Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) (35 page)

Julian could sit still no longer and he wandered to the windows and back again and looked down at his mother, at the heightened color in her porcelain cheeks and the hesitation in her large emerald green eyes. He thrust his hands in his frock coat pockets. “Because if the world discovered that the dissolute Duke of Roxton had taken advantage of a young innocent girl in his care, under his very roof, it would forever blacken his honor?”

Antonia hung her head and then bravely looked up at her son.

“
Mon fils
, you know as well as I that Society it is indulgent of the degenerate ways of a great rake but a nobleman of advancing years who seduces a-a virgin who is under his care and protection… If this girl she is of the same social standing and betrothed in marriage to another, then this nobleman he has broken the unwritten code of his peers.”

“And his peers will no longer consider him a gentleman,” Julian continued when she could not. “They will turn their noble backs on him. He is condemned forever as an abhorrent monster.”

“It wasn’t like that, Julian.
He
isn’t like that! Monseigneur and I we were in love and we did not think through the consequences of our actions. All that mattered was having those few days alone together before we were to be forever parted. The future—living without each other—it was inconceivable.” When Julian gave a grunt she added in a rush, “You are not to think of your father in that way,
mon fils
. If you must think badly of one of us then it is I you should condemn. He would not have crossed the great divide that separates guardian from ward had I not enticed him to it!”

Julian shook his head solemnly and took a turn about the room but when he came back to her it was with a grin on his face. “Maman! As if I could think worse of you or Papa knowing what you have just told me. So I was conceived out of wedlock. What of that? Who am I to judge when I myself deceived my own wife into thinking me a common man so that she could get to know me as Julian, not the Marquis of Alston. I gave no thought to the consequences of my actions. Who thinks beyond the immediate when the heart rules the head?” He pulled her out of the chair and hugged her to him, a great shudder of relief coursing through his body. “
Merci
,
ma mere
. Your secret it is safe with me. And it has lifted a great burden from my shoulders.”

Antonia stepped back and looked up at him. “Because that man he is not your brother, yes?”

Julian bowed over her hand and kissed it. “Yes.”

Their moment of intimacy was abruptly ended when the breakfast room door opened and the Duchess’s lady-in-waiting came into the room, bobbed a curtsey and whispered near Antonia’s ear before departing, leaving the door wide.

“Mme le duchesse, please excuse the intrusion. I wouldn’t have disturbed you for the world but Alston is not in his apartments and his valet—
Julian
?” Martin said with considerable surprise, suddenly spying his godson by the undraped window as he bowed low over the Duchess’s outstretched hand.

“What is it, Martin?” asked the Duchess with alarm; her first thought with the Duke.

The old man looked from mother to son. Julian came away from the window to stand by his mother. Both were ashen-faced. “Not the Duke,” he assured them, though he still looked very worried. “It’s Henri-Antoine. He’s disappeared. Bailey thinks he’s gone to the Tuileries with Master Cavendish.” He smiled crookedly at the Marquis, eyes widening imperceptibly at the day-old growth on his godson’s face. “It seems he’s determined to see that wretched bear.”

Julian put an arm about his mother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Maman. I know exactly where to find them.” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin and grinned at his godfather. He had seen the flash of disapproval cross the old man’s face. “I suppose a shave will have to wait until my return from the Tuileries.”

Antonia touched Martin’s arm. “Thank you for not telling Monseigneur. He has enough to worry him what with that oaf Sartine daring to bother him.”

Julian’s head snapped round at his mother. “The lieutenant of police is here annoying Father? Why?”

“That it is unimportant,” the Duchess said dismissively, propelling him towards the door. “Your brother he is what is important. So please you will now go fetch him home so that I may scold him severely and before Mon—Monseigneur!” she declared with a bright smile as she went forward to greet the Duke, who stood in the doorway, leaning lightly on his cane, and surveying his wife through his quizzing glass. “You have sent those horrid policemen away, Renard, yes?” she asked eagerly.

“What’s this, Antonia?” the Duke drawled, twirling his quizzing glass on its black silk riband. He was frowning but there was a decided twinkle of mischief in his black eyes. “Twenty-six years of marriage, twenty-six years of—er—uninterrupted privacy in our own chambers, and yet in one morning I am gone less than an hour and return to find my wife entertaining our son and his godfather without me?”

Antonia went up on tiptoe and kissed him. Her smile was impish. “But, in those twenty-six years, you have never left me to breakfast alone and so me I was lonely.”

The Duke returned her kiss and playfully chided her under the chin. “Dear me, I see I must never leave you alone again.”

“Sir, if Sartine was here, why wasn’t I told of it?” Julian asked with annoyance, interrupting his parents’ playful banter.

“Because, my son, he came to see me,” the Duke replied simply. “There has been an interesting—er—development in the Lefebvre case.”

“Such as?”

The Duke regarded his son with an inscrutable gaze. “Correct my grand presumption, but I believe you know well enough already.”

Julian’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. “Exceedingly interesting. So he’s finally done the honorable thing and confessed?”

“The words
honorable
and—er—
confess
do not readily spring to mind.”

Julian’s lip curled. Martin Ellicott was nonplussed. The Duke took out his snuffbox and tapped the lid. Antonia looked at all three and said bluntly,

“Me I do not understand at all! What is this development of which you speak, Renard?”

“I’m only too willing to allow Julian to tell you, my love. I find the whole Lefebvre imbroglio fatiguing in the extreme.”

The Marquis opened his mouth to speak when unannounced into the breakfast room rushed the Duke’s sister. Estée Vallentine crossed the room in a whirl of voluminous hooped petticoats and a mass of disordered gray hair festooned with curling ribbons, as if she had left off in the middle of having her hair dressed and powdered. She clutched a crumpled letter to her heaving bosom and spying her brother she waved this at the Duke. Roxton rolled his eyes to the ornate ceiling and sat down as his sister launched herself, sobbing, into the Duchess’s arms.

“Antonia! He’s eloped! My son! My
darling
boy.
Evelyn
. He’s run off with a filthy
bourgeois
!”

F
IFTEEN

D
EB WOULD HAVE
preferred to make the short trip to the Tuileries on foot. It was a lovely day. But Brigitte, Joseph and two of the Duke’s burly footmen had other ideas and they arrived at the formal gardens by carriage. So much for slipping quietly away without anyone knowing her whereabouts! Yet she realized it was better to have her entourage with her than leave them behind to alert her husband and his father that she had absconded. The carriage was met at the terraced steps leading down to a broad central avenue by Evelyn Ffolkes, who had with him Jack, an odd assortment of musicians, and a small band of servants carrying musical instruments and chairs.

While the musicians and their retinue of hangers-on went off to ready themselves for their performance by one of the large fountains, Deb took the opportunity to stroll with Joseph and Brigitte amongst the crowded stalls that lined the walks. The two beefy footmen who had accompanied the carriage fell in behind the Marchioness and her party, keeping a discreet distance, yet ever watchful of the crowds. The noise of carriages and barrows plying along the streets was not so deafening within the expanse of the Tuileries where promenaded groups of pleasure seekers out to enjoy a spring day of entertainment. News reporters huddled under the trees, old men played at chess in the shade, some enjoyed skittles, and groups of men and women partook of
cafe au lait
from one the many gaily colored stalls. Stilt walkers, puppeteers, mime artists and even the quack doctors provided endless amusement for the passers-by.

There was such a carnival atmosphere within these walled gardens, with everyone intent on enjoying the festivities staged by the Parisian city officials to celebrate the Dauphin’s marriage to the Austrian Princess Marie Antoinette, that Deb almost forgot her dual purpose for coming to the gardens. To hear Jack play in Evelyn’s string ensemble was paramount, but she also hoped mademoiselle Lefebvre would show as promised by Robert Thesiger.

As Evelyn had helped her alight from the carriage, she received the distinct impression that he had no wish to be private with her, conveniently avoiding her eye. She hoped mademoiselle Lefebvre would be more forthcoming.

A chance glance over her shoulder and she saw the Duke’s henchmen not far from her back jostling with a boisterous group of street performers. Their presence gave her an odd sense of comfort, so did the small pearl handled pistol she carried in the pouch sewn onto her boot; a gift from Otto on her arrival in Paris, who warned her to carry the weapon whenever she went onto the streets of Paris.

Just as she was beginning to wonder how she was supposed to recognize mademoiselle Lefebvre or find Robert Thesiger in such a festive crowd, the gentleman himself materialized before her. He had broken away from a group of powdered and patched young men and came strolling towards her, a decided twinkle in his blue eyes, and bowed low over her outstretched hand.

“Will the bride take a stroll with an old friend?” he asked smoothly, a glance over her shoulder at the stony faces of Joseph and her lady-in-waiting, and at the two brutes in Roxton livery who hovered further afield of the Marchioness’s little party. Boldly, he offered Deb his silken arm and his smile widened when Joseph gave a start. “Yesterday, I failed to wish you happy on your marriage. Are you happy, my lady?”

Deb met his blue-eyed gaze openly. “Yes. Very happy.”

He smiled as if he did not believe her and they walked in silence amongst the fashionable Parisians who were enjoying the sideshows and entertainments. A few powdered heads turned to admire this handsome couple being shadowed by two sour faced servants and a couple of ape-sized brutes in distinctive silver and red livery. Did anyone know to whom the livery belonged? A
Duke
you say? Which one?

Three stilt walkers and their entourage of tumblers and small band of musicians were making slow progress up the broad avenue towards them, scattering the promenading Parisians either side of the walk, teasing some and surrounding others with their antics. Deb and Robert Thesiger took refuge by a refreshment tent serving
café au lait
, to wait until this band of merry performers passed by. The commotion gave Thesiger the opportunity to face Deb, saying with concern in his blue eyes and a frown on his brow,

“I cannot help wondering: Had I confided in you from the very beginning mademoiselle Lefebvre’s sorry predicament, would you now be Alston’s wife in more than name only?”

“Tell me, sir: Did you pursue me in Bath to exact revenge on my husband because of mademoiselle Lefebvre’s ruin?”

“My dear, you are quite beautiful and I very much wanted to bed you, for its own sake as well as to cuckold your husband,” he said with a grin, puckering up the scar indenting his left cheek. “Unfortunately, this absurd tenacity of yours to engage your feelings before tumbling into bed proved my undoing. It necessitated I rethink how best to secure my future.” His blue eyes scanned the sea of faces moving along the avenue, and then he looked at her again saying with a sad shake of his powdered head, “It pains me to involve you in this matter between the Roxtons and myself. But father and son must be brought to account for their actions.”

“I fail to see how my involvement in the matter will make an ounce of difference to father or son.”

“Don’t you? Strange you should be so naïve,” he pondered. “Tell me: Is it right that the Duke’s legitimate son has all his needs, wants and desires, indeed the world, placed at his feet, all because his father rutted his mother with the blessing of church and state, while I, the Duke’s natural son, is not recognized as of the same flesh?”

“And that’s my husband’s fault? You conveniently neglect the part played by your mother. The Comtesse raised you in resentment and bitterness all because of her unreasonable and spiteful jealousy of a girl whom the Duke fell in love with and who never did her a harm.” Deb’s smile was sad. “No, you are not to blame for the actions of your parents but your mother is just as blameworthy as the Duke.”

For the first time in her company Robert Thesiger’s calm veneer fell away.

“Rutted five minutes and you’re persuaded by that family’s arrogant line of argument? You simpleton! My mother was enticed into playing the whore with the same false promise that led to mademoiselle Lefebvre’s seduction: the promise of marriage!”

“I have not the least interest in your opinions, of me or of the noble family into which I am married!” Deb retorted, a glance around to find the most convenient path back to Evelyn and her nephew who were at the large fountain. But all exits were blocked by the contingent of circus performers and their appreciative audience. She came as close to Robert Thesiger as her damask striped hooped petticoats would allow. “Be reasonable, sir. Surely it has occurred to you that perhaps mademoiselle Lefebvre pursued my husband for his rank and fortune. That when he rejected her advances she turned her attentions to another who could offer her a pale imitation of the same, a gentleman who has a close association with the Roxton family?”

Robert Thesiger stared at her as if she was raving. “Good God, Madam! Why the devil would she name Alston if he wasn’t her seducer?”