Danse de la Folie (34 page)

“Your lordship, Miss Clarissa,” Miss Gill said in her
nervous twitter. “Shall I remove the children to the schoolroom?”

Tildy proclaimed, “But Clarissa, Mama promised we could
entertain Celeste and Margaret, and we are to have apple-tartlets to tea!” She
indicated their best morning gowns, evidence that indeed, Lady Chadwick had
sanctioned the girls’ use of the parlor.

“Child,” Lord Wilburfolde said heavily, venting his mounting
frustration on Tildy. “What kind of example do you set to thus address your
elders without your opinion having been sought?” Ordinarily he did not mind
young persons, as long as they were presentable and quiet, but every moment he
was in this house seemed to surround him with noise and disorder.

Tildy flushed, and muttered an apology.

Clarissa said, “We shall use the back parlor, Tildy. You and
Eliza and your guests may bide here.”

Lord Wilburfolde was left with nothing to say. Kitty
observed the back of his neck reddening, and stepped out of the way. The last
time she had witnessed Clarissa in this mood was when the latter had flung her
cloak around Kitty and bade her to sit in the coach, the night the yacht sank. She
followed the betrothed pair, wondering if she should stay or go.

The back parlor proved to be occupied by Lady Chadwick and
Mrs. Latchmore. The latter immediately entreated her favorite to join them,
enabling the gentleman to say, with a glower at Kitty, “Thank you Ma’am, for
your kind invitation, but I entered this premises with the intention of begging
a moment’s private conversation with Miss Harlowe.”

Kitty flushed, apologetically meeting Clarissa’s gaze.

“In that case,” Clarissa said, still using that crisp voice,
“we shall repair to the schoolroom. Thank you, Kitty, for your company.”

Kitty nodded, flicked a polite curtsey to Lord Wilburfolde, and
retreated to her room.

Up one more flight of stairs Clarissa trod, her lips tightened
against an exclamation. Rudeness to Kitty was the last straw.

They entered a sunny room redolent of apple juice and chalk
dust, the sturdy, much-used tables and chairs too small for a grown man.
Clarissa moved to the window to open it she said, “Would you care to sit?”

He frowned at the battered furniture. “I am comfortable
standing, for I only intend to remain a moment.” And he delivered himself of the
much-interrupted speech that he had been formulating, and practicing, all
through the morning.

She listened without speaking.

He reached the end, and as she was still silent, he said, “Pray
inform me when it will be convenient for our departure from the metropolis? I
should like to give orders as soon as I may.”

“When my father desires us to leave, of course.”

Lord Wilburfolde stared. “But I just represented to you the
reasons why, with my great respect for your family, you ought to bring your
visit to a close. We could save considerable money traveling together. With
your maid along, no one would question an affianced pair—”

“I beg your pardon for interrupting, but I feel I ought to
assure you that you were most clear, Lord Wilburfolde. But I intend to remain
with my family until our customary time of departure.”

“I do not understand why,” he exclaimed.

“If we exclude my duty to my guest, there is also my family
who have a claim on my time.”

He fidgeted with his gloves, angry and frustrated. “I
believe,” he said, “that an affianced man should not have to remind his
betrothed that his claims ought to be put before anyone else’s.”

“And what about her claims?” Clarissa asked so softly he
almost did not hear the words.

“Her claims? Lady Catherine may return home, or stay as your
mother’s guest. I see no claims here,” he said.

“I meant the claims of the bride.”

“The bride?” he repeated, hands out. “What claims? A lady
brings to her marriage her good name and her dowry, and the gentleman endows
her with his good name, his family, and all his worldly goods. What claims can
she make?”

“Put that way,” she said slowly, “it places the blame
squarely on the woman who is not grateful for the bestowing of your family and
worldly goods. But there is no gratitude in my heart. No more can I relinquish
my soul in taking your good name, sir, and so...” Her heart beat in her ears. “...
And so I must inform you that I find that I cannot consent to wear that name.”

Exhilaration thrilled through her, coupled with a sense of
recklessness that she usually only felt on horseback; yet she was not flying on
the back of a galloping horse, she stood right here in this dusty room. She
went on more firmly. “If you believe that your claims ought to be put before my
family’s, and I believe my duty requires me to put my family before all else,
then we have reached an impasse that might be insurmountable.”

“Insurmountable,” he repeated, wondering how he could state
his case the more strongly.

“By that I mean that we had better put an end to this
engagement.”

“Miss Harlowe! You can’t do that,” he exclaimed, thoroughly
appalled. “The papers—the neighbors—my mother—”

She had said the words and the sky had not fallen. But she
had never feared the malice of the stars. “Surely your mother will find you a
more biddable wife, Lord Wilburfolde. I am very sorry if I have given you pain,
but on reflection, I believe that we do not suit.”

“I—I—”

“You have only to send a notice to the papers that our engagement
it at an end, and then you may ride home as soon as may be, and you will be
comfortable again,” she said kindly. Oh, how good it felt to be free!

Lord Wilburfolde felt himself to be caught in a nightmare.
First his valet wanting to marry, and now this! He managed a bow, and put his
hand to the door.

She did not call him back.

As soon as he was gone, Kitty entered the room, her eyes
widening when she took in Clarissa’s flushed face, her odd smile. “Clarissa?”
she ventured.

“I did it. I jilted him,” Clarissa said, and sat down on a
battered chair meant for a ten year old, and laughed breathlessly. “I should
write his mother and thank her for reconciling me to the life of single
blessedness, for she claims she lives to be useful. But, however, it is all too
likely that she would write back.” She laughed unsteadily. “I had better talk
to my father.”

“I believe I heard him in the breakfast room,” Kitty said.

Clarissa went straightaway downstairs, her heart still
beating fast. There she found her father just finishing breakfast. He gave a
great yawn as the butler took away the coffee things. “You down here to escape
those girls, too?”

“Papa, I must speak to you.” Clarissa said.

A thumping overhead, and the faint sound of shrill voices
caused him to say, “We will repair to the book room.”

She followed him to his own chamber, about which the odor of
cigars hung. The room was dark, and backward-facing, not that Lord Chadwick
cared for that. Against one wall stood a bookshelf of untouched volumes, and
the other walls were decorated with sporting prints. Dominating the room was a
green baize-topped table with four deep chairs set around it.

Lord Chadwick sank into one and Clarissa took a stance
before him. “Papa, I have just parted with Lord Wilburfolde.”

“In the schoolroom? Where’s he gone?” Lord Chadwick swiveled
his entire body around so as not to crease his shirt points.

“I am no longer to be married.”

Lord Chadwick gave what in a lesser man would be termed a
vulgar whistle. “Not just a tiff, eh?”

“I am sorry, Papa, but I do not believe we would suit.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then grunted. “I’d begun
to wonder if it would be a good thing, after all.”

“What, Papa?”

“T’other day, at luncheon. Young Wilburfolde said he wasn’t
used to the chatter of girls, and I thought, of what use is it to have one of
you married, if you can’t fire off the rest of your sisters? I’d thought Hetty
would do that, but she’s already increasing, and sicker than your step-mother
was. And a fortnight past I invited him to a snug little card-party, thought I’d
do the fatherly, and he mouthed out long periods about how iniquitous card
playing is.”

Clarissa found her emotions in that uncertain balance
between amusement and exasperation. “Why did you not speak up, Papa?”

He blinked in honest surprise. “Thought you might have
approved. Never seen you gambling.”

“I have no interest in such things, but I have no objection
to others who do.”

“Well, you’ve always known your own mind. Fact is, the more
I saw of him, the more I wondered how it would be. But there’s also the fact,”
he added, “that a girl your age don’t hand a fellow his hat without some
reason. Nobody’ll offer now, so I expect you’re back on my hands for good.
Which is as well for the younger girls. Try as she might, your aunt seems to
have no influence over them.”

Clarissa then took her leave, and with a great sense of
lightness, turned her mind to enjoying the afternoon before readying herself
for Almack’s that night.

Those sensations of lightness resolved into gratitude and determination.
So she was destined for a life of single blessedness. She was aware of a
qualitative difference between isolation and connection to others. Cousin
Philip’s concern, her grandmother’s rough sympathy, and above all Kitty’s
steady friendship, all had contributed to bolstering her courage.

With the idea of repaying Kitty in mind, Clarissa sat down
and determinedly read through the rest of the manuscript pages while Kitty was
out walking with the younger girls in the park.

On her return, they sat down to dinner, and Clarissa was
able to say to Kitty, “I have finished reading.”

Kitty’s eyelids flashed up. She said nothing before the
family, but Clarissa perceived her strictly controlled excitement.

Directly following dinner, the two repaired to Clarissa’s
bedchamber, where she returned the pages to their author. Kitty clasped the
manuscript to her bosom and said breathlessly, “What did you think?”

“I think it is as good as any I have read, and in some ways
I like it better, because there are some things which made me laugh,” Clarissa
said slowly.

“Are there too many dramatic scenes? Carlisle once said he
feared that I might have too many abductions, but I did not know how else is
she to get about!”

“These sorts of stories always employ such devices as
abductions. There must be excitement, I perceive, and I do not know how else to
get it in except by such methods. I have only two suggestions, and I offer them
without confidence. I am no writer.”

Kitty ducked her head, her eyes wide in mute appeal.

“The first you have acknowledged yourself. The clothing and
some of the expressions need alteration to make them more modish. But I also
think you might consider a bit more description of the mysterious Duke whom I
gather is to be Andromeda’s savior and lover. The text repeats many times that
he is the handsomest of men, and the best at whatever he does, but I get no
sense of him. What kind of a man is he, besides the best? What does he look
like, other than the most striking of men?”

Kitty’s hands had tightened on the pages until she became
aware she was crushing them. She was so afraid Clarissa would tell her it was
impossible. Kitty could see no other way to a fortune, and
somehow
she must help her brothers. She set no store by Carlisle’s
promise not to smuggle anymore. She was afraid he would take any risk if it
were to benefit St. Tarval.

Clarissa went on to praise many of the scenes, but Kitty
heard the kindness in her voice, the effort to please, and her thought stayed
with the criticisms, which she had to acknowledge were just.

This went on until a scratch on the door was followed by
Rosina reminding them it was time to dress. Kitty thanked Clarissa profusely,
and returned to her room to ready herself for Almack’s.

They departed soon after, and so deep was the need for
reflection that the only person talking was Amelia, who surprised everyone by
twice pointing out the historical significance of the street they were riding
along. “It is such a strange thing to think of,” she commented. “It seems as if
London has always been the way we see it. But even our grandmothers saw a
different London, when there was no Almack’s, or rather, it was different. No
one would go to Ranelagh now, but not so long ago it was all the crack.”

“Amelia!” Mrs. Latchmore scolded. “Where have you been
hearing such language? You do us no credit by employing vulgar expressions.”

That effectively silenced conversation, as the coachman
jogged the carriage into the long line. Each of the young ladies fell into
reverie, and Mrs. Latchmore sat back in triumph, feeling that she had carried
her point.

Ahead of them in the long line was the Bouldestons’
carriage. After some conversation with the baronet, Lady Bouldeston had sent an
invitation to St. Tarval and his brother as well as to Mr. Aston, inviting them
all to a family dinner, and to ride with them to the Wednesday ball at Almack’s
as neither Mr. Aston nor the Decourceys kept a carriage.

This invitation had been settled upon by Sir Henry and Lady
Bouldeston as the surest means of indicating their approbation of the
prospective connections. Mr. Aston’s tendency to interrupt the dinner
conversation with somewhat ponderous effusions of his poetic afflatus were
disconcerting, but a reflection upon his family’s wealth enabled the elder
Bouldestons—neither of whom had the least interest in poesy—to look upon his
efforts with complacency.

As for the marquess, though they would rather see their
daughter married to a man of wealth and influence, there was no doubting his
rank, the extent of his lands, nor the fact that he looked well at their table.

Lucretia was cognizant of the fact that a marquess joining
their party at Almack’s would appear well. Carlisle himself was prepossessing
enough, though he hadn’t the modish elegance or the chiseled features of Mr.
Devereaux.