Danse de la Folie (36 page)

With a friendly clap on St. Tarval’s shoulder, and a gust of
whiskey-laden breath that made the marquess’s eyes water, he passed on by.

St. Tarval heard shrill voices coming through the door of
the young ladies’ parlor. Lucasta’s rose higher. “... think yourself so
superior, Lucretia, when you have not managed to attach anyone beyond Carlisle
Decourcey. Yes, he has a very grand title, but as for
your ladyship
, and your entering any room before Mama and me when I
am Mrs. Aston, very grand indeed will you be in your ramshackle dining room,
serving three peas apiece on that horrid plate that was out of fashion at the
time of Queen Anne!”

The door was wrenched violently open and Lucasta nearly ran
St. Tarval down. She brought herself up short, hiccupped tearily, and said in a
quick rush, “I feel sorry for you, Carlisle, even if you wear a shabby coat.
You
have always been kind.”

She did not wait for an answer, but pushed on past and all
he saw was a flurry of skirts as she bolted upstairs.

St. Tarval entered the parlor to discover his betrothed
sitting in a chair, arms crossed. She wore, as always, a pretty pink gown
covered in ribbons and furbelows, but as he looked across the room it struck
him that in ten years Lucretia would resemble her mother.

“The notice in the paper. How could you do that, Lucretia?”
he asked, closing the door behind him.

Her chin jerked up, and her mouth tightened. The resemblance
to her mother was pronounced. “I have been faithful to our understanding, sir,”
she declared breathlessly, and daubed at her dry eyes with a handkerchief. “Are
you here to confess that you dare to trifle with my affections?”

“Trifle with
what?
”
The marquess said with asperity, “Lucretia, we are alone. If you know nothing
else about me, you do know that I tell the truth. When I told you that summer
that I could not marry until I had settled my father’s debts, I meant it.”

Lucretia tossed her head. “So that is why I saw you making
eyes at Miss Harlowe? You would throw me over to gain her fortune?”

St. Tarval was so stunned and infuriated that he could not
speak for a long moment. Lucretia glared at him in angry triumph. So there
had been
something in those looks.

“We will leave the lady’s name out of this discussion,” he
said softly.

She tossed her head again, enraged at the very idea that he
could actually prefer that dowd. “Or what? You will challenge me to a duel?”

“Or I will send a notice to the papers that the announcement
of our betrothal was in error,” he said.

Fear chilled her rage. “You cannot do that.”

“I can.”

“The world will condemn you...” She hesitated, knowing who
would really be the target of scorn.

“I do not care what the world says about me,” he stated. “As
I am unlikely ever to return to the world of London.” Guilt assailed him at her
blanched expression of fear. He would willfully hurt no creature weaker than
he, and at one time he truly had been fond of Lucretia. He asked more quietly, “Why
did you cause your father to insert that notice into the paper?”

“I sent you a note asking you to call,” she said, some of
the heat returning to her voice. “These three days at least.”

“I had to ride down to Kent,” he said. “There was business
that could not wait. You know that I am my own steward, and there are some
matters that Kirby cannot compass, but we will leave that. You could not wait
three days?”

Lucretia tightened her arms across her chest. “That selfish,
stupid
sister of mine is likely to
contract a marriage with that blockhead Aston. I could not
bear
the thought that my sister would marry before me. The entire
world will be laughing behind their fans.”

“I am sorry for it, if that is true. But you must see that
you owed it to us both to talk to me first.”

“Just to be put off for another half-dozen years?”

“It might take that long to recover. You yourself know what
it is to live under the weight of a father’s debt.”

Lucretia made play with the handkerchief again, mostly to
gain time. Her anger had been cooled by fear, which was tempered by relief. It
appeared that she had carried her point. Carlisle was not repudiating the
engagement outright. The six years before they could marry could only be
considered beneficial. It gave her time, for she was determined to encourage
Mr. Devereaux. It could be no one else, for he was rich, and handsome, and if
that fat old uncle of his didn’t produce an heir, or the other uncle in the
admiralty marry, Mr. Devereaux might very well one day be a duke. Lucretia
closed her eyes, reveling in the image of herself, a duchess.

She just needed time.

She opened her eyes, and gave Carlisle her sweetest smile.
She must say something conciliatory, and send him away in a better frame of
mind.

He noted the subsiding of anger, and her smile. If she were
Kitty, that attempted smile would be her way of putting a brave face on
disappointment. Surely Lucretia could not be so very different. She was a
female, and close to the same age. They must share some emotions, even if they
differed in point of personality.

The hard truth that he must face was that Lucretia’s remark
about Clarissa must also be shared by the world. If Lucretia could leap to such
a conclusion from afar, what must Clarissa’s relations think were he to make
his wishes known?

He was very certain that Clarissa herself did not feel the
same. Though he was not coxcomb enough to assume that she was in love with him
without the lady speaking for herself, he was certain he could not have been
mistaken in the warmth of her smile, her readiness to dance with him. This
accursed notice could not have come at a worse time!

Yet even if it had not, he must face the fact that the world
must think him mercenary. Lord Chadwick seemed a genial fellow, but that might
change if he saw in Kitty’s brother a fortune hunter.

“There is much in what you say,” Lucretia observed in a
coaxing voice. “It seems a wise decision to wait upon events. I know I cannot
bring a respectable dowry to any marriage, and so I believe it is my duty to
bide until affairs are more propitious. I cannot pretend to understand such
things.”

The marquess perceived this much: she agreed to give him
time.

She had been watching him carefully. Seeing the signs that
he was relenting, she said coaxingly, “I told Mama that, given the
circumstances, a betrothal party might not be the thing, and so we might make
it a musical party instead, a general party. You will find the invitation among
those notes that you did not see. The party is for three days hence. That will
enable Lucasta and Mr. Aston to shine their particular lights.”

He hesitated, the desire to speak the truth nearly
overwhelming. Fortune hunter—Sir Henry as neighbor—that stupid promise he’d
made six years ago—he forced himself to say what was expected, and took his
leave.

o0o

Lucretia’s chief motivation for talking her parents into
hosting a musical party was ostensibly to show off Lucasta’s accomplishments,
but in truth it was to be a family party, which would enable them to include
along with the older Harlowe girls their guest, Bess Devereaux. Lucretia had learnt
through Lucasta that Mr. Devereaux’s sister had musical pretensions. And from
thence it was quite natural to send an invitation to
him
.

Once this schoolgirl had been visiting in Mount Street, even
if her brother did not accompany her, it would be quite natural to include him
in subsequent invitations, and as an engaged woman, Lucretia would not be
perceived to be on the catch, as the vulgar termed it. She simply had to make
certain that it was evident her intended marriage was not a love match—that a
jealous admirer might with impunity sweep her off her feet.

Already there were unexpected benefits to the engagement
with St. Tarval. First of all, Papa must quit himself of recommending his
daughters to particular
cronies, like that horrid Mr. Redding, or old Lord Penwick. While both were
wealthy, there their recommendations ended, the one having an unsavory
reputation, and the other his age.

Then there was the invitation to the Duchess of Norcaster’s
masquerade ball. The duchess herself wrote, begging pardon for the lateness of
the invitation. In her old-fashioned handwriting that made f into s in the
middle of words, she praised the Decourcey family, and wished to extend her
welcome to their prospective connections.

The Bouldestons had never before attained such select
company, and the girls’ mother was in a fit of temper over how to contrive
suitably sumptuous masquerade costume. No dowdy dominos for them, Lucasta
exulted, dancing the invitation around the room.

Lucretia agreed fervently, for Mr. Devereaux was sure to be
there.

o0o

Lucretia wore one of her finest gowns the night of the
musical party, and when St. Tarval arrived, she acted the fond part of the
future wife so that when the Harlowe party arrived with Bess Devereaux, she quite
naturally crossed to the other side of the room. Bess must not see them
together, and report it to her brother, whose name was not announced.

Lucretia had no interest in music at any time. She sang when
it was her turn, but she had long since discovered that no one but her mother
enjoyed her singing, an observation that simpleton Lucasta had yet to make. Two
songs only she sang, and then she made a little business of modestly retiring. As
always, only her mother called for more.

Then Lucasta took over, Mr. Aston leaping up to turn pages
for her, though his shirt points were so high that Lucretia wondered if he
could even see the music for the blinkers at either side of his foolish face. But
Lucasta was so busy rolling her eyes and striking absurd attitudes that she neither
observed her ridiculous swain nor the boredom of her audience.

Lucretia occupied herself with that tiresome brat Bess
Devereaux, offering her the most favorable place in the room, and constantly
pressing refreshments on her, then seeing to it she took her turn at the
instrument, turning the pages for her, and leading the applause. So why did the
chit sit there like a stuffed owl?

Lucretia’s third piece of business was to introduce
Catherine to Lord Penwick, just as the singing began. But when Catherine, after
rising to get a glass of lemonade between songs, chose another seat, Mr.
Redding took the one next to her, and exerted himself to win her smiles with
the sorts of compliments ladies liked. He cared too little for what might go on
inside the heads of beauties to notice that Kitty’s flush was not one of
pleasure.

It can safely be said that no one enjoyed the music other
than Lucasta, Mr. Aston, and Lady Bouldeston, who liked seeing her girls the
center of attention. Bess only enjoyed playing, but not with Lucasta’s horrid
sister standing so close.

A convenient clap of thunder brought the evening to a close,
everyone claiming they must get home before the impending storm broke.

Kitty’s complaint about that horrid Mr. Redding, ready to be
aired the moment they got outside, died when she saw the familiar tension in
Clarissa’s brow. “Headache?” she asked, reflecting that Clarissa had not
betrayed that faint wince once in the days since her break with Lord
Wilburfolde.

“A little,” Clarissa admitted, and then, as she always did, “It
will pass off presently. Fresh air is beneficial,” she added as they stepped
into the street.

Kitty loved London, but she had to smile at the idea of the
sooty air being fresh, so still and warm it was, not to mention the odor left
by the horses passing up Mount Street. Lightning flared somewhere to the south;
the air was heavy with that peculiar stillness before a storm, but as yet no
rain fell.

As they walked down to where their carriages waited,
Clarissa murmured, “You did not appear to be pleased with your place.”

“I do not know why, but I do
not
like that Mr. Redding. He smiles too much, he sat too close,
and even though the music was indifferent, I would rather have listened than to
be whispered to, and to have to thank the man again and again for compliments I
would not have received. There! Scold me for being impossible to please.”

Clarissa shook her head slowly. “I would not do so.” The
only good thing she had heard about Mr. Redding was that he was not a fortune
hunter, but as everything else was gossip, she did not say more.

When everyone reached Brook Street and rejoined in the
Parlor, Amelia greeted Kitty with a scowl. “I do not blame you a bit, Lady
Kitty, for changing your seat, but it was a hard thing to have that horrid Lord
Penwick patting my hand through Lucasta’s caterwauling.”

Mrs. Latchmore exclaimed against that, then added, “Lord
Penwick is extremely well-to-live, I will remind you.”

“With nine children to provide for?”

“Even so,” Mrs. Latchmore said. “And a new Lady Penwick
would never have to see them. The elder two are married, and the younger ones
can be left in the country. Lord Penwick has a very fine house in Grosvenor
Square, and it is said that he is looking in particular for a young wife.”

“He’s
old
,” Amelia
stated in disgust.

“It is said that an older man makes an excellent husband,”
Mrs. Latchmore chided.

“Then
you
marry
him, Aunt.”

This unfortunate remark caused a spurt of laughter, which sufficed
to bring down a scold upon all their heads. Mrs. Latchmore left, adjuring them
to improve their thinking.

As soon as the door was shut, Amelia heaved a loud sigh. “Was
not Lucasta’s singing hideous, Bess?”

“Oh, I am well enough accustomed to Lucasta’s airs, always
rolling her eyes in that die-away manner, and pretending to faint as she
squeaks those high notes, but my brother said not to blame her for she is
probably tone deaf, and though I think him tiresome all the time, there are
moments when he is right, for she can
not
seem to hit any note true. What frightened
me
was the way Miss Lucretia danced about piling my plate with food, and asking if
I should like another cushion, or a better chair, and then breathing down my
headdress when I played. After all of Lucasta’s stories about the mean things
her sister does to her, I kept expecting a frog to jump out of a pastry, or a
goldfish to be swimming in that punch, or her to drop a spider down my dress
while I played.”