Danse de la Folie (27 page)

Edward said, “Arden was the one who put us in the way of
tailors and so forth. So here you have us.”

“I am so happy!” Kitty exclaimed, hands pressed together,
her face glowing. Then her brow puckered. “But I suppose I must leave Clarissa,
then?”

The marquess said, “To tell you the truth, we’ve only opened
a part of the house. It’s a great barrack, the furnishings still in Holland
covers. I don’t know how long Ned and I will stay. If Miss Harlowe does not
object, you may remain with her, for I don’t know where I’d get hold of
sufficient staff.”

“Oh, then I have nothing else to wish for,” Kitty exclaimed.

So great a party could not but be noticed by others in the
room.

“Who is that newly arrived gentleman?” Miss Fordham inquired
of Lucretia Bouldeston, who was frowning at her sister fawning all over that
foolish dandy she had taken up with. Really, Lucasta would make herself a
laughingstock if Mama did not intervene.

Miss Fordham recalled her attention by saying insistently, “I
have never met him, and yet he seems familiar. But I would remember, surely. He
certainly has an air.”

Lucretia looked up impatiently, and stared, aghast.

Carlisle?
This was
worse than ever!

“He is—that is the marquess of St. Tarval,” Lucretia stated,
striving for an off-hand manner, which did not fool Miss Fordham at all.

Sophia Fordham, at five-and-twenty, prided herself on her
taste and discernment. The gentleman lucky enough to win her hand and her
fortune had not yet materialized, though she had given her choices plenty
enough encouragement. Mr. Devereaux, heading this select list, also headed Miss
Bouldeston’s list, along with the lists of far too many single women in London.
But Miss Bouldeston also displayed (in spite of her frequent claims to modesty
and shyness) a taste for gossip. In short doses, she could be amusing, and
there were few enough people with whom Miss Fordham could enjoy tearing apart
every character of note.

Here was unexpected entertainment. Could this fine-looking
man be the mysterious nobleman to whom Lucretia was all-but-engaged? Miss
Fordham had come to regard this unnamed mystery man a fabrication.

She linked her arm through Lucretia’s. “Since you appear to
know the gentleman, pray introduce us.”

Lucretia felt herself borne forward, her thoughts caught in
a species of nightmare.

Kitty was just saying, “Ned, fie! And here I thought you
would offer me a dance,” as all the gentlemen laughed at the undisguised horror
in Lord Edward’s face.

“Card room’s this way,” James said briskly, spotting the
approach of Lucretia Bouldeston.

Ned followed him, delivering a parting shot over his
shoulder, “All I can say is, if you cannot find yourself someone to caper with
in this room, Kit, then... what a set of cork-brains in this town.”

He sketched a hasty bow to Lucretia, muttered something that
could be taken as a greeting, and hastened after James.

Lucretia never saw him. “Carlisle,” she said in her sweetest
tones. “Oh!” The fingertip rose to her lips as she batted her eyes rapidly in
the expression her mirror had told her was bashful modesty. “Pray, forgive me.
Miss Fordham, may I introduce you to the Marquess of St. Tarval? So you are
come to Town, after
all
my begging.
It must take the words of a sister to get you here, but Catherine failed to
tell me you were expected.”

“Kitty did not know, so you must excuse her.” The marquess
bowed, his smile having lessened to politeness.

Lucretia then chattered on, asking after everyone at St.
Tarval, without listening to a word he spoke, as she waited desperately for him
to remember his duty and ask her to dance.

St. Tarval could see by the anger in Lucretia’s eyes and the
shrill note to her voice that she was waiting for something, probably to ring a
peal over him.

He was going to have to talk to her, but he had no intention
of holding this conversation in the middle of a room full of strangers, so he
stood there politely, determined to wait her out.

Watching all this from the other side of the ballroom was
Mr. Devereaux. He had witnessed the entire scene from the moment Lady Catherine
had gazed across the ballroom with such genuine, unshadowed joy. Once again her
beautiful face had glowed into something beyond mere beauty.

So here was the impecunious brother. Mr. Devereaux was aware
of a sensation of rue, not unlike irony, that this fellow no older than he
could inspire such a reaction in his sister. Mr. Devereaux would be making a
wearisome journey all too soon on Bess’s behalf, full knowing that his reward
at the end of his road would be a scowl and a string of demands.

A friend appeared at his shoulder, and he turned away before
the object of his attention could be descried.

o0o

The next morning, Clarissa gazed down in a bemused way at a
card on heavy linen paper.

Seeing her expression, Lady Chadwick glanced at the
envelope, and though she could not quite make out the broken seal, she
recognized a part of the crest. “Good heavens,” she murmured. “Is that from her
grace?”

Clarissa smiled. “Yes. Grandmother writes to inform me that
Kitty and I would be delighted to pay her a call this morning.”

James gave a crack of laughter, and Lord Chadwick said, “Better
you than me, my girl. Do give her our best, and all that.” He flung down his
napkin and made his escape as though the dowager duchess loomed outside the
breakfast room.

Clarissa laughed, and turned her attention to Kitty’s wide
gaze of consternation. “You will like her. I promise.”

Kitty changed her gown three times before settling on the
newest of her morning dresses. It was with nervous apprehension that she
climbed into the coach for the short drive to Cavendish Square—the girls did
not dare walk as it looked like rain, and even if the weather held off, neither
wished to arrive with soot on her gloves, or smudges on her shoes.

Kitty stared at the enormous house. “She lives alone here?”

“Yes, and very nip-farthing she considers it,” Clarissa said
with a quiet laugh. “Compared to the family place in Grosvenor Square, which
she relinquished to her son on his marriage.”

The door was opened by a footman in old-fashioned livery,
who greeted them with stately obsequiousness. Another footman conducted them up
a wide, shallow marble staircase, and down an imposing hall with rococo gilding
in festoons high on the cream-colored walls and around painted panels that
depicted mythological creatures disporting in bright pastel colors.

Kitty recognized the style as belonging to the last century,
but unlike Tarval Hall, this place seemed as if it had been painted and
furnished a week ago.

They were brought to a double door and bowed into a saloon
that glittered with gilding, heavy silver and porcelain ornaments, and lovely,
fragile French chairs with embroidered seats. They crossed a carpet that rendered
their steps completely soundless, and approached a tiny old lady who sat in
state in a big carved chair piled around with cushions.

Kitty curtseyed low as she was introduced to the Duchess of
Norcaster, and Clarissa bent to kiss one withered cheek.

Her grace was dressed in a brocade court gown of forty years
ago, in the Parisian style. The bodice was stiff, with bows down the front, the
rich skirts falling in shining folds. The lace above the bodice almost made a
ruff, covering the duchess’s neck. A heavy gold necklace lay on the bodice,
with an ivory cameo set around with diamonds that winked and gleamed when she
breathed. Her blue-veined hands were adorned with several rings. Her hands had
been fine in her youth, Kitty guessed, and the duchess was proud of them yet.

“Sit down, girls, sit down,” she said, and called to the
footman, “Bring the refreshments, Thomas.” Then back to Kitty, “Now, tell me,
Does London please you?”

Her grace’s face had once been fine, Kitty could see. The
lineaments of her eyes were somehow familiar, her gaze sharp and intelligent.

“It is vastly amusing, your grace,” Kitty said. “I am ever
so grateful to Clarissa for bringing me.”

The duchess smiled. “Lud! You are your grandmother come
again, child. Ecod, she was a beauty. And you have her smile.” She turned her
gaze to Clarissa. “I understand I am to congratulate you on this alliance you
appear to have contracted.”

“Thank you, Grandmama,” Clarissa said.

The duchess’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more as
the door opened and refreshments were wheeled in.

She waited until the footman had set things out, and
indicated for Clarissa to pour out the tea. This Clarissa did, as they
conversed a little about the delicious cakes and pastries.

When everyone had eaten a few bites and drunk some tea, the
duchess said, “
Fi donc!
You’re no
more pleased than I am. Clarissa, did someone bullock you into this marriage?”

Clarissa’s rose and gold Worcester teacup clashed onto the saucer.
“Grandmama,” Clarissa said helplessly.

“Don’t Grandmama me. Old I may be, but my eyes are still as
good as they were. You ain’t any happier than I am. Deny it if you dare.”

Clarissa looked down unhappily.

The duchess sighed. “Clarissa. I know nothing against young
Wilburfolde—from all accounts he is a hapless muffin much like his father. What
I cannot stick is the thought of you bowed under Susannah Wilburfolde’s yoke.
You may not have been bullied at home, but good gad, you shall know bullying
when you are living under her roof. Why did you agree to it? I cannot believe
that fool Chadwick gave you an ultimatum.”

“No, Papa was all that is kind—but when he charged me with
my age, and hinted that I would hang around James’s neck one day...”

“So it’s a demmed
faut
de mieux
? But why? You can live with me! Or if you can’t stick my temper, either
of your uncles would take you in. Philip would take you as well, though he
might put you in charge of that spoilt brat Bess. But you know these things.”

Clarissa pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it to her
eyes. “He offered, Grandmama. At my age, I was not likely to get another.”

“
Nom d’un nom!
Your mother was four years older than you are now when she married. And last
year, that clapper-jawed Sophia Latchmore crowed all over town about two
offers.”

“They were... not serious offers.”

“Better them than Susannah Wilburfolde for a mother-in-law. Monstrous!
As Susannah Millbrook she frightened half the men in town into decamping for
Paris when she came out. Wilburfolde tripped over his own feet, and next thing
he knew, she’d shackled him.”

Kitty gazed raptly, her teacup suspended halfway between lip
and saucer. Her emotions veered wildly between intense enjoyment at this plain
speaking, which matched her own sentiments exactly, and sympathy for Clarissa’s
obvious distress.

“Nevertheless,” Clarissa said unsteadily, “I have accepted.
I cannot in good conscience cry off.”

“Nonsense. These chits cry off all the time. Either someone
bullied you into it, or...” The duchess smacked the arm of her chair, and
leaned forward. “Clarissa, have you fallen in love with someone ineligible?”

To Kitty’s surprise, Clarissa’s face whitened, her chest
heaved, and she leaped to her feet and ran. The duchess let her go.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the old woman sighed
unhappily. “I was afraid of that the moment she walked into the room. Just like
her mother, who fell in love
à corps
perdu
with that damned Winterdale, and her decline began the day he married
that rabbiting Villiers chit.”

“Clarissa’s mama? But I thought—”

“
I
found Chadwick
for her. He was kind. Cork-brained but kind, and prodigiously handsome, so she
wouldn’t shudder if he came near. Thought he could give her a brood to love
instead of that
scélérat
Winterdale.
But she was too worn down by childbirth when Clarissa came, that and low
spirits. However, Clarissa ain’t that weak. In fact, given time, I think she
could route Susannah Wilburfolde, but that wouldn’t make her happy, and I
promised myself when my Therese died, that I would make her daughter happy.”

Kitty said fervently, “She is not happy with him. He cannot
help it, but he frets her. She comes back from every outing with the headache,
but I know she will not cry off.”

The duchess fortified herself with some tea, then crashed
the fragile cup back onto its saucer. “She hates scandal, and crying off would
kick up the sort of dust she mislikes. What I must do is discover whom she is
in love with. I hope he is not married. Do
you
know?”

Kitty gave her head a shake. “She has never mentioned
anyone. But...”

“But what? Speak up, girl! She will be back any moment.”

“The subject has never come up.”

“You mean she has been silent. Girls can find
any
place to talk, if they are of a mind.”

Kitty looked up wonderingly. “That’s true.”

“How long has she been pokered up?”

“I could not say for certain, as she has always been quiet since
we first became acquainted.” Kitty thought of her plan, looked uncertainly at
the formidable duchess, thought again of Clarissa bursting into tears, and
stiffened her spine. “If she favored anyone, I would guess it must be her
cousin.”

“Which cousin? She’s got dozens of ’em littering England and
France, thanks to my busy daughters. Not France, anymore, but Holland.
Eh bien!
Which?”

“Mr. Philip Devereaux.”

The duchess’s brows shot up. “Philip? What makes you think
that?”

“Well, she talks fondly of him. They get on so well
together, and he apparently has been attending more parties.”

The duchess nodded slowly. “It was the wish of my heart,
five years ago, but they have always been like brother and sister—too much alike.”