Danse de la Folie (38 page)

He was still not entirely certain of the lady’s heart, which
only bewitched him the more. He, sought for most of his life, had discovered
the enchantment of courtship.

Though courtship was not to be without its obstacles. The
first he saw as the curricle drew up in Brook Street. A glance upward at the
parlor window disclosed faces pressed to the glass, foremost the avid gaze of
Miss Lucretia Bouldeston.

A quick glance at Kitty revealed a stricken, even guilty
expression. That convinced him he had found the source of Kitty’s earlier
stiffness.

“Would you care to come inside, Cousin?” Clarissa asked as
the porter helped her down.

“I had better return the horses to the stable,” he said, and
thanked her.

After Kitty and Clarissa had thanked him for the outing, he
took his departure, deep in thought.

The young ladies put off their bonnets and gloves, and went
up to find the Bouldeston sisters still in the parlor.

Lucasta had been in the middle of a long, exacting account
of Mr. Aston’s recent excursions into poesy. Lucretia interrupted her sister to
bestow compliments on the new arrivals and ask about their outing.

Clarissa undertook to answer, and draw Lucretia’s attention
away from the silent Kitty to herself. After three or four uninformative,
polite exchanges, Lucasta tried to resume her recitation of the new poem, but
Lucretia cut her off, saying sweetly, “Lucasta, we must not overstay our
welcome.”

Lucretia could scarcely wait to get outside. What was that
stupid dowd Clarissa Harlowe about, parading all over town with Mr. Devereaux?
She, who could have any man she wanted—who could
buy
any man she wanted, if the whispers were even half true about
her immense dowry. But now that she’d thrown over Lord Wilburfolde, she must
have her eye to her cousin’s fortune. Rounding out the family properties,
perhaps? And what was Catherine doing there? Lending her countenance, of course.

It was past time to bring Catherine’s long visit to a close.
Then Lucretia must turn her mind to the problem of Miss Harlowe. How could
anyone so plain be so arrogant? It was probably due to her constant awareness
of that immense dowry, and her grandmother being a duchess, Lucretia thought in
disgust as she prodded her sister to walk faster.

“I am walking as fast as I can.”

“You always dawdle. And that puts me in mind of another
thing, the way you were going on about that tiresome poet of yours, I scarcely
knew where to look. Could you not see how very bored they were? Bess Devereaux will
be pouring a long tale into her brother’s ears by tomorrow...”

o0o

While that was going on, Bess Devereaux, Amelia, and Tildy
vented their feelings about Mr. Aston’s poetry, much as Lucretia had foreseen,
but not nearly as long as Lucretia spent in scolding her sister. They soon
shifted to other matters.

Bess Devereaux had developed a schoolgirl’s passion for Lady
Kitty. In such cases, the earnest desire to emulate the object of one’s
affections caused questions that could in any other circumstances be regarded
as impertinent. “How much do you spend on gowns?” “Have you ever been kissed?” “How
many offers of marriage have you had?”

Kitty dealt with these and more questions kindly, if a
trifle absently, relieved when they were called to dress for dinner.

Afterward, the younger ladies went across the street to join
the younger Atherton girls in a schoolroom party of round games and
Speculation. Clarissa retired to answer a letter to her grandmother, and Kitty
repaired to her bedchamber, feeling restless.

Her gaze fell first upon her costume for the masquerade
ball, which she and Alice had been secretly working on since Carlisle had
brought it to her from Tarval Hall. She had not shown it to the girls, for she
wanted it to be a surprise.

But she had no taste for sewing at this moment. A resurgence
of determination caused her to sit down, mend her pen, and light a second
candle that her hand might not cast a shadow across her page.

Remembering Clarissa’s suggestion, she began going through
her manuscript from the beginning, altering and sharpening descriptions. When
she came to Andromeda’s first encounter with the mysterious Duke, she began to
write feverishly. Intent upon making the Duke less indistinct, and to convert
some of the same sort of high-flown figurative language that the girls had been
mocking in Mr. Aston to more realistic detail, she found her pen dashing along.

Her candles had burned down halfway when she laid her pen
down and wrung her aching fingers. She was tired, and yet her mind seemed
clearer than it had for days. She got up and took a turn about the room to
refresh herself, then she sat down again and took up the page that she had just
written.

She read over with increasing satisfaction the vivid
description of the Duke as he drove up in his high perch phaeton. This
description was so vivid that it caused the flicker of memory: Mr. Philip
Devereaux as he took the reins from her on the road alongside the River Fleet.

She looked down again at the words she had written. She
blushed and blushed again when she recognized what she had done. The mysterious
Duke had become Mr. Devereaux.

She flung her pen down, gathered up her manuscript, and
flung it into the bottom of her trunk. Then she whirled around and sat upon the
trunk as if the papers might grow arms and legs and climb out to tell their
tale to the world.

Was this what ‘particularity’ meant? She had only had time
to acknowledge that the day’s outing, so quiet—so absent of anything like the
dashing romance of Andromeda’s life, the floods of tears
con amore
or precipitously dramatic actions—had somehow been the
best day of all her stay in London.

Was this how all those other females felt? If only she had
real experience, and not just that of books! For in real life the women around her
did not get abducted before they were married, nor did they faint away at the
sight of their beloved, or indulge in such wild bouts of weeping that the
faculty despaired of their lives.

Why
this
man? Why
not Lord Arden, who made it plain in so many little ways that he admired her?
She could not explain it, except that she regarded him in the nature of a
brother. Why not Mr. Canby? He was kind, even wealthy, and sought her out at
every party or ball. But though she liked him, she did not find herself looking
at his hands, his eyes, his
tout ensemble
.
She did not listen for his voice when she arrived at a gathering. Or why not
Beau Brummel, who was easily the most popular man in London? Yet she did not
care if she never exchanged a word with him, handsome as he was.

If she had to sum up Mr. Devereaux in a word, that word
would be kindness, and yet there was nothing kind about the way he looked in
those flawless coats, or the line of his leg so near to her own in that
curricle...

She got up from the trunk, and crossed the room. She knew
two things: that Clarissa had no interest in her cousin, or she would not have
sat reading poetry when she might have been the one to walk down to the water.
And second, Kitty wanted very much to see him again, and again, and again. To
see him every day, if only that were possible.

o0o

Wednesday morning, Kitty stayed in her room to work on her
costume while Clarissa called upon her grandmother. Kitty was a little
surprised not to be asked to go along, but she knew she should not expect to be
tied to Clarissa in all things.

Kitty came downstairs for afternoon tea, to discover Amelia
returned from an outing with the elder Atherton girls, and Eliza, Bess, and
Tildy entering after their visit to the park. “We were at a reading party hosted
by Isabel DuLac,” Amelia reported.

“You, reading?” Tildy exclaimed.

“It makes a great difference, when someone
explains
things,” Amelia said. “But that
is not what I wanted to tell you.” She leaned forward, after a glance at the
door. “You would never guess who we saw riding by—none other than Lord
Wilburfolde!”

“I thought he was safely gone back to The Castle,” Kitty
exclaimed.

“He must be hiding out from the dragon,” Eliza declared, her
china-blue eyes round with mischief.

Amelia giggled, and lowered her voice. “Not what I heard.
Miss DuLac knows Edmund’s aunt, Lady Annadale, who is just such another dragon,
and apparently, Lady Wilburfolde is quite determined to gain an heir to The
Castle, and so Lord Wilburfolde has been forming a list of eligible ladies.”

“I pity the daughters of Methodists and Temperance Society
leaders,” Eliza said.

Amelia shook her head. “You forget what Lady Wilburfolde
feels is due their name and position in society. His list will only be
well-born girls of whom the dragons approve.”

“I hope and trust any female who meets all those
qualifications meets his mother before sealing her fate,” Kitty exclaimed with
heart-felt sympathy.

Amelia giggled again. “From what Miss DuLac said, that is
exactly what has happened, only it is Lady Annadale who scares them off.”

Bess looked from one to the other. “Who is this man?”

The girls tumbled over one another telling her the history
of Clarissa’s short-lived betrothal, offering examples of Lady Wilburfolde’s
choicest remarks, and her son’s least admirable characteristics.

During it all, Kitty remained silent, until the girls turned
her way, and Amelia said, “What say you, Lady Kitty? I recollect he dropped
many hints about how you ought to go home.”

Kitty said, “As every remark of his that we found most
offensive was almost always prefaced by a reference to his mother, I wonder if,
were he to gain independence of her, he would not be quite so objectionable. A
wife—
not
Clarissa—might be just the
thing for his happiness.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “A wife to hide behind, that she
might take the brunt of Lady W.’s dragonish tongue,” she said shrewdly.

“
Not
Clarissa,”
Tildy declared. “She hates brangles. She hates it when
we
brangle,” she added cheerfully. “Come, Bess. Miss Gill has
decreed I must master that Bach piece. Will you show me how you managed not to
make it sound like a pianoforte falling down a flight of stairs, tinkle-tankle-tink?”

Amelia took out her Shakespeare, which caused Eliza to flee
incontinently. Kitty stayed to hear her, and was surprised to discover that
Amelia had begun to gain an understanding of what she was reading, and
furthermore, not every observation was prefaced by
Charles says
. The two thus passed a pleasant hour with
The Tempest
, Amelia listening closely to
everything Kitty said, and Kitty gratified by her attention.

Clarissa returned from Cavendish Square, her mood
thoughtful. Since she had gone to visit her grandmother with the purpose disclosing,
not only the entire history of her unfortunate betrothal, but also her
intuitions about Cousin Philip and Lady Catherine, preparatory to asking her
grandmother’s advice, she had little to say on her arrival home.

The duchess had listened with evident satisfaction, but she
had vouchsafed little answer. She said only, “I am glad you told me, my girl.
Very glad. Much is now clear. But you know how Philip hates interference. He is
worse than you.”

“That is why I came to you,” Grandmama,” Clarissa sighed.

The duchess had patted her hand. “That does not mean that we
are at a stand. We shall speak again. Go home, dance, and see to your own
happiness. You are past due,” she added gruffly.

Clarissa left in a sober mood, not wishing to admit that her
happiness was as out of reach as ever. But one thing she had learnt during her
prospective engagement: there were definitely worse things than living with
one’s family as a spinster, especially when facing the prospect of inheriting,
as she would at twenty-five, a fortune such as hers.

She arrived to hear the end of Amelia’s bout with Shakespeare,
which surprised her. Who knew where
that
might end?

Dinner was served, after which the ladies dressed for the
weekly ball at Almack’s.

They were not the only ones getting ready. Mr. Devereaux,
with a mind to protecting his lady from speculative gossip, had determined to
be seen squiring a dozen partners on the dance floor before the Harlowes’
arrival.

St. Tarval and his brother were also on hand, the former
determined to gain one dance with Clarissa, even if he could have nothing else,
and the latter to try and find out some way to get his brother out of this
damned tangle. He cared about Carlisle’s happiness, but as strong was his
determination to avoid sharing a house with Lucretia, if he possibly could.

The Bouldeston ladies also arrived early. Lady Bouldeston
liked to find the best seat from which to watch the room. Lucasta waited for
her swain, that they might dance as many times as was allowed, and Lucretia was
surprised to discover Mr. Devereaux already there. She began to count his
partners, despising each for her shortcomings, and kept well away from St.
Tarval so that she could contrive to be available when Mr. Devereaux was free.

Thus it was when the Harlowes and Kitty arrived, and once
again all our dancers were gathered.

In a single glance, Clarissa distinguished St. Tarval
talking to Lord Arden and some other gentlemen. She schooled herself to look
otherwhere, though she was always aware of his movements in the crowded
ballroom.

Kitty was promptly beset with partners. She smiled, said yes
readily, and was so distracted that afterward she was hard put to name a one of
them, until at last she looked up, and there was Mr. Devereaux. Her nerves
fired as she smiled up at him, and they moved out onto the floor.

After trying half a dozen unsuccessful attempts to place
herself in reach of Mr. Devereaux when he finished a dance, just to see him
escort his last partner somewhere across the room, Lucretia began to wonder if she
had made a mistake in contriving to stay away from St. Tarval. She was forgetting
the motivation of jealousy.