embarrassment disappearing at the prospect of opening her gifts. She held up a long flat box tied up with red ribbon and shook it. “There is nothing in this one.”
“Hey!” demanded Vallentine. “Have a care!”
She laughed and put the parcel back on the table. “Mayhap I will unwrap that one last.” When Vallentine frowned she untied the red bow with a tug. “No, I will unwrap M’sieur le Duc’s gifts last and yours first, Vallentine.” Inside the parcel was a delicate fan of painted chicken-skin, the sticks of silver, and with a pearl and silver-thread tassel. “It is very beautiful, Vallentine, thank you. I have never had a fan of such—quality and—taste.” She opened it with an expert flick of the wrist and fluttered it playfully as she had seen many a lady do at court. “This is how I shall use my lord’s fan when I go to Operas and balls. I hold it just like a great lady, do I not, Monseigneur?”
“Just so, mignonne.”
Vallentine laughed. “A great lady, eh? You’ll be that and much more one day, chit! Open Estée’s gift. I’m anxious.”
Antonia put aside the fan and picked up a rather large soft package and felt its contents cautiously. “What can this be? Do you wish to hazard a guess, Vallentine?”
“Not necessary. I know what’s in that one. Open it.”
“You are extremely anxious, is he not, M’sieur le Duc? Mayhap I will open the rest of my gifts after we dine.”
“If you wish.”
“Don’t encourage her, Roxton,” snapped Vallentine. “You’re goading me, minx! I want you to hurry with Estée’s gift so we can see what Roxton has for you. He’s been damned secretive, I can tell you. Haven’t been able to prize it out of him.”
“Thank you so much, Lucian,” sulked Estée, feigning hurt feelings.
“Damme! I didn’t mean anything by it,” apologized Vallentine. “It’s just—well aren’t you curious to know what your brother got the chit?”
The ladies laughed at him and he grumbled something about a female conspiracy and fell silent.
Madame de Montbrail had given Antonia a pair of lavender kid gloves and a ball mask of peacock feathers. She tried on her new gloves and held the mask up by its painted handle and cooed with delight.
“This is a proper mask. Thank you, Madame. Do you think Grandmother Strathsay might hold a masked ball in my honor, M’sieur le Duc?”
“Undoubtedly, once she has seen your mask. How could she refuse you?”
“I have never had such a delightful birthday as this!”
“There are two more parcels to unwrap,” Vallentine reminded her as casually as he could manage.
Antonia dutifully put away the mask and new gloves and gave her full attention to the remaining gifts. Each was wrapped in silver tissue and tied up with black ribbons. She chose the larger of the two. “It is a book.”
“How d’you know that?” asked Vallentine. “It ain’t unwrapped yet.”
It was a book, a slim volume of poetry, and she opened the cover and found the Duke had inscribed it for her. Before Madame could ask to see it she covered it in tissue paper and set it aside.
“I hope it is a fit and proper book for the girl,” Madame said primly.
“Would I give her any other kind, Estée?” answered her brother and sipped at the claret in his crystal glass.
With the last gift Antonia was very deliberate. When she had finally removed the outer wrappings she held in her hand a long slim case covered in black velvet. She did not immediately open it but set it before her and stared at it with knitted brows.
“For pity’s sake, Antonia!” pleaded Lord Vallentine, all self-control lost. “I can’t bear this procrastination a minute longer. The damned thing can’t open itself!”
She grabbed up the case and hastily prized it open with a laugh. What she saw inside made her instantly snap shut the lid and push it from her. She looked up at the Duke and found it very difficult to speak.
“M’sieur le Duc, are—are you sure this is for me?”
Roxton’s dark eyes held hers and he smiled thinly. “To match your eyes, mignonne.”
“I’ve had enough of this!” declared Vallentine and leapt out of his chair to snatch up the case.
“No!” commanded Antonia and ran with the case down the length of the table. She held it out to the Duke with a shy smile. “You will put it on me please?”
He put down his glass and beckoned her closer. “Turn about and stand still,” he ordered softly. “And be good enough to hold that unruly mop of curls off your neck.”
From the velvet case the Duke produced the most exquisite emerald and diamond choker Estée had ever set eyes on; each emerald the size of her brother’s smallest fingernail and divided one from the other by a sparkling diamond. She stared open-mouthed as he slipped the heavy string about Antonia’s throat and deftly twisted the diamond clasp into place. The precious stones were indeed the color of the girl’s eyes.
Antonia felt for the jeweled collar and fingered it gently. “I cannot see it. I must—find a looking glass,” she murmured and fled the room.
Lord Vallentine was as struck dumb as Estée and they stared at one another across the table with wide eyes and parted lips.
The Duke signaled for Duvalier to start serving dinner, saying over his shoulder, “No claret for Mademoiselle Moran. Barbados will suffice.”
“I should have guessed!” his sister said with a brittle laugh, finally overcoming her amazement. “When I suggested you give the girl a collar I didn’t mean for you to take me literally.”
“But how perceptive your jest, my dear,” answered Roxton. He held up his quizzing-glass to the dish of prepared oysters being offered him and waved them aside. “I can only guess by the swing of your jaw, Vallentine, that you wish to say something to me?”
“I want to know what you’ve got planned for Antonia,” he said. “It’s been worrying me for weeks.”
“Planned? I never make plans.”
“Don’t be damned difficult! This is serious. Salvan’s got a letter from Lady Strathsay saying she don’t care a whit if the girl is married off to that demented boy or not!”
“I know, my dear,” said the Duke. “Calm yourself. I suggest we not mention this—er—distasteful topic this evening. Allow Antonia a pleasant birthday party at least.”
“I’ll not argue with that,” agreed Vallentine. “What I’m worried about is her birthdays to come.”
“Roxton,” said Estée putting down silver knife and fork, “you must know she has put great store in your ability to protect her from the Salvans and their intentions. If you break her heart I’ll never forgive you!”
The Duke regarded his sister with a bland expression. “Then let me alleviate some of your fears by telling you that our dear cousin will be unexpectedly recalled to Court tonight by Sa Majesté and unavoidably detained there for the next seven days.”
“You did that?” asked Vallentine and grinned when his friend inclined his head. “I don’t know how you managed it, but I’m just damned glad you did!”
The Duke sipped from his glass with a small smile of satisfaction. “As master of the bedchamber my dear friend Richelieu is very close to his royal master. I merely called in a favor.”
“I am very pleased to hear it,” his sister said with a smile of relief, yet she was not satisfied. “But seven days or seven weeks, Salvan he will return for the little one as soon as may be. There must have been something more you could have contrived to ensure our cousin cannot come back at all!”
“Now, listen, love, your brother has managed this much,” lectured his lordship when the Duke merely rolled his eyes to the ceiling but said nothing. “Have a little more faith, for I’m sure he’s got more up his sleeve that he ain’t tellin’ us just yet.”
Madame opened her painted mouth, not at all satisfied with this response, yet quickly shut it again when his lordship hissed out a warning, a nod to the doorway.
Antonia had come back into the dining room and went quietly to her place. She drank from her glass without looking up. It was obvious to the three diners she had been crying so they politely ignored her and carried on a conversation as if nothing untoward had occurred. The Duke was prompted by his lordship to recount an amusing incident that had happened while he was on a hunt in the forests surrounding Fontainebleau. A boast by Lord Vallentine as to his outstanding horsemanship made Antonia look up from her plate with a mischievous grin.
“Don’t believe me, aye?” asked his lordship, fork in mid-air.
“Lucian is a master in the saddle,” Madame said with pride.
“Can jump fence for fence with Roxton here. Never met a fence yet I can’t get horseflesh to jump over, one way or t’other.” When Antonia still looked skeptical Vallentine added indignantly: “Ain’t you going to ask the Duke if I’m telling the truth? You’ll believe him, I know it.”
To spite him Antonia gave the Duke a questioning look.
Roxton smiled at her imperious treatment of his friend. “You must not treat Vallentine so poorly, mignonne. He deserves most of what you care to dish up at him but not upon this occasion.”
“He is as good as you in the saddle?” she asked incredulously.
Estée laughed and shook her black curls. “My darling girl, you think M’sieur le Duc is the best at everything?”
“Why, yes, Madame, I do,” she answered simply. “Oh, except with a blade, because everyone knows Vallentine is the greatest swordsman in France.”
“An honorable mention!” Vallentine cried out. “Don’t flatter me. I’ll learn to like it!”
“But Monseigneur is the more elegant in form and wrist,” Antonia added seriously, which caused his lordship to roll his eyes and groan.
“Good God!” he said dramatically and clapped a hand to his forehead. “In all your days have you ever heard the like of her? She thinks Roxton here is a damned paragon of male virtues.”
Antonia tilted her little nose at him. “You are merely jealous.”
Estée and Vallentine laughed, his lordship adding in a paternal voice at odds with the twinkle in his blue eyes, “If it wasn’t your birthday, my girl, I’d argue it out with you. But I’ll relent just for today.”
“One hopes that will allow m’sieur sufficient time to reflect on the folly of his words,” said Antonia with a practiced sigh. “Tomorrow you will see that I am right.”
“You cannot win, Lucian!” Madame giggled.
Lord Vallentine blustered for a response but finding none suitable leaned toward the Duke. “You listening to this, Roxton? Mademoiselle Fire-eater tries to convince us you’re a damned paragon of all the male virtues! Been a lot of things in your time, my friend, but a shinin’ example you ain’t.”
The Duke was staring fixedly at the contents of his glass, a heightened color to his lean cheeks. He gave no response and went back to eating what remained on his plate. His friend glanced at Estée to find her as puzzled as he. It was just possible the Duke was embarrassed. A month back Vallentine would not have thought the man capable of such self-effacement. He sat back and picked his teeth with his gold toothpick, an observant eye on the Duke, and with a mental grin as wide as the Seine.
It was Estée who suggested they have coffee and brandy in the adjoining drawing room but Antonia wanted to go to the library. It was a break with tradition but the Duke permitted her to have her way. They sat down to a game of whist until Antonia drew the Duke away to play at reversi and then at backgammon. Lord Vallentine and his betrothed settled on a sofa near the players, but far enough away so as not to be overheard. It was not a very long time before their intimate conversation returned to the couple seated across the room.
“Look at them, Lucian,” Estée said stirring her black coffee in an absent manner, gaze on the emerald and diamond choker. “I do not know what is to be done for her. I am very worried. I think she has fallen in love with my brother but is too young to know it. How can she at her age? And the Duke? He spends too much time with her, playing at their silly board games, encouraging her waywardness, and lavishing expensive trinkets on her. Is it a wonder her head is turned? It is wrong of him to encourage her. Where can it lead but to heartbreak. He is too old for her.”
“Remember your first marriage to Jean-Claude?” said Lord Vallentine patiently. “You were younger than Antonia, I’ll swear, when you married him. He must’ve been twice your age, too! And you were happy, weren’t you?”
“That was different.”
“Different in what way?”
“It was an arranged marriage,” argued Estée. “Arranged by my mother and my uncle Salvan, and approved by my brother. At first I did not like the idea at all. I cried all the way through the ceremony. But they knew what was in my best interests and yes, Jean-Claude made me very happy.”
“And he was twice your age.”
“It is ridiculous of you to compare Jean-Claude with my brother! Jean-Claude, he was a widower and knew how to treat a female as a wife. Besides, he could never be branded a libertine. Do you think my mother would have approved such a man for her daughter had he my brother’s reputation?”
Lord Vallentine nodded despondently. “You’re right, of course. There’s not a mamma in Paris, or London for that matter, who’d care to have her daughter wedded to a nobleman with Roxton’s reputation. Still, there ain’t a law that says a man can’t live just as he pleases.”
Estée wasn’t listening. She sighed and said, “I am worried, so worried, Lucian. You heard Salvan. He has a letter from Antonia’s grandmother. Not even she wants the girl. She leaves her to the wolves. I have always despised Augusta and this only makes me detest her all the more. And there is this marriage contract that only requires her grandfather’s signature…”
“I’ll wager your brother has worked out some plan to get the girl out of this fix. Didn’t he say at table he knew about Augusta Strathsay’s letter? If he knows that much then he’s worked somethin’ out.”
