Danse de la Folie (23 page)

He thought this game much less ill-bred than listening to
gossip, but he forbore saying so aloud. At best he might sound satiric, but at
worst, he suspected he would merely sound insufferable.

So he changed the subject to an unexceptionable topic. “Your
brother is the present marquess,” he observed, and on her assent, “I take it he
prefers to remain in the country? I do not think I have ever met him in town.”

“He was here briefly. At least, I know he was in London when
he sat before the Admiralty board to pass for lieutenant, but I do not know if
he was introduced into society,” Kitty answered. “He does prefer the country,
though he confesses a weakness for the sea.” Her fondness warmed her voice, and
her smile flashed, quick and merry. “He could not comprehend my wish to see
London.”

As the orchestra moved into the coda, he asked easy
questions about the marquess, and she answered them happily enough—Carlisle’s cutter—his
fondness for horses—his brief career in the navy, as around them, those in the
habit of watching Mr. Devereaux noticed that though the young lady seemed to
chatter quite a bit, he did not look bored. At least one mother of young ladies
whose lures he had been blind to wondered aloud if Lady Catherine was as
desperate a flirt as her mother had been.

When they returned to Mrs. Latchmore, the lady was deep in
conversation with a pair of hopeful mamas. Lucretia had lingered to talk to
Clarissa, her sister at her side, Miss Fordham having walked out with an
aspiring partner to join the next set.

Lucretia rose immediately from Kitty’s chair, her fan fluttering,
but before she could speak, Amelia jumped up in expectation. “Is it my dance,
now, Mr. Devereaux?” she asked.

He bowed. “If you are ready?”

They moved to the forming square as a short, round fellow came
up to Lucasta and bowed deeply. He had curling tufts of butter-colored hair,
shirt points high as his jug ears, and at least three fobs evident between the
plate-like buttons of his coat.

Lucretia smothered a titter as her sister blushed and walked
out with that quiz as if he were Prince Charming.

Lucretia turned back to Kitty. Wreathed in smiles and “dearest
Catherines,” she proceeded to interrogate Kitty about the conversation during
her dance with Mr. Devereaux.

Clarissa, seeing the slight answers Kitty made—”We spoke of
knowing no one in society, and my brother’s sailing, a little”—attempted to
turn the subject at least three times.

Lucretia gave up after receiving no exact answer to her
satisfaction, but at least by then Amelia’s dance was over. She turned her
attention outward in expectation, but unaccountably Mr. Devereaux and Amelia
chose to stroll the length of the room. While they were obtaining a glass of
lemonade for Amelia, they chanced upon several young gentlemen, with the result
that Amelia was led out again by one triumphant young man, with his friends
looking on in disappointment.

Mr. Devereaux strolled on to greet acquaintances until he found
Lady Buckley, the pretty wife of his friend Sir George. Lady Buckley regarded
him with an expectant eye and a smile of expectation. So he offered his hand.

As soon as they were on the floor, she lowered her voice. “George
says they are laying wagers about you at White’s.”

“About?”

“Which of the two will snare you at last, the second Golden
Guinea, or the Decourcey beauty.”

“I have known the first since she was a schoolroom miss bent
on escaping her governess, and the second I scarcely know anything of beyond
she possesses two brothers, and has never been to town before now. But I
promised Lady Chadwick I would dance with the pair.”

“Should I congratulate you or commiserate?” she asked
archly.

“Neither. The one is a schoolgirl, the other a friend of my
cousin Clarissa Harlowe, whom I believe you know.”

Lady Buckley had made her own attempt on his heart before hers
was given to Sir George. Tender feelings had long cooled to friendship, though
she could not resist the mildest flirtation from time to time. And she loved
being in the know.

“Amelia Harlowe is so young it is difficult to determine if
she’s a ninny, and I do not know Lady Catherine, but my mother does go on about
how both her parents set the town by the ears during the days of Fox and Pitt
and enormous hats. And that was before they eloped—in spite of her being
destined for a duke, and he was betrothed to that horrid Philomena Bouldeston,
who snubbed me unmercifully one year, when I... but that is neither here nor
there. Lady Bouldeston had it from her daughter, who seems to know Lady
Catherine well, that she foisted herself on the Harlowes in order to gain a
husband.”

Mr. Devereaux had no intention of exhibiting the least
interest in Lady Catherine. She was a beautiful girl, and she seemed possessed
of a good heart and some wit, but he was very well aware that the least sign of
interest would be carried from lip to ear over teacups by Lady Buckley who,
though never intentionally cruel, was known to practice her own wit upon the
foibles of their peers. And what she said so wittily tended to be repeated. “If
you believe that Lady Catherine had an eye to inveigling James Harlowe into
marriage,” he said, “then you are more credulous than I thought possible.”

She let out a peal of laughter. “People say that Lady
Chadwick has more hair than wit, but I believe her obliviousness a defense
against Lady Bouldeston’s clack. I have never liked that woman, who was even
less pleasant than her sister Philomena, back when we were first introduced into
the
beau monde
.”

Mr. Devereaux did not intend to demonstrate how annoying he
found Lady Buckley’s persistence, for it was clear that her inquiries were not
idle. But then she had admitted as much in her comment about wagers. That, he
could take as a warning.

She was watching him closely. The slight narrowing of his
eyes, the pause that threatened to stretch into a silence, caused her to say
winsomely, “They all come to me, you know. Wouldn’t you rather I repeat what
you want them to hear?”

He had to smile. “The truth of the matter is that my
grandmother Norcaster asked me to single out Amelia, and I cannot do that
without including Lady Catherine. My grandmother is fond of the Chadwicks for
being good to my cousin, when so frequently a second marriage, a second family,
goes the other way.”

“Ah,” she said, “that is quite true.” If she was
disappointed at so phlegmatic an answer, she hid it, and turned the talk to
other matters until the dance ended.

He danced three more times—a girl just out of the
schoolroom, a short-sighted elder sister five years his senior, who was often
passed over—a widow of a friend, all chosen at random. Then a bow here, a smile
there, and he regained his freedom.

o0o

Lucretia Bouldeston left Kitty and Clarissa the moment Mr.
Devereaux approached Lady Buckley.

Amelia and Lucasta were both dancing, Lucasta for the second
time with that same little fellow; Mrs. Latchmore was busy gossiping. Under the
protection of that, Clarissa said to Kitty, “You made Cousin Philip laugh out
loud. I cannot remember the last time he did that in company.”

Kitty opened her fan, then surprised Clarissa by saying,
low-voiced, “I have been informed that he despises women.”

“Who in the world was spiteful enough to tell you that?”
Clarissa asked.

Kitty colored to the hairline, and Clarissa gave her head a
quick shake. “The fault is not yours. You only asked to be told the truth. The
worst I can say of my cousin is that people have administered to his vanity all
his life. He knows it is for all the wrong reasons. He has been sought for his
position, his wealth, everything but his heart—I have sometimes blushed for my
sex, the tricks ladies will get up to. Not just the young, but sometimes their
mothers. And so he is wont to be very careful. The moreso as he is responsible
for his sister’s upbringing, their mother being... delicate in health.”

Kitty took all this in, then said, “So in effect, fortune
hunters are not confined to men.”

“Not at all.”

“And yet there is a difference,” Kitty said slowly.

“I see none, if trickery and falsity are used to hide the
motivation of greed.”

“But I do perceive a difference, for it is said that it is
the business of a young lady to find a husband, but a man can do quite well
without a wife.”

“I had not considered it from that perspective, but you are
very right.”

The current dance ended, there was a stir, and Kitty was approached
by Mr. Canby. She agreed with a ready smile, but while she danced, she was
thinking hard. Kitty was very sure that Clarissa had not agreed to Lord
Wilburfolde’s proposal out of love. It had to be duty, then. If so, would it
not be acting the part of a true friend to find her a better? Did not Mr.
Philip Devereaux say that he liked his cousin Clarissa best? Kitty had seen at
first hand that his reputed attractions were, for once, not exaggerated. Surely
Clarissa felt the same, if “every other female” did.

If.
If
it could be
contrived, he would be a better match for Clarissa than Lord Wilburfolde, would
he not? She examined this idea from every angle, and liked it the better.
Except the question remained, how to detach Clarissa from the latter, and
prompt the former?

o0o

That night, a last load of spirits was landed in Kent, and
Mr. Cobb himself obsequiously oversaw the transfer. The pay was prompt. The
brothers pretended not to see the anger in his eyes, the calculation in his
voice as he asked about their plans.

Ned happily spun out a farrago as the marquess counted over
the coins with deliberate care.

Two hours later, the brothers celebrated with their
hand-picked crew in a friendly tavern some miles away. Toasts were offered to
success, to the brothers’ help, to the foiling of Cobb’s wiles, and (because it
was habit) the confusion of Boney.

Then the party broke up into several conversations, as
liquor poured freely, and food was passed from hand to hand.

Through the party St. Tarval sat smiling, face flushed, eyes
bright. Though he was not regarded by the older folk to be as handsome a devil
as his late father, the local girls clearly found him attractive, especially at
times like this, sitting back in his riding clothes, his silky black hair a
little disheveled, his long hands loose on the table. But though he was ever
polite, he never responded to those whose boldness was matched by their
ambitions, and he kept his livelier brother from the sort of dalliances that
had required Carlisle to find work for several country sprigs a few years his
senior who bore more than a chance resemblance to their father.

For this, he was far more popular among the more respectable
local merchants and farmers than his parent had been, though the rougher
element still mourned the bad old days.

Ned joined him at his table, glass in hand. “I might have to
find business in the countryside next month, just to enjoy the spectacle of
Cobb’s men lying up in the brambles above Wrecker’s Cove. D’you think he will
have to refund his blood money to the excise men if they don’t turn us up?”

“I am most certain he will,” St. Tarval replied.

“So, what is next, now we’re officially gone respectable?
The roof repairs, of course. And, what, pay off Sir Henry?”

“I thought I might write to him in London, and propose
sending him half, and in trade for the remainder, I would dig the canal we’ve
talked of for ages to drain off Wardle Marsh. Bring it down past Home Farm, to
the benefit of us both.”

“And if he agrees? What of what’s left, for it ought not to
cost that much, if we put the men to it after harvest, before the frost sets in
hard.”

“Which is my plan. I’ve set aside a sum that I believe will
meet the case. You and I may split what is left.”

“Then I shall buy that hunter off Maitland, before John
Cozen gets it. And you?”

“First, a tailor,” the marquess said, and to his brother’s
round-eyed face, he added, “and with what’s left, a visit to town to see how
Kit is doing.”

“By Jove,” Ned exclaimed. “I’d almost think you planned it
all along.”

“I do not want to go to another soiree,” Amelia said,
pouting. “Not if it is all talk, and worse, poetry.”

“The least attractive quality in a girl is to be choosing
among her invitations as if she were a fine lady,” Mrs. Latchmore began in a
scolding voice.

Lady Chadwick said calmly, “Lady Badgerwood would like to
see you there, Amelia. Hetty told me that her mother-in-law invited Charles
DuLac in especial to meet you, at the encouragement of his cousins. He is recently
come down from Oxford, before he goes to York to take up his living.”

“The girls have mentioned their Cousin Charles.” Amelia
wrinkled her nose. “He’s the clergyman, isn’t he? I remember him, I think. He
was come down from Eton for the holidays, and he was horrid to us. He called us
simpletons and lackwits for not knowing Latin.”

Mrs. Latchmore made a scandalized noise. “I take leave to
remind you that the DuLacs are as wealthy as the Athertons, if not very likely
more
.”

Lady Chadwick added calmly, “In any case, you are not going
across the street to get married, only to listen to a few poems, and meet this
fellow now you are all grown up.”

“But I don’t like Charlie DuLac,” Amelia muttered, when her
aunt was out of the room. “He has a head like a hayrick on fire, as well as a
horrid tongue. This soiree is probably his idea. I trust they do not expect me
to know a poem.” She turned to Kitty. “You have better things to do than read horrid
poetry, do you not, Lady Kitty?”

Kitty gave Amelia a sympathetic smile, but shook her head. “I
must confess I like poetry very much, but you must remember I live in the
country, and there is not much to do besides read.” She opened her hands in a
plea. “Besides, the poetry I like is funny, or full of love. The horrid stuff
we had to copy out as children is not what I think of as poetry, even if it did
scan and rhyme.”