The Marquess and Miss Davies (24 page)

“So,” said Isolde to her sister, “You are halfway to being wed. And more importantly, of course, I am to be sister to a marquess.”

“Oh! You have spoiled all my fun. I thought to surprise you with the announcement.”

The idea of a surprise between them struck both girls as quite funny, and Carys was too happy to care how her sister learned the news.

Lord Harcourt offered his best wishes. “I shall not despair of him, in this event.”

“You should not. But why the glum faces?” Carys asked Isa and Lord Harcourt. “You both were looking as if you discussed the Corn Laws.”

Too late, thought Isolde. Too late. I should have planned for this moment, and now—

“Your sister has a most injudicious opinion on the Corn Laws,” said Lord Harcourt, lightly.

Isolde attempted a chuckle. Cary’s eyes fastened on her sister.

“What?” she asked Isa. “
What
?”

* * * *

Lord Leighton thought to head off much of tomorrow’s awkwardness by approaching the Viscount of Cardingham tonight. He would not ask for Miss Davies’s hand officially at the Charing’s ball—he wished for quiet, and a few moments of privacy, and then there was his grandmother’s emerald ring to retrieve from the strongbox—still, ‘twould be useful to say just enough to prepare Lord Davies for the next morning’s visit.

He wondered, briefly, how difficult it would be to obtain a special license for the wedding. Not too difficult for the Marquess of Clare, he decided. That could be accomplished on the morrow as well. And they could be married within—

“Lord Leighton.”

The voice was familiar. Anthony turned to see the viscount himself. Lord Davies was frowning, which the marquess thought he must learn to accept, at least for the moment. The man simply did not like him.

I will make his sister a marchioness, thought Lord Leighton. And treat her like a queen. He is be bound to come around eventually, particularly with Miss Isolde so firmly on my side.

“I have just been speaking with my wife,” began Talfryn Davies, “and I thought I should warn you of some ... stupid gossip which has begun to circulate.”

Anthony realized that on this occasion the viscount’s manner was more hesitant than antagonistic. A crease of worry had formed between Lord Davies’s eyebrows, and he had steered them slightly to the edge of the crowd as he spoke.

“I do not mean to imply more than I should,” continued the viscount, “regarding any relationship there may be ... in the future ... between us.”

Here the marquess felt on more solid ground. “I intend to make a formal visit to Cardingham House tomorrow morning,” he assured Lord Davies. “You need have no question of my intentions.”

That did not seem to make the viscount happier. “Perhaps,” he said, “you should hear of this business ... first.”

And the Viscount of Cardingham explained everything, from Lord Brabury’s first volume of verse to this last, not omitting Carys’s acquaintance with its author, and the dedication which was now causing a ripple of whispering in the assembled ranks of the
ton
.

“My wife and our sisters,” ended Talfryn—’our sisters’ in this case meaning Isolde and Josephine—”have suggested a combined approach of making light of the matter, but—”

He trailed off, seeing something in Lord Leighton’s face.

“Let me advise—” began Talfryn.

“Where is he?” said the Marquess of Clare. “
Where is he
?”

Lord Harcourt appeared at the viscount’s side, as if conjured up from the air by Lord Leighton’s words.

“Did you know of this?” said the marquess to Benjamin.

“Patience, old man,” said Lord Harcourt. “I’m sure it’s all been some ridiculous misunderstanding.”

“Geminate muse?
Geminate
muse?”

Up to this point all three men were speaking in low tones, but Benjamin—at least—knew this was not likely to continue on Lord Leighton’s part.

“You will do her no favours,” he warned the marquess, “by—”

“How dare he?”

“—by making the subject of more interest than it is.”

“I’ll show him interest!”

This last was loud enough that a few gentlemen nearby glanced their way. Talfryn was now becoming angry.

“Oh, to be sure,” he hissed at Lord Leighton. “Make a scene, here in the middle of a ball! My sister will never forgive you!”

“Your sister? She is to be my
wife
.”

* * * *

Carys was staring at Isolde in indignation. “That utter nodcock,” she said. “How could he think ‘twas acceptable?”

“He thought ‘twas acceptable because you never told him otherwise!”

“I can’t be faulted for not reading to the end of a twenty page letter!”

“I don’t think it was twenty—”

“Oh, you know what I mean! The thing went on and on about his
quills
, for heaven’s sake.”

Isolde nodded. “Yes, I remember that part. Whittled from the finest goose—”

“You read my letter!”

“Somebody had to!”

Both Carys and Isolde felt a hand under their elbow; Lady Bainborough and Lady Reggie had returned. The two women were smiling and nodding and steering the twins toward the Charing’s terrace doors.

“Come along, my dears,” said the Countess.

“But—”

Jo was explaining as their small group made its way toward the doors. “Now, I have said a few choice words to Alice Walcott—”

“And I have attempted to quiet your brother, although I must say he has no tendency to that state where his sisters are concerned.”

“Lord Brisby is easily cowed, as it happens—”

“This is all nonsense!” protested Carys.

“As I am well aware.” Lady Bainborough gave a short laugh. “We are in London, you know.”

They were nearly arrived at the terrace, and Isolde felt a sudden change in her sister. A decision made, perhaps.

“Excuse me,” said Carys, to the countess and Lady Regina. “I believe I need to say a few words to Lord Brabury.”

“Oh, Carys, no—” began Lady Regina, but Isa shook her head at her sister-in-law.

“Let her go quietly,” she told Reggie. “Because she’ll go one way or the other.”

The gathering of gentlemen now included the marquess, the viscount, Lord Harcourt—and the poet, whom Benjamin had quickly retrieved from a group of giggling and blushing young ladies. Lord Brabury smiled uncertainly at the marquess, who was glowering at him and threatening pistols at dawn. The poet was smiling because he hoped this was intended as a joke. Lord Harcourt was expostulating with Lord Davies, who was threatening to call out Lord
Leighton
if the marquess insisted on continuing to make a very public row.

“Your temper, your lordship, does not recommend your suit!” said the viscount.

“Oh, ‘tis my temper now the problem! When you have allowed your sister such an unseemly acquaintance!”

“I hardly think,” began Lord Brabury.

“You hardly think at all!”

“My sister—”

“If everyone will stop for just a moment,” said Lord Harcourt, sighing, “I’m sure I can find us some brandy.”

“Liquor is not the answer to every problem,” said Viscount Davies, with yet another accusatory look at the marquess.

Who did not appreciate it.

“Gentlemen,” came a new voice.

Anthony turned to see a familiar, but unanticipated face. ‘Twas his brother-in-law, the Earl of Chalcroft.

“Lord Bainborough,” said the marquess, after the first moment of surprise. “I did not know you were in town.”

“I’ve only just arrived. And I understand from the dowager that somewhere in this crush my dear wife is to be found.”

* * * *

If Carys had looked back over her shoulder she would have seen Lady Bainborough start, a bit of new colour coming to her cheeks. But Miss Davies had no thought for anything behind; her purpose was clear and it lay in front of her. Gossip! Men, with their foolish conceits! Oh, very well, and women, too. And waiting forever for one’s father, or brother to decide this, that, and the other thing. And not being able to admit one’s truest feelings openly, and hiding in supposed shame when, through
no
fault of your own—

Well.
‘Tis
your own fault for not reading his letter, she admitted to herself, but that is water under the bridge now.

Carys was thinking quickly.
His geminate muse. C., his geminate muse.

* * * *

The marquess was the first to turn and see Miss Davies as she approached. His face was grave, but there was a light in his eyes, and Carys knew ‘twas meant only for her. She smiled in return.

“Lord Leighton,” said Carys. “Lord Harcourt. Lord Brabury. Tal.” Her back was straight and her head high, and none of the men made any attempt to protest this disturbance of their conversation.

“Pardon me,” added Carys. “I do not believe I am acquainted with this gentleman.”

Introductions were performed. The Earl of Chalcroft made his bow and Miss Davies curtseyed.

“I am very glad to meet you,” she said. “I have only recently met your wife.”

The poet, who had been starting to sweat, mopped his brow with an enormous, lace-trimmed handkerchief. He looked immensely relieved at the interruption.

 “Oh, Miss Davies!” he cried. “Please tell Lord Leighton that you—”

Carys did not allow him to continue. “La, Lord Brabury,” she said, “you would not believe the muddle that has occurred!”

“The ... muddle?” said the poet.

“Indeed, yes. Some of the ladies have been saying that your geminate muse is
me
! Can you imagine such foolishness? And what a slight to our esteemed Mr Coleridge!”

All the gentlemen of the group turned in her direction, the earl with the mild inquisitive expression which seemed his natural state, Talfryn and the marquess frowning slightly, and Lord Harcourt with the hint of a smile.

“Coleridge?” said Talfryn.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge was in that year enjoying some attention—not all of it positive—for the publication of
Kubla
Khan
. As this poem had been given the second title of
A Vision in a Dream
, one might claim a certain logic to Lord Brabury’s supposed kinship.

“I can well remember,” said Miss Davies to the group, “hearing Lord Brabury first broach the topic.”

“You can?” said the poet.

Carys was looking at him quite fixedly. One might almost say ‘twas a speaking look.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “I can. You told me that you had always felt a special connection to Mr Coleridge, almost as if he were your
twin
.”

Lord Harcourt was already nodding. “I believe I heard you say something of the sort as well. Although, my dear poet, I hope you are not relying on laudanum.”

“Of course not. I—”

“Because I really do think that a simple glass of brandy should suffice. Although how clever of you to think of him for your dedication. He’s nearly the national poet.”

“Well, yes, I suppose ... “

The marquess was shaking his head at this point—in amusement. He looked at Carys and she could almost imagined that he winked. “Brandy?” said Lord Leighton. “Surely not. Allow me to suggest a brisk gallop in Richmond Park for the invigoration of the creative spirit.”

Carys suppressed a laugh.

Lord Harcourt sniffed. “Gods, Anthony, one cannot be a poet on a
horse
.”

Talfryn remained annoyed. “I do not see—”

“Well I do think something on a horse might be possible,” said Lord Brabury, frowning in thought.

“On a horse? Or concerning a horse?”

“Well—”

“What rubbish are the two of you—”

“My apologies, gentlemen,” said the Earl of Chalcroft. “Allow me to take leave of this fascinating discussion. I must greet my wife.”

Without thinking, both the marquess and Miss Davies turned to Lord Harcourt. Benjamin watched Lord Bainborough walk away, toward Josephine, with what Carys thought was a small, inward smile.

* * * *

“William,” said Josephine, to no one in particular.

Isolde bit her lip and exchanged glances with Lady Reggie.

“Who?” mouthed Isa.

“Her husband,” mouthed Reggie, in reply.

The husband in question made his way with some little difficulty through the crowd, and stopped in front of the three women; Isolde, Lady Regina, and the countess. He bowed to his wife. William Bainborough, the Earl of Chalcroft, was a gentleman of average height and build, with warm brown eyes and a gentle look. Isolde liked him at once.

“You must be Miss Carys Davies’s sister,” said the earl, before introductions could be made.

“I am,” said Isa. “And this is my sister-in-law, Lady Regina Davies.”

“Ah, of course. Very pleased.”

“William,” said the countess. “Why are you here?”

“To see you, of course,” said her husband.

“But why?”

“I’ve missed you,” said the Earl of Chalcroft.

* * * *

‘Twas an eventful ball, but even an eventful ball comes to an end.

And everyone goes home.

Lady Regina had managed to calm Talfryn, at least for the moment; he was annoyed with the poet and possibly more annoyed with Lord Leighton. The marquess directed a final lingering glance to Carys and left in an excellent frame of mind, an attitude helped, perhaps, by the sight of his sister walking out on the arm of her husband. Jo’s head was tilted toward the earl, and she was smiling. Carys and Isolde chatted in their best twin manner, with half-sentences and little pause, during the entire carriage ride back to Cardingham House, until the viscount was forced to pray that they would be quiet for two moments in succession, and Lady Reggie laughed at him.

And Lord Harcourt took the opportunity to have a few private words with Lord Brabury.

“You do understand,” he told the poet, as they walked together in the direction of White’s, “that your dedication does now refer to—and has always referred to—Samuel Taylor Coleridge.”

Lord Brabury nodded vigorously. “Of course. Of course. I never meant—”

“And there are to be no more dedications to any other young ladies, either. Not even young ladies who flirt with you.”