Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) (25 page)

“I sometimes wonder if he knows which one he is himself,” Evelyn said on a sigh and at Deb’s sudden intake of breath was quick to reassure her. “But no, I don’t think him beyond saving. And rumor has become mingled with historical fact. My mother spoke once of a most shocking incident that occurred soon after the Duke and Duchess were married. A mad young nobleman, the Duke’s natural son, attacked and tried to abduct the Duchess. She was with child, with Alston in fact, and came close to having her throat cut.” Evelyn pressed Deb’s hands and smiled ruefully. “When my cousin was seen to repeat, in a different way, the folly of this mad half-brother, there were those who were quick to magnify a hideous error of judgment of a wayward youth. History repeating itself, you might say.”

“Then my brother did not lie… For Julian to attack his own mother… Eve, why?”

Evelyn took a deep breath. “You can blame my cousin’s reckless and most shocking outburst on Robert Thesiger who knew very well the sad story of the mad young nobleman and used it to advantage—”

“Robert Thesiger?”

“Yes.” Evelyn’s smile was tight. “Robert was at Eton with Alston and me and he made a point of informing my cousin of their connection by blood; that the Duke was also his father, something of which Alston was unaware and which truly shocked him. He had no idea about his father’s nefarious past, nor that such a debauched existence had produced rotten fruit. Suffice for me to say Robert used his connection by blood to sinister effect.”

Deb’s mind was awhirl with new knowledge. “But what could Robert Thesiger possibly say to make Julian condemn his own mother as a whore and a witch?”

Eve looked down at the lace ruffles covering his long hands. “It is not my place to say and what I have said is too much,
ma cherie
. You must ask Alston for the truth. Let me just add that Robert’s motives have always been transparent. He is eaten up with bitter envy; envy that but for the Grace of God he would be heir to the Roxton Dukedom, not Alston. His mother, who had expectations of marrying the Duke and was rebuffed, taught her son from a young age to loathe the Duchess.” He touched Deb’s cheek. “What is important is that Alston can be forgiven his one act of youthful folly.”

“I can readily forgive the disordered emotional
drunken
outbursts of a naïve and misguided sixteen year old boy,” Deb said with a wry smile, “but the impetuous naivety of youth cannot explain away the actions of a grown man, one who is not only accused of breach of promise, but who went to great lengths to deceive his own wife about his identity and intentions!”

Evelyn grabbed Deb hard by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “If there is one sure thing I know about my cousin it is that he would never offer Lisette Lefebvre, or any other female for that matter, marriage merely to get her into his bed! Believe me, Deborah, I know.
I know
. You are not to believe the inflammatory writings in a filthy pamphlet. They are putrid nothings, written to inflame a starving populace by uninformed hacks that don’t know the real circumstances or motives behind the accusations against my cousin. Do you understand me?”

“I understand what you are saying, Eve,” Deb answered levelly. “But how am I to believe you when Lefebvre’s lawyers have instituted proceedings against my husband?” She pulled free and stepped back. “Eve, Lefebvre and my husband fought a duel. A man does not follow another over water and into a foreign land to cross swords, not unless he believes his daughter was grossly wronged and as a father he has the right to defend her honor.”

Evelyn threw up a lace-ruffled wrist. “Of course Lefebvre believes his daughter was grossly wronged but—but there are always two sides to any imbroglio!”

“Oh? Don’t tell me the girl ensnared Alston with her charms and he was powerless to resist her, because that is a very lame excuse and not one I am willing to entertain!”

“Alston is a stiff-necked bloody fool!” he blurted out savagely. “I warned him how it would be when he returned from exile. But no, he follows his own path and won’t live by society’s dictates! That’s what has landed him at the center of this absurd scandal.” He put an arm about Deb’s shoulders, seeing her hurt and confusion and said in a much calmer tone, “Forgive me,
ma cherie
. Alston and I are the best of friends but we do not see eye to eye on this matter.” He led her through to the blue and white gilded salon, saying with a smile, “You and I, we must help him be more Julian Hesham and less the Marquis of Alston, yes?”

Deb wished in her heart of hearts for nothing truer. But Evelyn’s confidences were far from reassuring. After all, he had made no excuses for the Marquis’s deceiving her into consummating their marriage, nor had he adequately explained the sordid business with Lisette Lefebvre. It was all very well for Evelyn to assure her his cousin had not seduced the girl with the promise of marriage, but where was the proof? And until she had the same assurances from her husband she could not believe Evelyn out of hand.

“Seeing you, knowing your mind, has decided me,
ma cherie
,” Evelyn announced as he tucked his viola under his square chin. He handed Deb a sheaf of musical notations and then began to play a pretty piece he had composed. “Follow the notations. Give me your opinion of this piece of froth I’ve written for Dominique. It is a betrothal gift I will play for her at tomorrow afternoon’s concert in the Tuileries gardens. Jack has consented to be part of my small string ensemble. Having the boy will add a certain tender piquancy to the occasion, don’t you think?”

Deb indulged his whim and reclined on the striped silk chaise longue by the clavichord with the sheets of musical composition while Evelyn pranced about the room in his high-heeled shoes, seemingly lost in his playing, but acting the clown for her benefit, anything to take her mind off her present troubles. She couldn’t help a giggle at such antics.

“It is a pretty piece,” she admitted with a laugh as the composer pirouetted in front of her, the silk skirts of his waistcoat flaring out around him. “But how can you expect me to concentrate on your music when you talk of betrothal pieces, a girl called Dominique, and Jack performing with you at the Tuileries all in the same breath? Is he truly playing in your ensemble?”

Evelyn finished playing his composition with a flourish. “Yes,
ma cherie
. And his aunt must be there to applaud his efforts, and mine in persuading the boy to perform before an audience. His talent must not remain in a cupboard, and so I told him.”

Deb’s brown eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. “I knew you would see my Jack’s talent!” She cocked her head to one side, adding quizzically, “And Dominique?”

Evelyn put aside the viola and came back to the chaise longue.

“Ah, Dominique… I will tell you a secret,
ma cherie
. I am about to incur the wrath of the Duke and my parents. My mother will naturally take to her bed, declaring never to rise again from the shame I inflict on her and my illustrious ancestors. But I beg you to wish me happy. I am about to elope!”

“Elope? Elope with this Dominique? But, Eve, you’ve never once mentioned this girl in any of your letters. Who is she? Why must you elope? Why won’t your parents approve of her?” Deb’s arched brows contracted sharply when Evelyn smiled ruefully. “Of course I wish you happy but… Are you truly happy, Eve?”

He flicked out the embroidered skirts of his Italian waistcoat and sat on the striped silk footstool beside the chaise longue. “Ha! You were ever the perceptive one. Yes, I am
determined
to be happy.”

“But you do not love her?” Deb said gently and felt his fingers convulse in hers, which said more than his words of explanation thus far.

“It is not a
grande passion
. But perhaps that is for the best,” he confessed with a smile of resignation. “I have a distracted and obsessed musician’s disposition and she, for all her youth, has a firm grasp on reality: Unable to catch the prize, she magnanimously settled for a dilution in the noble blood and a connection by marriage.”

Deb touched his close-shaven cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, Eve, but if she is marrying you merely because of your noble connections, why elope with her?”

He kissed her hand. “
Ma cherie
, I assure you, the sooner I am married the sooner this hideous entanglement we all find ourselves in will be resolved and we can return to a semblance of normality. Although, I fear the Duke will send me into exile, if only to keep Alston’s fingers from choking the life out of me. Poor Maman, she will not recover from the shame of having Dominique for a daughter-in-law.”

“You’ve not told me more than her name.”

“Trust me. Soon all will reveal itself. For now she is simply Dominique. I was her pianoforte teacher.”

“Teacher? When did the son of a viscount, nephew of a duke, ever need to descend to earning a living from his talent?”

Evelyn’s blue eyes were alight with mischief and he grinned. “Didn’t Otto ever tell you that passing one’s self off as a musical genius who must needs earn his keep as a teacher makes for easy entrée into the best houses, and the best houses have the prettiest daughters!”

Deb playfully pinched his cleft chin. “You are execrable. What will my husband think—”

“If you cared anything for my opinion, Madam wife, you’d have thought twice about sleeping in my cousin’s bed!”

~   ~   ~

An hour earlier Joseph had been kicking his heels at the Roxton stables, waiting for the Marquis of Alston’s return from Versailles. He did not have to loiter long when a mud-spattered carriage and four turned into the courtyard, sending an army of lackeys into a frenzy of activity, and came to a halt close to where Joseph was propped on a low, ivy covered stone wall, smoking a Turkish cheroot.

The first noble to alight from the carriage was Alston. He lingered on the portable steps two liveried footmen had rushed to place on the cobbles under the carriage door and spoke to its occupants. From the noise and laughter, Joseph reckoned there were at least half a dozen aristocrats deep within the velvet-upholstered interior. A pretty painted female, her powdered hair swept up in a confection of dyed plumes, satin ribbons and strings of pearls managed to stick her head and arm out of the curtained window and demanded Alston kiss her fingertips. He did so with a flourish and she disappeared inside with a giggle to be replaced by another female with an equally complicated and absurd headdress. The Marquis was required to kiss her plump wrist, just above the string of pearls. He obediently complied and then descended the steps, three bewigged noblemen emerging from the dark interior to follow him onto the cobbles. That the carriage door remained wide told Joseph that the Marquis’s friends were not staying.

“Perhaps another time, Bertrand. Give my regards to Mme D’Aprano, and thank her for the invitation.”

“You can’t refuse Madame’s invitation so brutally, Julian! It is most unfair of you. You must come to Chaillot for a few days. It is expected, no?” asked the young Vicomte de Chaillot, looking to his two companions for support. “Henriette and Marguerite, they are expecting you. Their disappointment, it will be unbearable.” He indicated the carriage window. “You saw just now how they miss you already.”

“Alas, Sebastian, your dear sisters must be denied my company upon this occasion.”

The Vicomte frowned. “This absurd trial, it is bothering you more than it should, my friend.”

“Sebastian he is right in this,” the Vicomte’s younger brother, Bertrand agreed. “This stinking fishmonger does not bear a moment of your thoughts. He is absurd. This business, it is absurd. Ugh! I do not know why you do not turn your back on it all. Then it is done with.
Voilà
!”

“That you do not turn your back, that is what feeds the rumors. But what of that, I say? It is not the truth that is important. It is that this tax collector had the effrontery—”

“
Excusez-moi
, Frederic,” interrupted the Marquis with an embarrassed half-smile, turning to the third nobleman, one Chevalier du Charmond, “I beg to differ. The truth it is very important to me.”

“M’sieur le duc your father he will arrange everything, I am certain of it,” the Vicomte put in hurriedly, hoping to avoid offending his English friend. “This middle-class
putain
who opened her legs to you and her ridiculous father they will be paid off. Then all will return to normality.”

“Yes! Yes. Sebastian, he is in the right,” Bertrand nodded, offering the others snuff. “All Farmers-General, they are open to bribery. Is that not how they gathered up their great wealth in the first place? Is it not criminal that they should be so wealthy?”

“M’sieur, as I am innocent of the charge I do not see the need to resort to bribery,” Julian said flatly, ignoring the commotion in the carriage. “And were I to do so, what would that say about my innocence?”

The three noblemen pondered this as if the idea was new to them, the Chevalier adding good-naturedly after he had snorted a goodly quantity of snuff up one fine nostril, “But… Alston! That is being too stiff-necked about a trifle of a thing. This bribery of which you speak, it is a commonplace thing. It is done at the highest levels. It is expedient, no?”

There were calls from within the carriage for the noblemen to hurry along or they would be late for the recital. Henriette had to change her gown and Marguerite her hair needed more powder. Why were their brothers so unthinking? Bertrand? Sebastian?
Frederic
? The three noblemen exchanged comments and gestures of hopelessness and forgiveness about the excessive needs of sisters, bowed to their friend with a flourish and piled back inside the carriage to be off.

Julian waved them away with a smile. The Vicomte de Chaillot calling out from the window that he and his brothers would next see their friend when they came to collect him for the Opera. But when he set off across the courtyard Joseph saw that the nobleman’s face was devoid of laughter. He pulled at his cravat as if eager to be rid of it and walked as fast as he could in red high-heeled court shoes that were meant for mincing about not striding at pace.