The Dowager's Daughter (7 page)

“Do not concern yourself, darling. George will survive. The worst that can happen is that invitations from the prince will taper off. Who knows? Perhaps your childhood friend is destined to become the darling of the
ton.”

“Mama, do you really think so?”

“Hardly.”

“Oh, dear.”

The next guest to arrive was Lord Ridley. At the time, Althea was engaged in a polite exchange of chitchat with a young matron she had known since childhood. It had not taken Althea long to discover that they no longer met on common ground and had very little to say to one another.

Elizabeth married her husband, a Mr. Henry Beaton, one of the Prince of Wales’s cronies, during her and Althea’s very first Season. As Beau Brummell put it, “Before her dancing slippers had begun to show signs of wear.”

Her first child, a little girl, was born a scant nine months later, causing many a raised brow among the more raffish members of the
ton.
Their second child, a son, was just three months old. When news of the second baby’s birth was mentioned at White’s, Mr. Brummell expressed surprise. “Did not think Beaton was home often enough to accomplish the deed.”

As Elizabeth Beaton enthused
ad nauseum
about her children, Althea watched the viscount’s progress down the corridor out of the corner of her eye. She was surprised when he accorded her mother only the very briefest of bows. She wondered if their friendship was cooling. Marcus Ridley was not known for steadfast devotion.

Just about the time that the young matron’s droning had driven Althea into a state of glassy-eyed desperation, the arrival of His Royal Highness was announced. Elizabeth ceased her chatter in midsentence and hastened to her husband’s side. Thankful for the reprieve, Althea joined her mother.

At the same time, those who were seated rose to their feet, and all heads turned to watch the prince’s laborious descent down the staircase. As she made her curtsey along with the rest of the ladies, Althea noted that the heir to the throne’s girth had increased even more since the last London Season.

Charming to a fault, the prince made his way along the corridor, according each guest his full attention as he exchanged pleasantries with him or her.

When it was the turn of the Camberly ladies to be so honored, he addressed Althea first’ ‘My dear, you have blossomed into one of Society’s beauties, I see.” This remark was followed by a twinkling smile. “Splendid. Splendid. A lovely lady is one of the Deity’s more lavish gifts to the world.”

Feeling her face flush with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment at being singled out for such effusive praise, Althea mumbled her thanks. Immediately, she castigated herself for sounding like an idiotic pea-goose and frantically searched her mind for something intelligent to say. It was too late. The prince directed his next remark to her mother.

“Lady Camberly. It is always a pleasure to meet you—nay, an honor.”

This remark was made in a voice barely above a whisper. Raising his voice to a normal pitch, he went on to expound on the plans he had for extending the Pavilion; then, with a bow, he moved on to the next guests, who happened to be Mrs. Howard and her spinster daughter.

Promptly at half past six, dinner was announced. Their host approached the highest-ranking lady in the room—on this occasion it was the Marchioness of Whitbrook—and with a bow, offered her his arm. He then escorted her in to dinner, his guests pairing up and following behind them.

The dinner, as Althea expected, was comprised of a steady stream of courses and removes, accompanied by the appropriate wines. She took care to take only a small sampling of everything placed before her and partook of the merest sip of each wine, yet still managed to leave the table feeling horribly uncomfortable.

Afterwards the prince, well fortified by brandy and wine, entertained his guests with anecdotes in the large, round-shaped drawing room known as the Saloon. The laughter he garnered from wickedly mimicking the voices and foibles of their mutual political enemies drowned out the strains of a string quartet emanating from an adjoining room.

Amid the frivolity, Althea experienced subtle overtures from two of the younger gendtlemen, both of them married, one of them, to her distress, Henry Beaton, the husband of the voluble Elizabeth. This made her feel extremely uncomfortable and more than a little insulted. At first, she wondered if a too-cordial manner on her part had led the pair to believe that she was receptive to such suggestions, but a roguish wink from Mr. Beaton soon changed her mind.

According him a freezing stare, she rose and departed the room with the intention of seeking sanctuary in the gardens. While walking along the corridor, passing several footmen in the process, she happened to catch a glimpse of her image in one of the mirrors lining the wall. For a brief moment, she did not recognize herself, having forgotten the transformation her new dress and coiffure had brought about.

Suddenly her mother’s words made sense. It did indeed take courage to be beautiful. Along with the pleasant compliments and special deference one received, one also had to fight off the dishonorable overtures of out-and-out bounders. Althea wondered if the good outweighed the bad.

She was still debating this point when the sound of rapid steps coming in her direction gave her cause to fear that one of her would-be seducers was hot in pursuit A backward glance proved it was George Delville. With a sigh of relief, she waited for him to catch up.

Having done so, he looked about him and, jerking his head in the direction of a nearby footman who stood with his eyes fixed to the ceiling, said, “I think it would be prudent to move further down.”

Althea complied, wondering at George’s need for privacy.

George ran a finger along the edge of his cravat and cleared his throat It had always been Althea’s experience that such an act was usually a prelude to a situation she would rather avoid.

“Well, George?” she prodded.

To her dismay, he grabbed her hand. “Dear, dear, Althea, I must confess a love and passion for you that will not be quenched. Please tell me that my suit is not without hope.”

Althea snatched her hand away. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, George, behave yourself. I fear it is the wine that fans your ardor, not love.”

George retrieved her hand. “I swear it is otherwise. The moment I saw you this evening, I fell completely and utterly in love with you.”

Althea pulled her hand from his grasp once more. “Nonsense. I am the person I have always been. Nothing in my attitude towards life has changed that could possibly make you love me.”

“I have always considered you to be kind and considerate—now my eyes have been opened to your beauty.”

“Oh, dear. This evening is proving to be full of revelations. I, too, am viewing things in a new light.”

George’s eyes filled with hope. “Can it be that my love is returned?”

Althea shook her head. “I wish I could say otherwise, but your sort of love is far too shallow to last”

“How can you say that? Your refusal leaves me absolutely desolate.”

“You will get over it, George. If you truly regarded me with love, you would have considered me to be beautiful long before this.”

“But—”

“Pray let me finish. A woman’s beauty fades with age and, I fear, so will your love. I rather think that you would become yet another man who ogles young girls behind his unsuspecting wife’s back. I would not want that—would you?”

“Oh, I
say.
“George stared at her gape-mouthed, reminding Althea of a fish gasping for air.

In a wave of pity, she patted his arm. “Just because we would not rub well together as husband and wife does not mean we cannot remain good friends, does it?”

“I suppose not,” George answered, his mouth turned down in a sulk.

“Splendid.” Even to Althea, her response sounded far too effusive. “If you hurry back, no one will suspect that anything out of the ordinary has taken place.”

George seemed relieved, and with a curt nod, wheeled around and returned to the gathering in the drawing room. As he opened the door, Althea heard the unmistakable sound of their host’s strong baritone waft into the corridor as he sang one of the popular songs of the moment It would seem that the festivities were well under way and it was highly unlikely that she would be missed for a while.

Althea walked the length of the corridor before finding access to the garden via a small anteroom. Once out in the night air, she covered a considerable distance, regretting the thinness of her slippers as the heavy dew on the grass seeped through the soles, soaking her stocking feet in a manner she found most disagreeable.

She had thought to sit on one of the garden benches before returning to the drawing room, but since they proved to be equally bedewed, she changed her mind and decided to rejoin the others.

As she retraced her steps, she heard voices coming from the midst of a small shrubbery. First, she heard the deep baritone of a man. The answering voice was soft and feminine, and all too familiar.

Althea was filled with foreboding.
Oh, no. What on earth could Mama possibly be up to now?

Hating herself for doing so, a backward glance confirmed her worst fears. Her mother was not a small woman, yet the man’s form towered over her. It had to be Marcus Ridley—no other man present that evening could begin to match his stature. Then Althea noticed that although the two of them stood quite close, they did not touch one another. Not one gesture passed between them that could be considered untoward.

She quickened her pace across the lawn, thankful that the background roar of the ocean and a rising breeze rustling through the trees covered up the sound of her footsteps. As she tried to make sense of her mother’s odd behavior, she found she could come to only one conclusion.

Mama and I are going to have a talk before we retire this evening, and neither of us is going to bed until I am satisfied with her answers.

Confronting her mother proved not to be easy. But then, Althea had not expected it to be. At first, Celeste adopted the stance of a mother dealing with an impudent child, her four-inch advantage over Althea serving her well. This ploy might have worked, but as head of the family, Althea knew it was up to her to protect their interests.

Althea also knew that her mother might skirt the truth by omission, but was certain that she was too honorable to tell her a deliberate falsehood. Althea gritted her teeth and prepared for a sleepless night.

Finally Celeste capitulated—to a degree. “Darling, this is all my fault Had I been a little better at this sort of thing, you would never have found out, but having done so, it is only natural that you would want to know what is going on.”

“Then you will tell me?”

“Alas, I do not have that authority.”

“Then who does, pray? Lord Ridley?”

Celeste shrugged. “It is possible. I cannot say for sure.”

Althea put her hand to her mouth. “Mama, in what sort of situation have you put yourself?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, child, do not exaggerate the matter. I shall summon Marcus to attend us later in the afternoon, and I am sure he will enlighten you.”

“It cannot be put off in such a manner. I wish to see him as soon as possible—directly after breakfast, if it can be arranged.”

Celeste frowned. “Now you are being tiresome, child. It is almost dawn, and I do not intend to break my fast until well past noon. Now be a good little cabbage and kindly leave my chamber. I wish to go to bed.”

“I am sorry, Mama. But first, I am afraid I must prevail upon you to write your letter. I shall leave it with the footman on duty with instructions that it is to be delivered to Lord Ridley at the earliest hour you deem proper. Ten o’clock should suit, do you not agree?”

“No, I do not. And you may be sure that his lordship would not, either.”

Althea sighed. “Very well. Make it eleven o’clock. Not a moment later. Where should it be directed?”

“To the pavilion, of course. He is always a guest of the prince’s when visiting Brighton.”

“Of course,” Althea echoed, then covered a yawn with her hand.

“For goodness’ sake, Althea, go to bed at once. Be assured that I will take care of the letter.”

“It hardly seems fair. You must be every bit as tired as I.”

Celeste made a shooing gesture. “To bed with you. I am not in the least bit tired. One can get past it, you know.”

Althea kissed her on the cheek and returned to her own room. As she pulled the coverlet up to her chin, she heard the distant sound of a rooster crowing. With a groan, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow.

Lord Ridley was ushered into the drawing room that afternoon promptly at four o’clock. While the housekeeper was present, they exchange pleasantries during which their visitor politely refused Althea’s offer of refreshments.

As soon as the servant withdrew from the room, Marcus Ridley stood up. “It is quite pleasant outdoors. I suggest we conduct this matter in your garden where there is less chance of being overheard. It has been my experience that for the lack of anything better to do, the staff of seldom-used establishments develops an inordinate interest in the affairs of their betters.”

The thought crossed Althea’s mind that the servants of any establishment of the viscount’s, seldom-used or otherwise, would have little opportunity to be bored, given the constant stream of love-struck females purported to pass through those portals. Althea immediately regretted the lack of charity that prompted such a thought. Lord Ridley had always shown her every kindness and consideration.

“A wise decision, to be sure, Lord Ridley.”

“I am glad you agree. Now if I can prevail upon you to consider me a friend, I should like us to be on a first-name basis.”

“Very well, Lord Ridley.”

“Marcus.”

“Marcus,” Althea echoed. “Forgive me. It might take me a while to get used to calling you that”

He responded with a slight nod.

As the trio walked through the garden, stopping every few steps to make a show of inspecting a shrub or sniffing a flower, Marcus gave Althea a concise reprise of what was taking place.

Afterwards, Althea sat down on a garden bench, numb with shock. Finally she turned to Celeste. “It was not possible for you to have visited Paris last year. All your time is accounted for.”

Celeste rolled her eyes. “Althea, how can you be so naive? All it took was careful planning, a modicum of deceit, and a good friend who is far too romantic for her own good, and there you have it.”

“I do?”

“But of course. Remember the fortnight I spent in Surrey with Elspeth James while her husband went haring off to attend to something or other at their estate in Scotland?”

Althea’s eyes widened. “But Huggins took you and Colette there in the landau.”

“And as soon as he departed, Marcus drove me to Dover, where he placed me in the capable hands of his associate, a Mr. John Soames, who saw to it that I got to Paris not too much the worse for wear. Elspeth is still under the illusion that Marcus and I are lovers.”

“As is the rest of Society,” Althea responded bitterly. “Mama, how could you sully your reputation for such a vain dream? Talleyrand would not risk so much as a broken fingernail to further your cause.”

Althea was taken aback by the fierceness of her mother’s response. “Pah! What do I care for the opinion of hypocrites? I would gladly give my life for the merest chance to bring about the downfall of Napoleon Buonaparte.”

“But why, Mama? Why? Surely that is a task better left to our armies?”

“Because I do not wish you, or any grandchildren you might give me, to suffer the horrors I experienced as a young girl.”

Celeste looked inexpressibly sad.

Althea touched her arm. “I have never heard you mention it, but your flight to Calais with Uncle Jean-Claude must have been absolutely terrifying.”

Celeste shrugged. “Oh, that? By then, I was too numb to feel anything. No. It was seeing my mother and father and my two brothers dragged away to their deaths by an angry mob.”

Althea could not hold back her tears. “Mama, I had no idea.”

“Nor did I intend that you should, but perhaps it is your right to know what can befall those in our position if we are not diligent”

“It is fortunate that our uncle was able to save you.”

Celeste gave a dry laugh. “Come now, Althea, you should know better. It was my old nurse, Simone Boulanger, who saved me. She had long since been pensioned off, but when the angry peasants stormed our chateau in the middle of the night, she came directly to my chamber, stripped off a smock she was wearing, and put it on me.”

Celeste was silent for a moment, then continued. “I could not even cry out when I heard my mother screaming as the mob dragged her away. Madame Boulanger held her hand over my face until I thought I should die of suffocation. Her hands smelled of garlic and the smock she put on me made my skin itch.”

She stared at a bed of pansies as if lost in thought; then, to Althea’s surprise, she looked up and smiled at her. “It is strange, is it not that of all the dreadful things that took place that night, the ones that stand out the clearest should be the smell of garlic and that itchy smock?”

Celeste wrinkled her nose. “To this day, I consider it a blessing that the English do not consider garlic to be quite the thing to put into their food.”

“Mama, it is all so terribly sad. How was Uncle Jean-Claude able to find you?”

“That was not too difficult. The surprising thing was that he even took the trouble. His wife, our Aunt Marie, had recently died, and he came to visit us with the intention of leaving Cousin Gaston in our care.”

Celeste plucked a blue Canterbury bell and without bothering to smell its fragrance, cast it to the ground. “When the peasants arrived, screaming for our blood, he grabbed Gaston and a small valise holding his valuables—I have no idea in which order—and escaped through a window on the ground floor and hid in the shrubbery.”

“But how did he know where to find you—or even know that you had been spared, for that matter?”

“He saw Madame Boulanger and me leave. Uncle would not have recognized me if the shawl she gave me to cover my telltale red hair had not slipped. My head was exposed for but a moment, but a moment was all it took. He followed us to her cottage. Fortunately, the peasants were too busy robbing and vandalizing the chateau to notice.”

“But bringing you to England was an added risk. Having a young girl along must have impeded his progress.”

Celeste nodded. “Yes, it must have. But so did the valise full of valuables he carted with him, and in each case he considered it to be well worth the risk.”

“Mama, what are you implying?”

“I am not implying anything, Althea. I thought I was making it perfectly clear. Uncle Jean-Claude brought me to England because he considered my looks sufficient to ensure me an advantageous match, thereby securing his own future.”

Althea could not believe what she was hearing. “Mama, that is a dreadful thing to say. How could you malign him so?”

Celeste laughed. “Malign the Marquis de Maligny? Impossible!” Her mouth tightened. “I say it because it is true. When I refused to marry a dreadful old roué with whom he had negotiated for my hand, Uncle Jean-Claude berated me for not living up to my obligations.”

Mortified, Althea cast a glance in Marcus’s direction.

“Do not concern yourself with what I think, Althea,” he inserted. “I consider your mother to be one of my closest friends, and as such, would never betray her confidence.”

He gave her a wicked little smile. “Besides, it is not unusual for people of our class to enter into marriages of convenience.”

“I think it is perfectly horrid.”

“So do I.”

Althea decided it was time to change the subject. “This Mr. Soames. Is he the same gentleman whom Mama sees fit to meet on the riverbank whenever the moon is full?”

“That is a slight exaggeration. Since your mother’s meeting with Talleyrand, Mr. Soames has delivered but one package to Paris for her.”

“And yet you see fit to have her embroiled in your intrigues?”

“Please, Althea,” Celeste interjected. “Marcus allowed my participation only at my insistence. It has happened but twice, and on each occasion you managed to catch me.” She shot Marcus a rueful look. “I doubt you will wish to continue with our arrangement.”

Althea thought that Marcus responded with more amusement than displeasure. “Nonsense. At that time of night, most servants are sound asleep. If one of them should happen to see you haring off to the riverbank at such an ungodly hour, they would no doubt think you were trysting with a lover.”

He turned to Althea. “I am sure that thought crossed your mind.”

Althea felt her face flame.
How dare he presume such a thing.
“My mother has never given me reason to doubt her virtue,” she replied coldly.

Marcus inclined his head. “My apologies, Althea. That was most indelicate of me. I did not mean to put your mother’s honor to question. It is only that given the scene in question, my jaded view on life would lead me to jump to all sorts of reprehensible conclusions that probably would never occur to a virtuous young lady of your sensibility.”

Althea had the grace to feel guilty. Had she not viewed her mother’s meeting with Mr. Soames with the same degree of cynicism as one of Society’s biggest philanderers? Her claims to virtue and sensibility might be in doubt, but of one thing she was certain: no one could question the regrettable streak of hypocrisy she seemed to have acquired.

Althea addressed her next question to her mother. “How does this Mr. Soames know when to meet with you?”

“That is not too difficult. When Marcus is unable to keep their appointment at The Boar’s Head, he knows to meet me at the river that night”

“I saw him signal you with a lantern the last time.”

“That had nothing to do with Marcus. The previous month I had arranged for Mr. Soames to pick up a package from me on his return. His boat arrived a day early, that is all.”

Althea was still not satisfied. “But Mama, surely you do not stay up every night on the off-chance that this Mr. Soames might show up.”

Celeste laughed. “No, darling, I do not. With the aid of a spyglass, each boat can be clearly seen in the harbor at Camberly.”

“Yes, I remember the spyglass. Papa and I used to watch the harbor with it. He would tell me what sort of boats were moored there, and what they were used for.”

“The boat Mr. Soames sails on is called
The Seafoam
and is not very large, but carries sail on two masts and is a very graceful craft. It is designed for speed, not heavy cargo.”

“My goodness, Mama. I have never known you to take an interest in such things.”

Celeste wrinkled her nose. “Nor do I. On the trip across the channel, Mr. Soames conversed with me on a number of aspects of life at sea in a vain attempt to keep my mind off a dreadful attack of
mal-de-mer.”

Althea patted her arm. “Poor Mama. You subject yourself to such indignities with so little return.” She turned to Marcus. “Why, for instance, do you deem it necessary for my mother to ‘hare’ to the river, as you put it, in the middle of the night? Cannot this Mr. Soames call on Mama in a civilized manner to collect and deliver these messages that pass between you?”

Marcus nodded in Celeste’s direction. “Because your mother wishes it”

Althea was perplexed. “Why, Mama? It does not make any sense.”

Celeste set her jaw. “It makes perfectly good sense to me. I did not want Mr. Soames to be seen at the house. One cannot vouchsafe the loyalty of everyone under one’s roof.”

“But Mama, that is ridiculous. All the servants have been with us for years, most of them from families that have served at the Hall for many generations.”

“Both our uncle and our cousin have valets who are French, as is my maid, Colette.”

“But so are you, Mama, so how does that signify?”

“You should know better than to ask. England became my country the moment you were placed in my arms,
chérie.
Have you any idea how precious you were to me after losing my family to those bloodthirsty beasts? In any case, that is how I feel and Mr. Soames will just have to put up with it.”