My Dear Duchess (3 page)

“She’s a child,” said the Captain, wearying of the subject. “But I am grateful to you, ma’am, for helping to ‘
bring her out
,’ as she put it. I must confess I like my beauties to be a little more mature.” His mocking smile glinted down at her, appraising her smart scarlet walking dress and dashing shako set saucily on her red curls. Mrs. Bannington was a widow in her middle thirties and very happy with her single state. But the handsome Captain was one of her favorites and as she smiled back, she wondered again why such a sophisticated man-about-town could lose his heart to a cardboard miss like Clarissa Sayers.

The cardboard miss was yawning over the breakfast table when Frederica and her mother came in—or rather when Frederica was propelled into the room by a series of pokes and pushes from the irate Mrs. Sayers.

“There will be no end of tittle-tattle when
this
gets around the town, miss!” cried Mrs. Sayers, thrusting her packages into the arms of a waiting footman. “Your young sister
introduced
herself as bold as brass to Mrs. Bannington.
And
Captain Wright. What is more the saucy minx has
compelled
Sally Bannington to invite her to Vauxhall tonight.”

“Why in such a pucker,” yawned Clarissa. Her glance flicked contemptuously over the tiny figure of her sister from her braided hair to her tiny feet. “You do not expect the shine to be taken out of me by
Frederica
.”

“No, indeed,” cried her fond mother. “But she looks so young.”

“You refine too much on it, mama,” said Clarissa in a bored voice. “Nothing troubles me because I am beautiful. There is no one in the whole of London as beautiful as I. Nor will there be.” She delivered herself of this piece of self-praise with a calm vanity quite awful to behold. “Put the chit’s hair up and lend her one of my gowns. She’ll look old enough then I warrant you.”

“Well, I declare I am glad you are taking it so well,” declared Mrs. Sayers. “But I made sure that you should enjoy the company of the Marquis tonight without interruption. I requested that Captain Wright should devote his time to Frederica.”

“What a ninnyhammer you are,” laughed Clarissa. “Nothing will keep the gallant Captain from my side, especially not my dear sister.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” cried the much-goaded Frederica.

“Listen to the little girl,” teased Clarissa with maddening good nature. She rose lazily to her feet and pinched her little sister painfully on the cheek.

“You are so shy, Frederica, you know you will blush and stammer everytime a gentleman so much as looks at you. But be warned. Stick by mama. The Captain will not give you above a minute of his time.”

But as the carriages rattled over Westminster Bridge that evening on the road to the Royal Gardens, Clarissa eyed her little sister with something approaching dislike. Mrs. Sayers’ attempt to age Frederica had only succeeded in turning the chit into a pretty young woman. Her masses of jet black hair had been dressed high on her small head in a fashion that was all her own. Instead of attiring her in any of the pastels considered suitable for a young debutante, colors which would have made Frederica’s olive skin look sallow, she had found her an old rose crepe gown of Clarissa’s which made her skin the color of light gold. Simple gold jewelery brought out the gold flecks in her large eyes and the only small comfort Clarissa had was that the child was too short for beauty.

Captain Wright smiled at the animated little face opposite him in the carriage. He had been regretting his generous impulse since the very sight of Frederica seemed to put his beloved out of sorts, but he had to admit that Frederica’s happiness was infectious.

Even the languid and elegant Marquis of Blandhaven seemed to be charmed by the girl. He was paying her extravagant compliments while Frederica laughed with delight, seemingly oblivious to her mother’s warning frowns or her elder sister’s displeasure.

They arrived at the gate to the gardens and the Captain prepared to gallantly offer Frederica his escort but the Marquis was already there before him, proferring his arm and leading her along the walk. The Captain gladly offered his arm to the fair Clarissa but he watched the pair ahead of him with a worried frown.

Lord Percival, Marquis of Blandhaven, was not a gentleman that any mama should trust. A notorious member of the Dandy Set from his padded shoulders to his high heeled shoes, he was considered to be of the first stare by a certain section of society who considered the Corinthians too sober and austere in their dress. He was a man of five-and-thirty and his hard, thin features under their delicate layer of paint were considered handsome enough. But there were too many unsavory rumors attached to his name. He was reputed to have a passion for very young girls.

“I feel that your sister should not be left alone with Blandhaven,” he confided to Clarissa as he escorted her to Mrs. Bannington’s box.

She gave a rippling laugh and rapped him playfully with her fan. “I declare you are jealous, sir!” she cried. “But do not waste your time worrying about Frederica. Lord Percival is only devoting his time to her to
please me
.”

The Captain turned to look down at her, slightly astonished at the arrogance of her remark, but as they had just come into the lights of hundreds of lanterns, and Clarissa’s perfect face turned up to his was such a vision of beauty, he felt his breath catch in his throat and completely forgot what she had just said.

Frederica was unheeding of her escort’s compliments. For Vauxhall was like a fairytale come true—the myriads of lamps, the musicians in their cocked hats who played in a golden cockleshell in the center of the gardens, the servants in shabby liveries carrying pots of stout, the bouncing dances of the cockneys, and above all the twinkling boxes where one could dine on almost invisible wafers of ham and perhaps exchange a few commonplaces with the handsome Captain.

The Marquis had ordered a bowl of rack punch. Mrs. Bannington was drinking champagne and advised Frederica in an undertone to do the same “for that nasty aniseed-flavored punch can really make one feel quite unwell.”

The rack punch, however, seemed to have quite an enervating effect on Clarissa so that when the bell rang for the fireworks display, she merely shrugged when she heard the Marquis asking her mother’s permission to take Frederica to the show. Mrs. Sayers bit her lip in vexation but was still too overawed by anyone who held a title to demure. Frederica was so excited that she would not have cared who escorted her.

Oblivious of the Marquis, she
oohed
and
aaahed
with the best of them as the myriads of stars exploded and cascaded over the gardens. The final fiery tableau of “God Bless The Prince of Wales” brought the exhibition to a close and with a tremulous sigh of satisfaction, she turned to her aristocratic companion.

He was looking down at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Come, Miss Frederica, and I shall take you back to our box,” he said, holding her arm in an unnecessarily tight grip.

He led her along a dark walk away from the lights and slid an arm around her waist. Frederica came to an abrupt halt. “My Lord Marquis,” she said firmly. “Please remove your arm. It is not at all proper.”

An insolent laugh greeted her words and he drew her into an arbor. “My prim schoolroom miss,” he whispered. “The most exciting things in life are not at all proper.” And before she could break away, he had forced his mouth down on hers, enveloping her in a suffocating halitosis of rack punch and decaying teeth.

Unaware of how Miss Frederica Sayers was being
brought out
, Captain Wright walked slowly along an adjoining walk with Clarissa. She leaned heavily on his arm and her eyes were like stars. Clarissa had never drunk anything as heady as the rack punch before and she was toying with the idea of letting the Captain steal a kiss. Vauxhall was practically the only place where one could walk with a gentleman without a maid or one’s mama in constant attendance. She stole a look at her companion. After the disastrous purchase of the coat which the Captain had bestowed upon his valet, he had resolved that he could never aspire to the Dandy Set and was dressed in severe black and white evening dress. He really was so handsome, sighed Clarissa to herself. Such a pity he did not have a title. But one little kiss did not make a marriage. She leaned more heavily on his arm and then let out a mock squeal of alarm.

“What is the matter?” asked the Captain, coming to a halt.

“It is nothing,” said Clarissa, placing her hands on his chest and staring up into his face. To her disappointment, Captain Wright made as if to move on. He needed more encouragement. She slid her arms round his neck.

He looked down at her in surprise. Her beautiful face was turned upwards to his in the faint moonlight. Very slowly, he bent his head and kissed her. Her lips were warm and clinging but, somewhere in the back of his brain, he was just beginning to register with surprise that absolutely nothing seemed to be happening to his senses, when he clearly and distinctly heard his name being called.

A high, thin, childish wail of fright penetrated the night air. “Oh, help! Captain Wright… somebody… help!”

He put Clarissa from him and looked around wildly. The sound had come from the adjoining walk. “Your sister!” he cried. Fortunately for Clarissa, he was too worried to see his fair partner’s shrug or hear her indifferent comment of “So?” Dragging Clarissa with him, he ran headlong through the bushes.

There in the shadowy light, he could just make out the small figure of Frederica struggling in the Marquis of Blandhaven’s arms. With an oath, he strode forward and sent the Marquis flying backwards into the bushes with a well-placed hit.

“A mill! A mill!” cried several voices and suddenly the walk seemed to be alive with people.

Clarissa stamped her foot. She had never been so angry in her life. “Take me back to Mrs. Bannington’s box immediately, sir!” she cried to Captain Wright. “How dare you subject me to the vulgar gaze of these common people.”

The Marquis had disappeared. Frederica was trembling and gazing up at the Captain with adoring eyes. “A flush hit,” she breathed. “Oh,
what
a facer you landed him, Captain Wright!”

Clarissa’s voice dripped ice. “If you have finished talking
cant
, Freddie, perhaps someone may pay attention to
me
. My dress is in ruins. I have unceremoniously been
dragged
through the bushes without so much as a by-your-leave and all because my little sister has been encouraging the advances of poor Lord Percival. This is what becomes of introducing provincial hoydens to society.”

“Fustian!” cried Frederica, made bold by her adoration of the Captain. “Go take a damper.”

The much overwrought Clarissa darted forward and boxed her sister’s ears and then burst out into noisy tears.

“Pray control yourself, Miss Sayers,” said the Captain in a calm voice. “You do not want to spoil those beautiful eyes by making them red.” This and the fact that the Captain was looking at her in a new speculative way, had the effect of making Clarissa dry her tears. She did not want to lose an admirer. She hugged Frederica and apologized in a pretty, soft voice which had the desired effect of bringing the warmth back to the Captain’s eyes. And only Frederica was aware of the vicious pinch on the arm which Clarissa gave her as they approached the box.

Once again the Captain had to go to Frederica’s rescue. Mrs. Sayers would not believe that a
Marquis
could be capable of any misconduct. By the time he had soothed her the Captain felt considerably older. Then as he caught Clarissa’s eye, he noticed that she was looking at him with that particular intimacy which she seemed to share with him alone.

He bent over Clarissa’s hand at the end of the evening. “I shall call on your mama in the morning,” he whispered softly.

Clarissa immediately cast down her eyes but the Captain put it down to maidenly modesty and, well-satisfied, took his leave.

Frederica had caught the whisper and wondered if she could possibly reach the privacy of her bedroom before she burst into tears.

It had never dawned on the Captain that Mrs. Sayers might be absent from home on the following morning. The butler showed him into the downstairs drawing room, volunteering the information that Miss Sayers was at home.

The Captain paced up and down nervously, feeling as if he were in some kind of exotic, striped cage. Broad crimson and gold stripes embellished the upholstery, broad crimson and gold strips raced up and down the wallpaper and barred the heavy curtains. A French landscape portraying a long country road lined with poplars was hung above the fireplace to add the finishing touch to the horizontal effect. Mrs. Sayers had forgotten the color scheme at floor level and Chinese rugs in delicate blues and whites seemed to cringe before their noisier rivals.

He turned abruptly as the butler announced Clarissa and then retired leaving the door punctiliously open. With a fast-beating heart, the Captain strode forward and took her hand. She had faint blue shadows under her eyes which seemed to enhance her fragile beauty rather than detract from it.

Captain Wright made a move to take her into his arms but she retreated a step and said in a cold voice, “State your business, sir. I am engaged to drive with Lord Percival this morning.”

“What!” cried the Captain, outraged. “After last night. How could you, Clarissa?”

“I was not aware that I had given you permission to use my Christian name,” she retorted in chilly accents.

The Captain shook his head in a baffled kind of way. This was not going at all the way he had planned. Then he suddenly smiled. Of course! She was just as nervous as he!

He led the reluctant girl to the sofa and sat beside her and began, “After last night, Miss Sayers, I am no longer in any doubt that my feelings are reciprocated. Will you do me the inestimable honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

She bowed her head and traced the pattern in the rug with one slippered foot.

“No,” she said baldly.