Danse de la Folie (29 page)

Kitty turned to her brother. “How beautiful the music is,
how excellent the singers! Now I understand why people praise Mozart. His piano
airs are all very well, but
Cosi fan
tutti
is extraordinary. Clarissa told me earlier that
The Magical Flute
is even better.” She cast a glance around, and
whispered, “How beautiful this theater is. I wonder if I ought to set a scene
here. I could have Count Scorbini abduct Andromeda from one of these boxes.”

St. Tarval said, “It would certainly liven up the evening.”

Kitty continued in a whisper, “I hope while you are here you
might take me to a play.”

The marquess stared at her in surprise. “I thought you would
have been to a dozen of them by now.”

“The only person partial to plays is Clarissa,” she
whispered even lower. “But her betrothed disapproves, and the Chadwicks don’t
seem to attend plays. So we have never been.” At that moment, Kitty, who had
been looking around at the different boxes, spied Mr. Devereaux on the opposite
side of the theater. His party included Mr. Brummel and several well-known
leaders of society.

Happenstance brought his gaze across the sea of faces to
meet Kitty’s. Unconsciously she smiled, then consciously glanced toward
Clarissa, hoping he would pick up the hint.

But hard on that she remembered Lucretia’s warning and
quickly dropped her gaze. She dared not look up again, but she said to her
brother, “If you do buy tickets to the play, pray include Clarissa. We needn’t
invite Lord Wilburfolde if he dislikes plays.”

It was time for the second act, and Kitty settled back,
preparing for enjoyment. James and Ned reappeared, smelling rather strongly of
spirits.

On the other side of the theater, Devereaux listened to Brummel’s
sallies with only half an ear. ”He might, were he inclined toward wit, term
that style ‘A Night at the Opera’ for really it belongs on the stage,” Brummel
said in an undertone.

Everyone uttered a well-bred laugh at the expense of the
Prince Regent and his lamentable taste in waistcoats, as the curtain rose.

Mr. Devereaux had not missed the sudden smile followed by
the equally sudden stiffening of self-consciousness on Lady Kitty’s part (for
so he found himself thinking of her, though he would never trespass out loud), that
in its turn led to the quick glance at his cousin. Her behavior had all the air
of second thoughts, as if someone had said something disobliging to her.

Clarissa? No, that was not in her nature. And yet... he
recalled remarks he’d let fall over the years, in particular judgments both
harsh and toplofty of rural misses, especially those who employed their wiles
to entrap him. These words had been those of a young man who had grown up
accustomed to privilege and praise. He had since repented of his callowness,
but Clarissa might, in good conscience, have warned her friend off to protect
her. He should be grateful. He should let be.

And yet he knew he couldn’t permit Lady Kitty to return home
believing him to be a coxcomb.

The remainder of the opera was as good as the beginning, for
those who attended to it.

As soon as the final curtain came down, Lord Wilburfolde
said, “I am informed by my parent, whose tastes can be relied upon for delicacy
and moral rightness, that the farces that usually follow were unfit to be seen
by young ladies. Shall we call for the coach?”

Lady Chadwick had been looking forward to this very thing.
She said with more animation than she usually displayed, “I believe I may be
trusted to determine what is unfit for my daughters and our guest.”

Lord Wilburfolde looked disconcerted. “My apologies, Lady
Chadwick. I myself have never witnessed any of the entertainments in question,
for my estimable parent has been very careful about my education. But if you
have no objections, then I must, in politeness, abide by your decision.” And he
sat back, uncomfortably aware that he had failed in his duty—and yet he was curious.

The farce engendered gusts of laughter from the audience.
Lord Wilburfolde was startled into mirth by an unexpected pun or two, followed
instantly by guilt. His mother considered puns vulgar at any time, no matter
how innocent. But then he had also never heard his mother laugh.

When the evening was over, he walked out in a brown study,
partly resentful that he had been put into this position — for he knew what his
mother would say — but partly bewildered, because he had never before heard
Clarissa laugh until now. The oddest part of it was that she had laughed at
jokes he considered indelicate, whereas the puns that had so entertained him
had only raised a smile. He did not know what to make of it.

James had the coachman leave Lord Wilburfolde at his lodging
first. Thus he soon sat down to his desk to report on the evening to his mother
like a dutiful son.

The others began to talk the moment he left the coach. When Kitty
and Amelia got involved in discussing the singers, the marquess turned to
Clarissa to say quietly, “I wish to thank you on my sister’s behalf. I have
never seen her so happy, and she keeps telling me that it is all due to you.”

Clarissa stammered a disjointed disclaimer.

“Lord Arden has been introducing us around,” he continued, “and
thus we have received an invitation to Lady Castlereagh’s rout al fresco
Tuesday next. If his lordship does not claim all your dances, may I ask for
one?”

She knew that she should say no. But being angry with
herself had resulted in her present position. She was not yet married. Until
she was, she would make precious memories, which would suffice for a lifetime.

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

The marquess had called twice upon Lucretia, first to be
told that she was elsewhere, and then that she was unwell.

Lady Bouldeston informed her eldest daughter that when the
gentleman called again, she would neither be away nor unwell. “Take care what
you are about,” she warned Lucretia. “You have treated St. Tarval as if he were
in your pocket, and while I applaud your desire to make a better marriage, you
would do well not to drive him completely off.”

“Of course I can do better.” Lucretia tossed her head,
thinking of Lucasta and her stupid Mr. Aston.

“I should hope you can do better, but Lucretia, the truth is
that you have not done so. And though I had higher hopes for you, St. Tarval is
a very good title. A marchioness is a marchioness.”

“Except what is the use of being a marchioness if one is
stuck forever in a ramshackle house? There would be no London—I am certain he’s
only here to see his sister. He is also dull. Has not a thing to say beyond his
horses and pigs and canals, or worse, books.”

Lady Bouldeston shrugged. “These airs and graces are all
very well for those who can afford them. We cannot. If your sister gains her
poet, this will be the last year we will spend in Mount Street. At least until
your father’s affairs come about. You have had four years of London. Perhaps
you would do better in our own neighborhood, if you cannot find someone to
suit. There is always the vicar’s brother, and the squire’s son.”

Lucretia fled to her room, sobbing in fury. How selfish they
all were—Lucasta most of all! What business did she have, throwing herself at
the first fool who looked back at her? She was barely eighteen!

Lucretia scowled and dried her eyes. Since she had no
allies, she must simply form better plans, and exert herself to carry them
through. Titles! What use were they without beautiful town houses and wealth to
match? Even better, when the man who offered all these things was counted among
society’s leaders?

Tears burned her eyes at the memory of Mr. Devereaux at the
opera last night, sitting in the box surrounded by everyone who was important.
Lucretia could see herself, ever so clearly, seated next to him, every eye in
the place comparing his height and breadth of shoulder to herself all in the
palest rose. For it must be rose; she could hear the admiring whispers, “Brummel
himself told her she should wear nothing else. It is above all things
romantical, but no more romantical than the circumstances of their marriage...”

She just had to arrange those circumstances.

Yes, and that brought to mind another troubling observation.
He had smiled once, not at any of the important people in his box, but at
someone in the boxes on the other side of the theater, above where the
Bouldestons were sitting.

She’d had to resort to subterfuge in order to discover that
the box directly above her contained none other than Lady Chadwick and her
party.

Lucretia flung her fan down in anger. Perhaps Catherine was
trying to draw attention to herself in a desperate attempt to catch his
attention? But his smile had not been the mirth one exhibits at a vulgar or
preposterous display.

She was brooding about that when the door knocker sounded
below. Lucretia ran to the door and listened. When she heard Carlisle’s voice
asking for her, and her mother’s pointed, “She is upstairs in the young ladies’
parlor,” she had time to arrange herself accordingly, her toes just peeping out
from under her hem, a piece of delicate sewing that she kept for these
occasions in her lap.

The fiction of the young ladies’ parlor was an agreed-on
thing: the upstairs room served them all as occasion warranted. She would not
be interrupted, alas. Mama would see to that.

So she just had to see to it that Carlisle could not cry
off.

St Tarval’s heart sank when Lady Bouldeston sent him
upstairs. He knew he had to end this pretence with Lucretia, but he had hoped
to put it off. Or that she would be merciful and end it for him, preferably
with an advertisement of her coming marriage to someone else, inserted into the
newspaper.

Lucretia was alone. She gave a false little start of
surprise, and he suppressed a spurt of irritation at this habit of hers, and
wondered if he could bear a lifetime of that little round mouth and the girlish
“Oh!”

He closed off that thought. These little tricks must be the
way young ladies were trained to act. No doubt Kitty would gain similar habits.
Though he’d never seen anything like that from Clarissa in those brief days at
Tarval Hall...

“Lucretia,” he said. “I hope I see you well.”

“Vastly, I assure you. And you are looking so well that I
need not ask. A new coat? May I ask, did you come into a legacy?”

“No, merely a piece of business ended better than expected,
and so Ned and I thought to visit Kitty in town. I hoped to have a few moments
of privacy with you.”

She began, “You know Mama is very strict with us girls, and
reposes the greatest trust in us...”

A satiric glance reminded her of that day in the garden,
which it had taken her an entire summer to engineer. She blushed, turned her
head, and daubed at her eyes with her handkerchief, giving her eyelids a scrub
or two to help them pinken.

Carlisle said, “Lucretia, we were sixteen, and can, I think,
be forgiven the boy-and-girl gesture of affection. Nobody knows about it but
us. The truth is, you do not really want to marry me, do you?”

Lucretia pressed the handkerchief to her eyes, and gave a
shuddering sob.

“Lucretia...”

“How could you say that?” she demanded, and then, “Catherine
has maligned me to you. Is that it?”

“What? Where did you get that idea?”

His genuine astonishment, followed by the tone of
exasperation made it clear that this tack, which had sounded so good in her
head, was entirely wrong.

He went on, “You yourself said that you have so many
interested suitors, I naturally thought—”

She quickly brought out her next line. “I have remained
constant, but you wish to throw me over for Another?”

This was so near the truth that he was silenced.

She missed the regret tightening his face as her lacy
handkerchief was still hiding her eyes, which remained stubbornly dry. So she
let out a beautifully modulated wail of anguish, and fled from the room,
leaving him to make his excuses as best he might, and depart with a choking
sense of failure.

o0o

Kitty entered the parlor to discover Amelia bent over an
old, dusty book.

“What is that, Amelia?”

“I can make neither heads nor tails of it.” Amelia sighed. “Oh,
why am I so stupid?”

“What are you trying to read, pray?”

“It is this play. Mr. DuLac said it is about Shylock, and
toleration, but I can make no sense of these words. However, there is not a
thing about the evils of liquor.”

Kitty held her breath so she would not laugh, then said with
care, “Did you mean temperance?”

“No, that is Lord Wilburfolde’s word,” Amelia declared in
disgust. “I’ve heard it a thousand times. Toleration, Mr. DuLac was speaking
of, and he said that Shakespeare argued for it these two hundred years ago, and
so I got down the plays, but I cannot understand a word.”

“Here, let me help you. As it happens, I had to tutor Ned in
this very one, when he was at Eton, and you know, I had nothing else to do, so
I happen to be fairly versed in Shakespeare.”

“And yet you are so very fashionable,” Amelia said
wonderingly.

Kitty smiled, and gave Amelia credit for the true intent of
the compliment. “So let us begin with the story of the play...”

They were still at it when Lady Chadwick sent Eliza up to
fetch them. “Remember, you are to go to the Pantheon Bazaar to shop for the
duke’s masquerade?” Eliza plopped on the sofa, scowling. “I should so love to
attend a masquerade. Only who gives them anymore?”

“The Duchess of Norcaster, silly,” Amelia said, setting the
book aside. “Thank you, Lady Kitty. It is beginning to make sense, and you
know, it isn’t altogether horrid, in parts.”

Lord Chadwick, happening to pass by on his way downstairs to
take his leave for his club, overheard this remark, and was puzzled enough to
put a question to his wife.