Danse de la Folie (20 page)

Lady Chadwick had a fondness for this cousin-by-marriage,
who was only ten years younger than she was. His being unmarried made her feel
young again. She kept him by her side for a few minutes as the dance wound to
its end, then said, “Go and dance with my daughter and my guest, and give them
éclat.”

“I scarcely think either of them need it,” he rejoined with
a smile and a bow, but he politely obeyed.

Kitty had not been aware of the newcomer. She only saw the
crowd of Amelia’s swains part in a little disorder, through which walked Mr.
Devereaux with Amelia on his arm.

They took up their places at the head of the next line.
Amelia had calmed a little, as if she were on her best behavior, her uncertain
glances at her partner amusing Kitty very much. Kitty could almost imagine the
thoughts going through Amelia’s head—oh no, the man who hates women—Clarissa’s
cousin—oh, was her hair tumbling down? For you can be certain that Mr.
Devereaux was not flushed from the heat, and his shirt points were not limp.

“My dance, I believe, Lady Catherine?”

Kitty turned, and found her next partner waiting with a
quizzical expression on his face. Her cheeks burned as she begged his pardon,
and they took their place in the middle of the line. She was thus in an ideal
position to catch murmurs of conversation—killingly correct on both
parts—between Amelia and her partner, and the observations, given in a manner
that did not permit of discussion, much less agreement, on the part of Lord
Wilburfolde, who had unaccountably risen to dance with Clarissa again.

His occasional puzzled glances toward Mr. Devereaux made
Kitty wonder if he had suspected some kind of attachment between the cousins,
and Kitty mentally gave Lord Wilburfolde credit for his interest, as she gave
him credit for attempting a conversation. Judging from the little she had seen
of his mother, she did not fault him for uttering observations in the
declarative, as if issuing a
fiat
.
She wondered if he had ever dared a question in his life.

If only he did not make Clarissa so unhappy!

She was deep in thought as the dance ended, so much so that
she performed her thanks and her curtsy automatically. Who was next?

“Lady Catherine, would you do me the honor?”

Kitty turned around—and stared wordlessly up into Mr.
Devereaux’s face. Mr. Canby deferred, as this was his second dance; he gave her
a sign and mouthed the words ‘next’, leaving her confronted by the gentleman
she’d hoped never to see again.

“So hesitant, Lady Catherine?’ And in the softest of voices,
“Am I still unforgiven for abducting my sister?”

It was said on impulse, the intent humor, but if he could
have retracted it, he would have. He braced for coy bridling, or the assumption
of moral superiority—any of the arts assumed by young ladies who tried to gain
interest by investing trifling situations with the passions better left to the
stage. He did not blame them—it was what most of them were taught—but he’d
endured so many such scenes.

Kitty, however, was suffused with embarrassment and regret.
She put out her hand automatically, an unconscious gesture almost of appeal,
and said, low-voiced, “Though I am to blame for suggesting it, she did agree
with me. How was I to know it for an untruth?”

“A fair question,” he responded, as the music started up,
and they moved into line. “Yet I still wonder. If I were such a villain, would
it not have been more expedient to have called for the innkeeper to come to
your aid?”

“No, for of course he would be in your pay,” Kitty
responded.

The unexpected answer surprised a laugh out of him.

She gave him a startled glance, and, finding no scorn or
judgment, she said reflectively, “Which would require much advance planning,
would it not? One would have to select the right inn to avoid having to bribe
half the innkeepers in the county. Either that, or know ahead which were
knavish enough to accept bribes, which raises the question... no.” She had gone
unawares into Andromeda’s story, and caught herself up, blushing uncomfortably.

They walked down the dance, and then took their places at
the bottom of the line, whence Mr. Devereaux prompted, “Question, Lady
Catherine?”

Her brow wrinkled in perplexity. This conversation was not
at all like the proper responses she had been so carefully taught by the
dancing master. Nor was it like anything in the romances she had so eagerly
read in order to divine how people got on in Society.

And yet she saw no evidence of satire, or disgust, and so
she said, “Well, it is just that I cannot help but wonder what inspires a
gentleman to wish to abduct an unwilling female, for among other things, would
it not require a vast amount of work? Then there are the disagreeable aspects
of one another’s company, he having to utter a string of threats, and she
responding like a watering-pot. But I must suppose that is one of those mysteries
that delicacy forbid ladies from inquiring further into,” she added hastily.

But he ignored the platitude. “Can it be that successful
abductions require a certain amount of cooperation, perhaps covert, from the
female in question? There is historical precedent, you know.”

“Are you referring to my mother, sir?”

It was the gentleman’s turn to blush, though she did not
utter the question with accusation. “I did not remember the circumstances of
your parents’ marriage, though I was probably told. Forgive me.”

“Oh, but it was quite true. Mother told my brothers that she
arranged everything,” was the surprising answer. “She told them she had historical
precedent in Lady Mary Wortley Montague. My grandmother St. Tarval was used to
offer her as an example of ill behavior, yet my brother once pointed out that Lady
Mary could not have been all evil, for she was the one who brought the smallpox
cure to England. At any rate, I think there may be a disagreement in terms, for
a willing female elopes.” She chanced to glance up, and caught his profile,
which was severe; she did not know him well enough to perceive that he was
schooling himself strictly against laughing out loud.

“But there,” she said in politely colorless accents. “I
suspect that this topic is not proper in the circumstance, and so, if I may
shift it, how does Miss Elizabeth in Bath?”

“She is heartily bored, of course, and quite counts upon her
visit to this household. How do you find London?”

She gave him a properly polite answer, making an effort to
confine herself to the topics—and the language—that the dancing master had
taught them were the most acceptable, and in this way, they came to the end of
the dance.

They parted most correctly. He, having done his duty by his
hostess, went off to dance with a dashing widow newly returned to society after
her mourning period, and she to Mr. Canby, relieved that the man who hated
women had been...
interesting
. She
did not expect to see him ever again, but at least she had the comfort of
knowing that her
faux pas
was not
regarded by him as significant.

Then it was time to go down to supper. James reappeared,
conscientiously offering his arm to Kitty, who was relieved to have his
unexceptional and undemanding company.

Mr. Devereaux bowed to his hostess, and skillfully
disappeared without raising any notice.

o0o

After waking up late the following morning, Kitty descended
to find all four sisters at the breakfast table, but as yet no one else.

On side-tables surrounding them stood vases of flowers of
every imaginable variety. Amelia looked a trifle bleary-eyed, and Clarissa was
calm and pale as always, but everyone seemed to be in a good humor, if tired.

“Look, Lady Kitty,” Amelia exclaimed. “It is more than Hetty
had last year, is it not, Hetty?”

“Of course, as there are two taken together,” Hetty said.

Eliza waved her hands. “So many of them are for you,” she
said to Kitty. “Shall we help you open the cards?”

“Oh, pray do.”

Eliza and Matilda began tearing through the cards attached
to the bouquets, comparing and giggling. Two gentlemen had sent bouquets to
both young ladies; several had attached verses to the floral offerings. Kitty
recognized about half the names. Most of the evening seemed a blur, in
retrospect. The only conversation she remembered was the one with Mr.
Devereaux. He had seemed almost friendly—but of course his being cousins with
Clarissa would account for it.

Amelia cast a loud sigh. “Did you form an eternal passion
for anyone, Lady Kitty?”

“Do you know, I had so fine a time dancing, I quite forgot
that I was to fall in love?”

Amelia giggled, then began telling them of the extravagant
things her swains had been saying, until their aunt entered. At once everyone
confined themselves to tea and toast.

Mrs. Latchmore, however, appeared to be in an excellent mood.
“A successful evening all around, was it not, girls? And Lord Wilburfolde
arrived, dear fellow, exactly as one would wish. Every exertion made—so
attentive to Clarissa, it bodes well, does it not?”

No one had anything to say to this, but it had the general
effect of hastening breakfast.

The hour had just struck noon when Pobrick entered the room
to announce that the Miss Bouldestons were waiting in the drawing room.

The young ladies found Lucretia and Lucasta standing over
one of the many little tables that Lady Chadwick had placed throughout the
house, examining and commenting on some miniatures of the family.

On the entrance of the young ladies, greetings having been
exchanged, Lucretia said, “We are come to introduce you to Hookham’s Lending
Library, Catherine, knowing you are excessively fond of books.”

Kitty turned to Clarissa, saying, “Do come with us.”

At once the Bouldeston sisters reinforced this invitation,
each claiming that only the addition of Miss Harlowe could make it the most
complete walk—the sweetest day ever.

Clarissa was taken aback. She was used to being left out,
except when the family was invited—or when some young man wished to plead his
case for her pretty sister—or when her fortune was being sought. She did not
know what motivated the Misses Bouldeston (for she had heard about the
completest, sweetest thing ever
too many
times to count such superlatives) but she read appeal in Kitty’s countenance.

There was nothing to keep her home, save the nod and smile
she had given Lord Wilburfolde when, on parting the night before, he had informed
her that she was tired and required rest, and that he would be reporting to his
mama that he had extracted her promise to do so.

Amelia, of course, had no interest in a lending library,
still less in the Bouldestons, whom she abused as encroaching mushrooms with
their
sweetest Catherine
as soon as
the four young ladies were out the door.

“You can see how much Lady Kitty detests that,” Amelia said
to Eliza as the door closed below.

“Bess Devereaux had it from some girl at Miss Battersea’s
that Lucasta Bouldeston hides in the chimney closet to spy on her sister and
her callers if she thinks they are talking secrets,” Eliza declared, and with a
toss of her head. “I should despise lowering myself to such tactics. I hate
secrets and gossip!”

The sound of a heavy tread on the stair broke up this
conversation, sending Eliza to the door. She peeked out, then looked back, her
eyes round with horror. “It’s him,” she whispered. “Run, or we will be stuck
listening to him prose for
ever
.”

They fled out the side door before the butler could open the
double doors.

Lord Wilburfolde was left alone in the parlor, to soon be
joined by Mrs. Latchmore, who was always glad to see him. “The young ladies are
still recuperating their beauty upstairs, I may suppose?” he asked with a
ponderous attempt at levity.

“The young ladies are hardier than we old ones,” she said
coyly. “The girls are somewhere about, and Clarissa is out walking with Lady
Catherine and the Misses Bouldeston.”

“I do not credit what I am hearing,” he said, aghast.

Mrs. Latchmore gasped. “I assure you, the Misses Bouldeston
are quite unexceptionable. Sir Henry, I understand, has—”

Lord Wilburfolde was too overset to be aware of his
interruption. “It is not their identity that distresses me, it is my concern
for Clarissa, if I may be permitted to use her Christian name. She promised me
she would rest, and then attend to my mother’s missive, so that my mother might
write to her again. I do not know what is to be done. Perhaps I may catch them
up if I hasten.”

He punctiliously took his leave.

o0o

The walk to Hookham’s was conducted in apparent amity.
Clarissa politely asked Lucasta about her ball, and as the latter launched into
a detailed account, well-wreathed with superlatives, Lucretia quizzed Kitty on
who had attended Amelia’s ball, what they had worn, and with whom she had
danced.

Kitty retailed all those she could remember, adding with a
spurt of self-consciousness left over from memory of her ghastly error at the
inn, “And the last arrival was Mr. Devereaux.”

“Of course he did not dance. He never does,” Lucretia
stated.

Kitty remained silent, and Lucretia turned her head and eyed
her. “You do not mean to say that he did?”

Kitty nodded, and Lucretia’s eyes narrowed. “With you?” Her
affected lisp came out rather sharp.

“Yes, but he danced with Amelia first. And then a widow, I
forget her name, but the way they talked, it seems they are either connections
or old friends.”

“Oh, I know, it must have been Lady Silverdale, who just
came out of mourning. Lord Silverdale was a friend of Mr. Devereaux, but he was
a diplomat, and died in that horrid battle on the Nile River. It was quite four
years ago, but she stayed on her estate with the two children until recently.
Everyone says it is so romantical and tragic! Perhaps they mean to make a match
of it.”