Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (15 page)

“They are yours, Antonia. And also from my
brother. I was instructed not to give them to you until you were
well enough to leave your rooms. So. You are pleased with his
gifts?”

“Very much. They are beautiful and he is
very generous,” said Antonia in a small voice, a finger tracing the
pattern of one of the shoe-buckles. “And now I have so many
petticoats and gowns and bonnets, oh, and shoes too! All made for
me by this Maurice who is forever telling me he is the best
mantua-maker in all Paris. Monseigneur, he spends too much on me. I
do not deserve—”

“Good grief, you must not worry your head
over mere trifles,” said Madame dismissively as she returned the
brushes and mirror to the cluttered dressing table. “What is the
expense to my brother? He is very rich. And it is better he spends
his fortune on you than on one of those vulgar creatures that take
his fancy. He lavishes three times as much expense on their wants.
And all for naught. So do not worry your pretty head. They are
nothing; nothing at all to him.”

Antonia put the buckles aside and went to
the window seat because she felt hot tears behind her eyes. She
knew it was foolish to be upset by Madame’s words but she was and
she did not know why. “No, Madame,” she said flatly. “I will not
worry. Where are Maria’s buckles?”

“My brother returned them of course. That is
what you wanted him to do.”

“Did I?”

“Apparently so. In the carriage coming here.
You were very adamant that Maria not go without her buckles.”

“I am glad he returned them to her. She was
very good to me when Grandfather fell ill. He—He is still…”

“He is not better, no worse,” said Estée.
“Why the tears,
mignonne
? Come dry your eyes. Your
grandfather is still alive so you must not cry for him. What if
Vallentine or my brother were to visit this minute? You must be
happy. Today you can go downstairs and eat your meals with us and
later we may go for a drive if you are kept well cosseted and the
sun comes out. Here put on your shoes and go stand by the door so I
may see the whole. See, the buckles are perfect! Now, turn about,
slowly. La! I said slowly! Turn too quickly and you will make
yourself sick! Ah, now you are annoying me! Antonia! Stand
still!”

“But, Madame, when I twirl about just so you
can almost see my garters!” Antonia laughed but she was a little
giddy and quickly came to a stop. She saw Madame’s frown. “Don’t be
angry with me. Sometimes I say and do things that others consider
outrageous. I am sorry if I offended you.”

There was a scratch on the door and both
women turned. There were voices in the outer room and Antonia’s
eyes sparked with expectation. In sauntered Lord Vallentine, hands
thrust in the pockets of a Venetian scarlet frockcoat, with a froth
of lace at his wrists and a freshly powdered wig snugly atop his
head. He was grinning from ear to ear. When Antonia saw who it was
her shoulders slumped and the sparkle died.

“It is only Vallentine,” she announced with
a heavy sigh of resignation.

“Hey! Is that how you care to greet an old
friend?” he asked as he kissed Estée’s hand. “Good morning, Madame.
I trust our impertinent patient is behaving herself? Her tongue is
very well if that is any indication of her general well-being.”

“See for yourself, Lucian,” said Estée
smiling up at him. “Then tell me what you think of the miracle I
have wrought.”

“Well I ain’t one for miracles,” said his
lordship turning to look at Antonia who had hidden herself behind
the door. “And if mademoiselle has—Jesus! I mean—well that is—I’ll
be damned!”

“Lucian! And so you will be if you do not
watch your tongue in front of the girl!”

Antonia chuckled at the expression on Lord
Vallentine’s face. “You look like a fish!”

“Antonia! Is that any way to address M’sieur
Vallentine?” demanded Estée. “You must curtsey to him, not make fun
of him!”

“I am sorry,” said Antonia with no real
regret. She curtseyed prettily enough but still smiled brightly.
“But Vallentine he still looks like a fish!”

“And by Jove I feel like a fish,” confessed
his lordship, astounded by the girl’s transformation. The last time
he had visited the sickroom Antonia’s hair was still a mass of
unwashed curls and she had still been in undress. With her honey
curls freshly washed, scented, and tied up with ribands; and
dressed in a froth of petticoats with a low cut bodice that showed
to advantage her round firm breasts, he did not know how to
adequately express his admiration except by giving a low whistle.
“Roxton is in for the shock of his days!”

Antonia frowned. “Why? You do not like these
clothes?”

“Far from it!” Vallentine declared. “You, my
dear girl, are a little beauty. Estée, I congratulate you. Your
brother been up yet?”

“He is coming?” asked Antonia in a rush.

“I don’t know, chit. But I hope I’m about
when he does set eyes on you! Small wonder why he abducted you. I’d
not have run the risk of leaving you at court to be molested
by—”

“Lucian!” whispered Madame angrily.

“He did not abduct me!” Antonia declared
hotly. “I was very clever in arranging that he should rescue me
from the masquerade.”

“Oho! So you think!” scoffed his lordship.
“I don’t suppose he had any say in the matter? I suppose he’d have
rescued you had you been a one-eyed hag with no teeth, aye? And I
suppose he murdered those would-be kidnappers into the bargain just
to oblige you?”

“M’sieur le Duc did not murder anyone! You
must not say such horrid things. And you call yourself his friend.
He merely defended himself and was forced to fire at them! He did
not abduct me and he is not a murderer!”

Antonia’s angry distress only made Lord
Vallentine laugh harder. “A regular fire-eater, ain’t you!”

“Must you goad her?” admonished Estée. “You
know she will defend my brother every time. She always does.”

“Here am I,” said his lordship with a
wounded look, “visiting every day, allowing you to win at
backgammon, reading from the newspapers, and as soon as I say a
word out of place it’s come-at-me as quick as you please! That’s
fine thanks that is!” He slumped in a chair and crossed his long
legs. “And not even a word of welcome for Lucian Vallentine!”

“I apologize,” Antonia said haughtily. “But
you must not say such things about M’sieur le Duc. They are not
nice words and it upsets me. I cannot help it.”

“I can see that! I ain’t blind to it!”

“You are no better than she with your pout,”
Estée scolded his lordship and beckoned Antonia to her. “Stand
still, child, so I can put up your hair again. And you are not to
speak to M’sieur Vallentine in such a tone, and with that frown. It
is bad manners in a lady.”

“Yes, Madame, but he still must not say such
things about M’sieur le Duc. I do not like it.”

“The Lord save us!” said Lord Vallentine
with a heavy sigh and threw up his arms. “You don’t give up easily!
Wait until Roxton learns he’s got himself a chit who defends him
right or wrong, sunshine or hail! Don’t it amuse you, Estée, to
think your brother is defended so vehemently? And he with a
character not worth saving. Hey-ho! What the—What are you doing
with that pillow, brat? No! Now don’t you throw that—”

Madame de Montbrail stamped her foot, her
arms akimbo. “Have done! Have done! I will leave you both if you do
not behave! Do you want to see me cry, Lucian? Do you? I will! I
will if you both do not stop acting like
bébés
!”

“Now, Estée, there is no cause to be upset,”
said Vallentine seriously, though it was evident he was enjoying
himself hugely. He had sustained a direct hit to the head with a
soft cushion, setting his wig outrageously askew. “Antonia and I
are only funning. Ain’t we, chit?”

Antonia nodded, her eyes full of laughter
despite the throb in her arm which she ignored. “A great John Dory
fish! That is what you look like, Vallentine.”

“I am going out!” announced Estée and
bustled to the door. “I am going for a drive to the Tuileries to
have some peace, and I do not care how cold it is out of
doors!”

“Wait up!” shouted Vallentine and jumped up
to follow her. “You can’t leave me alone with Mademoiselle
Fire-eater. Get your coat, chit,” he whispered to Antonia as he
strode out of the room, his voice still to be heard on the landing
trying to placate Estée as Antonia called for her maid.

“I do not know why I permitted you to
persuade me to let you come,” said Estée sullenly. She was watching
the passing traffic and refused to look at her two travelling
companions huddled on the opposite bench. She sensed they were
smiling at her and clasped her gloved hands tighter in the huge
muff of fox fur. “If Antonia catches a chill you will answer to my
brother for it!”

“Fresh air will do her good. And she needs
the exercise. Cooped up in that ancient mausoleum for nigh on five
weeks would make anyone nauseous.”

“It is not an ancient mausoleum,” argued
Antonia. “M’sieur le Duc has a lovely hôtel.”

“That heap of old bricks?” scoffed his
lordship, rising to the bait. “You wait until you see Treat. Now
there’s a lovely house. More a palace really. Then you too would
call the hôtel Roxton a heap of old bricks!”

“What is this Treat? It is a palace you say?
It belongs to M’sieur le Duc?”

“That’s right. His seat in England. His
grandfather had the house remodeled and Roxton’s been addin’ to it
and fixin’ it ever since,” Vallentine told her as he helped her
alight.

They waited for Madame de Montbrail to step
down. All three pulled their capes closer about their throats and
the ladies covered their hair with large hoods. Vallentine offered
an arm to each and they set off to stroll the walled tree-lined
gardens.

“Madame, why does Vallentine call M’sieur le
Duc’s house a heap of old bricks when Monseigneur is kind enough to
allow him to stay under his roof? Does Vallentine live at the
hôtel?”

Despite her belligerent mood Estée could not
help a chuckle and she squeezed his lordship’s arm. “You had best
answer that, Lucian.”

“I refuse! Now, both of you, be quiet and
let us enjoy our stroll in silence.”

It was on their third turn past the
newsmongers who lounged under a group of trees and sat at tables
arguing and playing at chess, that Antonia gave Lord Vallentine’s
great cuff a sudden tug. They had come to an intersection of paths
running along the boulevard and a cluster of persons stood at its
center. Affected displays of greetings were being conducted with
much bowing and scraping, curtseying, and elaborate handkerchief
waving. Outstretched gloved hands were touched to painted lips,
mouches at the corners of eyes and mouths twitched deliciously, and
a shrill of idle chatter permeated the serenity of a cold but sunny
autumn day.

The scene reminded Antonia of a flock of
gathering peacocks. One nobleman was of an altogether different
plumage. Her impulse was to run up to the Duke but Vallentine held
her in check. He exchanged a worried glance with Estée. At any
other time they would have joined the group for they knew them all.
Yet they held their ground only yards away and watched.

“So it is Thérèse who remains his latest
diversion,” whispered Estée, blue eyes devouring the tall female
who clung possessively to the crook of her brother’s velvet sleeve.
“She has dangled her hook in his direction long enough.”

“Just as you say,” replied his lordship in
low accents.

“I expected no less from him. She must be
very amusing or very talented between the sheets.”

“Both, is the common report,” confirmed his
lordship.

“Yes, she must be for he has kept her longer
than most. Ah, she looks too well pleased with herself. I wonder if
she is aware she shares him with the de La Tournelle and that
actress. What is her name? Félice? Yes, Félice!”

“Given those two up.”

“What? The actress?” said Estée loudly.

“Hush, love. Both. I said both of ’em. De La
Tournelle and Félice.”

Madame pulled a face. “No! That I do not
believe! If it is true then it is no small wonder Thérèse smiles.
She thinks she has him all to herself. She will be impossible next
time I meet her at a levee. I wish he would fall in love.”

Vallentine gave a snort. “Steady, Estée.
You’ve never been one to disapprove of Roxton’s varied interests.
And now you’re advocating
romance
for one such as your
brother?”

Estée’s eyes narrowed to slits as she
continued to stare at Madame Duras-Valfons with her blonde powdered
curls and beautiful laughing face. “I do not want him attached to
that woman for too long. She is not good for him. She is vain and
stupid and cares for no one save herself. She does not love
him.”

“Love him? What’s that got to do with it? He
don’t love her either I’ll wager.”

“Why are you whispering?” asked Antonia
coming to stand before them, her chin tilted up at his lordship.
“Do you talk about M’sieur le Duc and the Comtesse Duras-Valfons?
She is as painted as a doll and at court she parades about thus—”
She mimicked the woman’s floating walk and got for her pains
Madame’s iron grip about her wrist. “Please! That-that is my
injured—” A stab of pain crossed her face and she was instantly
released. She turned back to the party in time to see the Duke
whisper in Madame Duras-Valfons’s ear and she laugh and tell her
companions what he had said. “They are all as painted as clowns!
Pshaw! That woman she is nothing but a
putain
.”

“Antonia! Where did you pick up such an
expression?” demanded Estée.

The girl smiled angelically. “Why at court
of course.”

“
Allons
! It is time you were
indoors,” said Madame de Montbrail and did an about face on her
brother and his mistress. “The gnats are always terrible this time
of year.”