The Curious Rogue (7 page)

“Niece,” Cavilon corrected, and then brushed at his sleeve.

“Do you really think it was something I said?” he asked, cocking his head, then burst into laughter.

Tretain, joining him, only later recalled that it was the first time in months he had seen his friend truly pleased. Drawing a breath, he teased, “I do think the powder is on rather a bit thick, even for you.”

Cavilon grinned wryly. “Miss Jeffries does have an interesting way of making a point,
n’est-ce pas?”

Chapter Seven

“Good lord, Madeline, Elizabeth! What happened to you?” Sir Henry Jeffries exclaimed when his sister and niece returned to Lady Waddington’s home on Mount Street, where they were staying.

“There was an accident with the coach,” Lady Madeline began.

“The coach? My dears, come, sit down.

“Bently, fetch some brandy.” Sir Henry sprang forward to assist them.

“How pale you look. Why, what it that all over your gowns?” He pulled his spectacles from his pocket and gave the two a closer inspection.

“We were not harmed, Uncle Henry,” Elizabeth tried to calm him. “But your peruke powder did not fare as well.”

“Is that what it is?” Sir Henry brushed a hand across her cheek. “Why, yes, it does nothing for your looks, my dear,” he noted with a sudden twinkle in his eye.

“It did even less for the Frenchman,” she said and burst into laughter, the last glimmer of her unreasonable anger suddenly gone. “You should have seen him, Uncle. Sitting there in the street in his silk breeches and that heavy brocade coat, lace at his wrists and throat. He even had powder on his face, and his lips were rouged.” She surprised herself with these details, having thought she had noticed little of the man but his foul manners.

“With that peruke on his head he looked like someone belonging in London five and twenty years ago,” she concluded, drawing off her gloves. “No offence meant,” Elizabeth said contritely when she saw her uncle’s grimace and the peruke covering his balding pate.

“When we left him, he had been given a free dusting. And—-” Elizabeth attempted to become more sober, “as poor as all the Frenchmen abounding in this country are, that should have pleased him.”

“Elizabeth,” Lady Waddington said sternly. “Truly, I cannot believe it is you speaking this way. You are generally of a kind nature and the gentleman was good enough to assist us.”

“And insult us,” Miss Jeffries returned, recalling the man’s highly egotistical manners.

“Ladies, ladies.” Sir Henry handed them each a glass of brandy. “Let us drink to... to my powder. Good. Now go and refresh yourselves and then you shall give me a proper explanation.” The stern note in his voice was not to be disobeyed.

Excusing themselves, the pair withdrew to their rooms.

* * * *

Standing before her looking glass, Elizabeth was forced to smile, then laugh, at the image reflected back. The feathers of her poke bonnet were bent askew and coated with a film of white. Her face was streaked, for she had attempted to rid herself of most of the powder on it.

If it were black, I’d look the proper chimney sweep,
she joked silently seeing that the chalk and flour mixture had managed a complete covering.

“Why, even my
,
cap...” Elizabeth began as she untied her bonnet. Her jaw flexed with the remembrance of the overdressed Frenchman’s words about lines coming to her features. Dropping the bonnet to the floor, she stalked to the washbasin and gave her face a thorough scrubbing, then returned to her mirror. Carefully studying her features, she started when she heard someone enter.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, miss,” apologized young Martha Spense who acted as Elizabeth’s abigail when she stayed with her uncle. “My, what a...”

“An absurd sight,” Elizabeth finished for her, laughing. “Come, Spense, unfasten me. You know, I never realized how fortunate we are that powdered hair has gone out of style. I cannot imagine how my uncle tolerates having his done,” she said, stepping out of her gown.

“‘Twas fortunate no one was injured,” Martha offered, news of the accident having reached below-stairs quickly.

“Yes,” her mistress mused, handing her the frilled spinster’s cap. “After you lay out my fresh garments, you can take these things away. They need more than a simple washing to save them.”

Martha hurried to get new petticoats and a fresh gown from the wardrobe and then slowly picked up the dust-laden garments. Pausing at the door before she left, she gave Miss Jeffries a second glance.

Never before had she noticed her mistress give but cursory inspection to her appearance while all other ladies dawdled hours away. But now her mistress seemed drawn to the looking glass, passing a hand across her cheeks and contemplating herself closely. “I’ll be right back, miss,” Spense offered, wondering if she should stay. The accident evidently had upset her mistress more than she allowed.

“Oh, that is all right. I can manage,” Elizabeth told her gazing into the mirror. When the door closed, she made an impulsive grimace.

“That’s for you, Comte
de Cavilon,” she said. “Lines on my face, bah. They will come sooner to yours.” Her thoughts continued on the Frenchman as she dressed.

“It almost seemed,” Elizabeth wondered aloud, “that he recognized me... knew me. No,” she shook her head, “I must be mistaken.”

I would never have forgotten an odious character such as he if I had encountered him before this
day
, Miss Jeffries thought. She left her room and walked slowly towards the small salon to join her uncle.

* * * *

Lady Waddington paused at the door of the salon, struck by a subtle difference in Elizabeth as she sat visiting with her brother.

“Ah, Madeline, now we may hear the whole of this,” Sir Henry greeted his sister, rising. Retaking his seat after she sat, he adjusted his collar and stock. “Elizabeth was telling me that a high-perch phaeton caused your mishap.

“So many of these young bloods today have no respect for man or beast when they drive those out-landish vehicles. Why, they aspire to join the Four-in-Hand Club without first learning to master a pony cart, much less highly spirited animals. But I draw us away from our subject.” He fidgeted with his waistcoat and cleared his throat. “Pray continue, Elizabeth.”

“As I was saying, this young man came too close to us in his phaeton and locked wheels with our coach. Aunt Waddie decided it would be safer for us on the ground,” she said looking apologetically at her aunt. “What with the rocking and jarring the coach was doing as they attempted to right things, she may have been correct.”

“And this kind, elegant émigré,” Lady Madeline broke in, “was kindly assisting us down, but Elizabeth could not wait until I had introduced myself. She had to step down by herself.” While she spoke Lady Madeline realized what was different about her niece. She was no longer wearing her spinster’s cap.
What was it the Frenchman had said about it
? she tried to recall.

“If he had not hit me,” Elizabeth took up the tale.

“Hit you? ‘Pon my soul,” Sir Henry exclaimed.

“He didn’t hit her. The coach was jerked about the instant she stepped out.”

“He hit me and I fell,” the young woman insisted. “That was when the box containing your hair powder came open.”

Lady Waddington gave a small laugh. “It was such a scene, Henry. This billowing white cloud. Like snow but not nearly as pleasant.”

“And he had the nerve to insinuate I should apologize,” Elizabeth said, her anger returning.

Aunt Waddie shook her finger at her niece.

 “If you had not sat upon his lap so long, the comte could not have said anything to you.”

With a bewildered shake of his head Sir Jeffries signalled for silence. “Let us make some sense out of this,” he said, rising. “You,” he looked at Elizabeth, “you say this man struck you?”

“I suppose it wasn’t actually on purpose... and not much of a blow,” she amended beneath her uncle’s something-must-be-done-now glare.

“You then sat upon his lap... in the street?”

“I did not tell him to fall beneath me,” she replied defensively.

“The comte was most gracious,” Lady Madeline offered. “He tried to catch Elizabeth and didn’t say anything about the powder. Not even when she threw what was left of it in his face.”

Rolling his eyes, Sir Henry lowered his frame slowly into his chair. “Perhaps it would be best if I did not understand the whole of this,” he said, looking from his niece to his sister. “Do I dare ask the man’s name?”

“A French émigré cannot be of too great a consequence,” Elizabeth said in a subdued tone. Her conduct, on the retelling, did not seem as proper as it had at the time.

“He was a very nice gentleman, if somewhat overdressed,” her aunt told Sir Henry. “And titled.”

“Overdressed, you say?” As he rubbed his chin a new possibility occurred to him. “His name?”

“Comte
de Cavilon,” Lady Waddington told him.

“Not Cavilon! You didn’t throw hair powder on the Comte
de Cavilon... not in the middle of the street... in front of others?” Sir Henry demanded of Elizabeth, now ramrod straight in his chair.

“You know the comte?” Lady Waddington asked shakily, taken aback by her brother’s tone.

“All London knows the man. He is one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, and one of the wealthiest.

“Oh, Elizabeth, such behaviour... and in London.”

“I did not know you cared so about... society... and the power of another’s wealth,” Elizabeth said, her throat tightening beneath the condemnation she read on her uncle’s features.

“It is not his money I care about, dear girl, but his influence in society. Your... ways...” he searched for the proper word and failed, “are accepted in Ashford, but here in London I fear... The comte could make it deuced uncomfortable for you,” he ended weakly.

“I would like to see him try.”

“I would not,” Sir Henry returned sternly. “You are old enough to know the consequences, Elizabeth. We must make amends.” He turned to his sister.

Elizabeth rose, her lip trembling. “I will not have you apologizing for me as if I were some... some spoiled child.”

“Ahem.” A polite cough turned all three’s attention to the door.

“These packages just arrived, my lady,” Bently announced and motioned to the footman behind him. “This card was with them.” He held forth a silver tray.

Lady Madeline picked up the gold-engraved card gingerly, having recognized the parcels as those left behind after the accident. “Take them away,” she commanded and turned her eves to the card. “It is from Comte
de Cavilon’s.” She looked to her brother, and then turned it over, dismayed.

“What does it say?” Sir Henry asked anxiously.

“I do not know. It is in French. Elizabeth?” She held the card out to her niece.

Taking it, the young woman forced herself to focus on the writing. “His script is as dainty as his lace,” she noted.

“But what does it say?” Lady Waddington asked.

“He says... says he sends his greetings and hopes that we were not... were not unduly ‘settled’ by the accident.” She paused, considering his words. “Oh, don’t you see, Aunt, he is making a joke on me.

“Nonsense, it is quite good of him to be concerned.”

“Madeline is correct. You are being far too sensitive, Elizabeth,” Sir Henry said, his relief apparent. “What has happened to your common sense?

“I shall have to thank the man for trying to assist you. He is an odd sort, but most speak well of him. Good friend of Tretain’s, too. Oh, you recall the Tretains of Southhamptonshire? Home estate is Trees. By the oddest chance I encountered Tretain’s wife today,” Sir Henry continued with the particulars of the meeting.

His words passed over Elizabeth unheard. You wanted to be distracted, she thought, and you could have come upon no one more different from your rogue than this Comte de Cavilon. Her conscience nudged her guiltily. Mayhaps I was a bit unkind. If ever I do meet him again, I shall be more gracious, Elizabeth mentally promised and turned her attention back to her uncle’s story.

* * *

“Ah, my dear, you should not be awake at this late hour.” Lord Adrian spoke severely as he entered his wife’s chambers and found her reading in bed. A smile came to the earl’s features as he sat at her side. “But I am glad you are.” He kissed her gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well. I found the note you sent rather interesting and had to remain awake until you explained it. What did you mean about the peruke powder?” Lady Juliane asked, reaching up to straighten the collar of his dressing gown.

“That was why I am so late. I took Louis to his rooms. He was quite an awesome sight, completely powdered from peruke to the buckles of his shoes. When his appearance was repaired we went to White’s. The news of the incident had travelled like a fox who hears the hounds draw near. I knew we would never get away, so I sent the note,” Tretain ended, certain the matter was now entirely clear to his wife.

Lady Juliane smiled. “Once more,” she said, “only this time begin before you come to the hair powder,” she commanded softly.

“... That young woman has the manners of a harridan,” Lord Adrian ended his second explanation.

“It sounds to me like she had ample provocation for her behaviour,” his wife defended the unknown young woman. “I cannot imagine Louis acting in such a reprehensible manner.”

“I did think it strange that he tolerated the incident as he did. You know he can get over-involved with his mannerisms and goad someone who is being too pompous or righteous. Miss Jeffries struck me as neither, but he certainly baited her.”

“Jeffries? How did you learn her name? It did not sound like proper introductions were made.”

“They weren’t. I did wonder how Louis knew her name. He even knew she was a niece to the older woman. I am certain Lady Waddington only had time enough to mention her own name before the fall occurred.

“Oh, well, Louis has been out of sorts of late and this has cheered him. He seemed much more like his old self this eve.” Tretain chuckled.

“But tell me, what did you do today.”