by Unknown
"I was feeling excessively lonely, milord. It is very strange to be locked in a strange room in a strange house when you can hear so many things going on around and you have no part in them."
"But you were not locked in, Danny?" Linton picked on what he decided to be the central point in this swift-spoken speech.
"Well, I might just as well have been," she stated flatly. "I cannot imagine that your household would have appreciated my appearance if I floated through the hallways in this robe— like Lady Macbeth!"
"I am sure you're right, brat." His lips twitched at the image thus created. "Come now, I have a surprise for you."
"A surprise!" The small figure leapt to her feet, gathering up the voluminous folds of the robe as she stumbled across the room toward him. "I have never had a surprise, milord. At least," she added ingenuously, "not a nice one."
This matter-of-fact declaration had a strange effect on My Lord Linton, creating a most odd sensation in his throat.
"Well, infant, I trust you will find this one pleasing," he commented dryly, repressing the unwelcome emotion and bowing her ceremoniously into his bedchamber.
Danielle gazed wide-eyed at the parcels and bandboxes. "But what are they, milord?"
"Would you have me spoil the surprise, child? Open them."
With that total lack of inhibition or embarrassment that no longer surprised him although continued to entrance him, Danielle tore open the packages and with exuberant delight began to prance around the room, holding the delicate garments against her, rubbing her cheek against the soft fragrance of the finest linen. She seemed as delighted with the frilled pantalettes as she was with the gown and the dainty kid slippers.
"Am I to wear them, milord?"
"That was certainly my intention," he remarked gravely. "Unless you have an alternative suggestion."
Two dimples peeped. "Idiot!"
"Do not be impudent, brat," he chided with mock severity. "Go and dress yourself. Our dinner awaits
and I have an inordinate dislike of cold food."
Danielle gathered up the clothesand then, underhis startled gaze, her face fell in a look of almost comical dismay.
"Whatever is it, Danny?"
"Well. . . well . . . you see, milord, I have never dressed myself before."
"Odd's breath!" Why had he not thought of that? Of course, until her flight she would never have had the need and hence then had worn nothing but britches—much easier to manage than the bewildering array of ribbons, buttons, and laces that were the necessary accompaniments to female attire. In the circumstances he could hardly summon a maidservant to assist her and the Earl of Linton resigned himself to the inevitable.
"I will help you, child. I am becoming increasingly accustomed to new roles these days. Do what you can and call me when you need assistance."
Danielle looked rather doubtful but accepted his offer without demur and returned to the Blue Room where she struggled doggedly with the myriad of tiny buttons at the back of the soft lawn chemise. Her violent expletive reached His Lordship and he entered her room without ceremony.
"This is quite absurd," she declared roundly. "How can one be expected to fasten buttons at the back when one does not have eyes at the back of one's head and one's hands face the wrong way?"
"Quite impossible, brat," he said soothingly, moving behind her, trying not to notice that the unbuttoned chemise left most of her breasts exposed. He had undressed her the other night, but his only thought on that occasion had been to rid a desperate, nausea-wracked scrap of humanity of a burden of sodden clothing as quickly as possible. This, however, was very different. In the silken stockings and white pantalettes she looked as feminine and as desirable as any one of the many women he had seen in a similar state of undress. Fortunately for them both, Danielle seemed quite unaware of her charms and in fact had become so accustomed to the intimate presence of the Earl of Linton that she would have been astounded could she have read his thoughts at this moment.
"Thank you, sir." With a totally unselfconscious gesture she adjusted the now fastened garment over her breasts and picked up the corset with a look of distaste. "Is this really necessary, do you think?"
"I fear so," he said solemnly. "The gown will not fit properly without it. But we need not, I think, lace it too tightly. You have a naturally small waist."
That did bring a tinge of color to the creamy cheeks but she said nothing, merely held the offending garment to her front and gave him her back.
Linton smiled to himself as he fastened the laces with deft fingers, resisting the urge to run his hands over the soft curve of her neat little bottom.
"You appear, milord, to have had a deal of practice in these matters. You have had, I suppose, many mistresses?" Danielle moved away from him, stepping daintily into the first of her three petticoats.
"That, Danielle, is not a subject for polite conversation," he said repressively.
"Well, I hardly think this is an arena for polite conversation." Her eyes twinkled mischievously and those dimples danced again.
His lips twitched. "Perhaps not, but I do beg you will confine such remarks to the privacy of our own company. I may not find them improper, but others will."
Danielle pulled a face which expressed all too clearly what she thought of those "others" and which filled the earl with a sense of foreboding.
Danielle surveyed the hoop as if it were a rather dangerous member of the animal kingdom. "Just how, milord, is one supposed to walk through doors with that?"
"It is a very small hoop, infant. You will have no difficulty and will soon learn to deal quite well with much wider ones and panniers too. Now let us hurry. I am exceedingly sharp set and our dinner cools whilst you argue. We have an appointment with Pitt at eight o'clock."
"Oh, so that is why I am to be dressed in this way. Is your prime minister to know my identity?" This speech was somewhat muffled as her head disappeared inside the flounces of the gown which the earl dropped ovet her.
"No. And he will not see your face either." She was turned briskly as her self-styled maid hooked the gown at her back. "You will speak only French and answer only those questions asked of you. There will be no necessity to volunteer information as Pitt will know exactly what he wishes to find out. Now, turn around and let us take a look at you."
She turned slowly to face him, suddenly quite unaccountably shy. The clothes felt very strange and uncomfortably constricting and it had been so long since she had seen herself dressed as a girl that she could not imagine how she looked.
The earl put up his glass and examined the small figure. The gown was a perfect fit and the soft swell of her bosom, uplifted by the stays beneath, rose tantalizingly at the neck.
"I was quite wrong," he said slowly, "when I said you would be a most beautiful woman one day. You are already quite enchanting, milady."
Color mounted to the roots of the neat, short cap of pink-tinged curls. "Truly, sir?"
"Truly, Danielle. Look in the glass if you do not believe me." He took her shoulders, turning her to face the long pier glass, and she saw a young woman in a soft green gown that accentuated the ivory skin and deep brown eyes. Slender forearms and dainty wrists emerged from the froth of lace at the sleeves and the tiny waist was outlined by a broad sash. Small feet in pale green kid slippers peeped beneath a ruffled hem.
Linton left her for a moment, returning with a small box bearing the insignia of the jewelers he had visited that afternoon. Taking the dainty white fichu from the bedf he arranged it in the neck of the gown, covering her semi-exposed bosom. "Until you are out, child, you must maintain true maidenly modesty." He smiled.
"You once told me I did not have much to display," she accused, peering down at his skillful fingers.
"Did I really? How very indelicate of me," the earl murmured. "You must have annoyed me exceedingly." He opened the box and took out a small brooch of tiny diamonds and seed pearls, fastening it carefully in the fichu at herbreast.
&nb
sp; "Oh, how pretty!" Danielle breathed, fingering the delicate object. "Thank you for letting me wear it, milord. I promise I will take very good care of it."
"It is yours, Danny."
"But, my lord, I cannot. I ... I have already taken so much from you," she stammered, flushing with dismay.
"Now you are being foolish again and quite ridiculously missish. I expect you to be awkward, stubborn, argumentative, and thoroughly disobliging, but not to be missish—a quality of the very young which I
find both exasperating and boring!" she was informed roundly. "You will accept the brooch graciously atod I will hear no more of this nonsense. Is it understood?"
"Perfectly, milord." Danielle sank into a beautifully executed curtsy of just the right depth, extending a small, long-fingered hand as she rose. The earl received the tapered fingers in his, raising them to his lips as he bowed gracefully.
"Well done, Lady Danielle," he said approvingly. "I see that you have had an education in the finer points of etiquette."
"But of course, sir," she exclaimed. "Did you imagine I had not?"
"Most reprehensible of me," he murmured apologetically, "but you see, I have only, until now, encountered a grubby, sharp-tongued urchin of fearsome pride and independence, who rides, walks,
talks, curses, and dresses like a veritable vagabond."
"I do not ride like a vagabond," she protested indignantly, seizing on that as the only part of his speech she could dispute.
"True, but I have not yet seen you ride as a lady," he reminded gently.
"Yes, well, that is something I do not care to do. If I may not ride astride I will not ride at all."
"In that case, my child, you will, I fear, be doing very little riding in the future."
Those eyes blazed at him. "What I do in the future, my lord, will be no concern of yours."
"How very wrong you are," he sighed. "Come now, Danielle, let us not quarrel tonight. You are looking far too adorable—it quite puts me at a disadvantage, and I know you believe in playing fair."
At that her mouth curved in a thoroughly impish grin, two deep dimples appearing in cheeks which were certainly less thin than they had been a few days ago.
"You mean, sir, that when I am dressed in this manner you find yourself unable to make threats against my person?"
"If you behave in a manner befitting your attire, I will find it quite unnecessary to do so. So, let us cry peace for a few hours."
The small head bowed a graceful acknowledgment. "Shall we dine, milord?"
Linton, with a slight bow, crooked his arm invitingly and, laying her hand on the fine cloth, she allowed him to escort her to the table.
The artist in the kitchen had had a bad time since receiving Bedford's relayed orders that afternoon, but nothing in the meal arranged in chafing dishes on the sideboard gave any indication of the tantrums that had shaken the lower regions of the mansion. Danielle did ample justice to the large carp in parsley sauce, a dish of buttered crab, and a saddle of mutton with mint sauce, but, to the earl's astonishment, rejected the dish of pastries and the rhenish cream in favor of a piece of stilton and an apple that he peeled for her with his tiny silver dessert knife.
"I have not a sweet tooth, you see," she informed him seriously. "Grandpere said it would ruin my palate and I daresay he was right. Anyway, I have not been in the habit of eating puddings, so do not miss them."
Linton hid a smile, wondering what this unusually sophisticated creature would do when faced with her first glass of ratafia, considered the only fit drink for young ladies. He must endeavor to be on hand when it happened, he decided— her reaction, if not forestalled, would inevitably be less than polite.
"I wonder what your household must think of all this disturbance and secrecy," Danielle remarked suddenly, taking an appreciative sip of her claret.
"I do not pay my staff to think," His Lordship replied dismissively. "Neither do I pay them to speculate
on my activities."
"I am sure you do not," she retorted sharply, "but I cannot imagine that that will prevent them."
"Not so sharp, Danny, if you please," he warned mildly. "Your point is well taken, but it could have been made with more courtesy."
"You were a little sharp yourself, sir."
"My humble apologies, ma'am. If you have finished your dinner, I think we should leave."
The earl managed to get himself and his charge installed in the light town carriage bearing the Linton arms on its panels with only the smallest difficulty—Danielle having taken an inordinate dislike to the thickly veiled straw bonnet provided by Madame Lutece. For a moment it had looked as if their earlier accord was in jeopardy until His Lordship had had the happy notion of concealing the offending hat under the capacious hood of the heavy velvet cloak. He refused to be budged on the subject of the veil, however, and eventually, with a martyred sigh, Danielle had capitulated, recognizing the common sense behind the need for secrecy whilst bemoaning the fact that, shrouded as she was, no one could see her finery. This small flash of vanity had pleased rather than annoyed her guardian, giving him grounds for hope that his urchin might accept with pleasure the eventual permanent resumption of her female role.
William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, now in his thirtieth yearand his first term as prime minister after six years of steering his nation through a troubled sea of domestic strife, political reform, and overseas conquest, received them in his bookroom in the tall house near Westminster. He bowed the veiled figure to a chair beside the hearth before turning with raised eyebrows to her companion. "So, Linton, what news do you bring?"
"Depressing, sir," the earl replied, accepting a glass of port with a smile of thanks. "You will find Mademoiselle a more accurate informant than I, however. Her English is quite fluent, but I have asked her to speak only French. There is a need for discretion, sir. Her situation is somewhat delicate."
The prime minister bowed. "I am most grateful to you, mademoiselle, for allowing me this opportunity to talk with you. May I offer you some refreshment?"
"Since, sir, I must put up my veil in order to take it and I am not permitted to do so, I am afraid I must decline your kind offer."
A pained look crossed the Earl of Linton's face at this and Pitt's eyes widened in astonishment, but he said only, "Quite so, ma'am. It was a thoughtless suggestion."
"Oh dear," the soft voice murmured contritely. "It was not at all thoughtless but most kind in you, sir. I have a lamentable tongue when I am out of humor and milord is now looking very annoyed. If you will ask me your questions I will attempt to redeem myself for, I can assure you, sir, that it can be most uncomfortable when milord is cross with one." This disingenuous statement brought a choke of laughter to the lips of William Pitt and caused the earl to wish most fervently that he were alone with his brat. He was, however, obliged to hold his tongue and temper in check under the interested gaze of the prime minister.
"Would you tell me, mademoiselle, what you know of the States General?"
"Do you mean its structure, sir, its purpose, or how its efficacy is viewed by the people?"
"The structure as I understand it, mademoiselle, is made up of the three estates—the nobility, the clergy, and the commons. The first two outvote the third two to one?"
"That is correct, sir. Also, the commons must elect deputies to represent their interests and therefore vote indirectly, whereas the nobility and the clergy may vote directly. As to its purpose— The king is responding to a crisis in the old way by summoning parliament. Unfortunately there is some confusion. It has been over one hundred and fifty years since this body has been called into use and the system is not well understood by those presently responsible."
"And the people of France, mademoiselle. How do they react?"
"As far as I could gather, sir, with mixed feelings. There is a sense of hope—more so in the villages than in the towns. The townspeople are perhaps a little more cynical?"
Pitt nodded, his almost colorless
eyes resting thoughtfully on the small, straight-backed figure. "You said feelings were mixed?" he prompted into the short silence.
"Oh, yes." Danielle recollected herself hastily. This interrogation was proving more difficult than she had imagined. Too many buried memories were being forced to the surface. "There is a degree of hope, but also of hopelessness and great anger—an anger born of desperation; the most dangerous kind, I fear, Milord Chatham." She glanced through her veil at the prime minister whose erect, concentrated posture was curiously at odds with his somewhat slovenly, negligent appearance. Receiving a short, affirmative nod she continued.
"At the moment the people still appear to trust their king and to revere him. But for the Austrian there is only hate! She is seen as the author of all their misfortunes and the corruptor of their monarch."
