by Joan Smith
“Like that, is she? She sounds to have a deal more spirit than her aunt. But she has her looks, you say?”
“Others say so. I see absolutely no resemblance myself, and if Daphne ends up looking like that blue-haired lady, I shall divorce or starve her.”
“You never mean Effie has run to fat?” the Duchess asked in a joyful tone.
“Fat as a flawn, and her hair dyed blue.”
“I am dying to see her,” his mother admitted, quite cheered to hear that her competition had aged in so unattractive a fashion. “Very well, I’ll go. We’ll have the pair to our ball, and Bess must do the same.”
“Bess refuses.”
“Ha, we’ll see if she refuses when I threaten to cut her out of my will. The mother’s portion is not entailed, you know,” she informed her son.
“Perhaps you would drive with her—Daphne, I mean—in the Park and let it be seen she has your approval. I think that would bring the Castlereaghs and possibly Lady Melbourne and a few of the grande dames into line.”
“Bess and Lawrence must be made to toe the line. They are more connected with Society these days than I am.”
For an hour the two sat with their heads together discussing tactics, and when Richard left, his mama immediately set her abigail to packing trunks for a longish sojourn in the city. She’d go early and be there for Bess’s ball, too, as she was to make the devilish trip anyway.
The Duchess of St. Felix went to her mirror and observed her face with an intensity she had not bothered with in years. She had not aged so badly. She wished her husband were alive today to see his beloved countess turned to fat and blue hair, while his wife, whom he had never half appreciated, retained a good, straight, thin figure and hair that was still black at the back, though the front had turned a nasty salt-and-pepper colour.
She knew George had never loved her, but he was a sensible man as a rule, and she had been shocked when he said he meant to leave her. He had been temporarily insane and Dickie was clearly in the same state. Best to go along with him, or heaven only knew what folly he would commit.
* * * *
The lack of letters to Wiltshire following this episode in the eventful visit to London was put down to the rigours of the Season, but the rigours were not of the sort imagined.
“Very likely she is off to some great country house for a visit with Brummell and the Prince of Wales and is too busy to write,” Lady Mary sighed happily. The absence of communication was an excellent omen. Effie had never written much when she was busy with her great friends.
Sir James looked at her and shook his head. “No, it is this St. Felix that has got her head in such a whirl she forgets to write to us. I have been checking on him—he has an excellent character. Related to the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“He can’t help that, dear,” Lady Mary consoled him. “There are clergymen in every family if you dig deep enough. Why, I have a second cousin who is a dean in London, and your younger nephew is studying to take orders.”
“Thirty years old—just the right age,” Sir James continued.
“Only fancy Beau Brummell giving Effie a blue rose,” Mary rambled on. “I hope she kept it to press."
James realized it was pointless talking to his wife.
Chapter 11
Effie stuck to her guns that the only course open to Daphne and her was to run off to Bath. A careful reckoning of her bank account, coupled with the fact that Prinney’s holiday Pavilion being at Brighton might take the social set there, had tipped the scales in Bath’s favour. Daphne was resolved they should stay in London and brazen it out. She spoke repeatedly of their own party and at last convinced Effie that they should remain in the city till that date was past.
“Nobody will come,” Effie warned her niece. “But we’ll stay close to the house in the meantime and prepare for it as though it were to take place. Such a waste of food, but I shan’t order much. Just one or two dozen lobsters and a case of champagne, and I must have Cook make up chantillies for the ladies. Such a sad, scrambling do. I used to throw much finer parties in the old days. There was never a lack of guests. Everyone begged to be let in and went to such shifts to wangle a card.”
“If we are to rusticate in Bath, I shall want to take some books with me,” Daphne decided.
“My dear, there is a fine circulating library there, on Milsom Street. But what you must do is notify Mrs. Wintlock you are leaving town. Odd she hasn’t come by before this.”
“She has been cross with me ever since I refused to go to Almack's. She did not like to take Stephanie when it was myself the vouchers were given to. I told her I have a cold.”
“I wish you had told the Patronesses the same thing. That would have saved all this bother of preparing for a party that ain’t going to take place.”
“It will take place, if you and I have to sing and dance with each other.”
“That is just what we will be doing, I have no doubt. I think St. Felix might come, if you would let me give him a card.”
“What, when he has never done a thing to entertain us but come here and complain? I should think not. You gave his sister one, and we shall see whether she makes any use of it. She turned her cheek on us, like all the others at the Deitweiller’s party.”
After a moment’s silence, Daphne reverted to her interest in taking some books with her despite the excellent library at Bath. Her real aim was to get on to Bond Street and gauge exactly how violent was the reaction against herself and Effie. Meeting people in singles or twosomes might be more friendly than confronting a whole roomful. If it seemed possible that some of their friends were still friends, she hoped to remind them of the party and try by degrees to reestablish herself and Effie. “I like to read in the carriage,” she said. “It will be a long trip, and reading helps to pass the time.”
“You’ll burn out your eyes trying to read in a jostling carriage with no light.”
“I always read in the carriage,” Daphne persisted untruthfully.
“You can read the memoirs then.”
“I was hoping to get Byron’s Hebrew Melodies.”
“Oh, well, if you know exactly what you want, it’s no problem. I’ll send a boy down to Hookham’s Library for it.”
“No! No, I also want some fresh air. You have gone to the expense of hiring a team, and we may as well have some use from them. They have not been out of the stable these two days.”
Effie saw that her niece meant to show her face on Bond Street come hell or high water and finally gave in to the extent of accompanying her in the carriage, though she would not dismount. They passed more than one carriage whose occupants were known to them, but no friendly waves were exchanged.
“I told you how it would be,” Effie said glumly. When they reached Hookham’s, Effie remained in the carriage as she had said she would and Daphne was obliged to go alone into the library to procure her copy of the Hebrew Melodies, a duplicate of which sat at home on her dresser in Wiltshire.
As she started to enter the shop, she recognized Lady Pamela’s orange hair coming towards her. The lady turned abruptly and crossed the street, very nearly throwing herself under a passing carriage in her haste to get away from Miss Ingleside.
Daphne was angry when she entered the place. She looked around her briskly to see whether she recognized anyone. She did not, which was fortunate as her temper might well have induced her to some impertinence. She was in no hurry to make her selection but, in fact, was determined to dawdle till someone she knew came in.
For ten minutes she leafed through volumes in which she had not the least interest, after which she decided she was wasting her time and left without taking a single book. She was about to step into the waiting carriage when she noticed a small group collected on the street in front of a different shop.
“Hurry up!” Effie called out to her, and as she was on the point of entering, Effie explained the reason for haste. “There’s Lady Melbourne and the Beau looking into that window. We
must get away before they spot us.”
“How uncivil you are become. I must say hello to Beau,” Daphne replied and walked to the window that had attracted the crowd, while Effie’s heart sank.
Cartoons and short verses were being put on display, and the mob was surging forward to see the latest lampoon of their Prince Regent. He was depicted by the satirical cartoonist Cruikshank as sitting on a fat cushion amidst the splendid chinoiserie of one of his many saloons, holding court while fawning courtiers, all in kimonos, bowed to him.
‘‘He hasn’t a chance of recovering from this," Lady Melbourne said.
“I think he has caught the essence of our Regent rather well,” Beau drawled, holding up his glass to take in all details and see what might make him think of a sharp comment.
“Good afternoon, Lady Melbourne, Mr. Brummell,” Daphne said, smiling at them boldly.
They both looked at her in amazement, and after exchanging a glance, they both nodded coolly and said not a word.
“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Brummell?” Daphne asked, her ire rising. “Lady Melbourne, have you stolen Mr. Brummell’s tongue?” Lady Melbourne's eyes bulged in shock, but Daphne had already turned back to Beau.
“I should have thought that with Mr. Cruikshank’s cartoon to inspire you, you might get off a witty word against the Prince. But I see I catch you unprepared. Those spontaneous epigrams of yours require some thinking about.”
Beau admired her style and brass in spite of himself. To call Lady Melbourne a cat was famous. “Actually it was the short verses, reputed to be by Lord Byron, that we were perusing,” he said. No brilliant words came to him regarding the cartoon. “I see he has honoured me with a quatrain.”
“And his dog with another,” Daphne commented, glancing at the squibs.
“We must be going,” Lady Melbourne said to her escort, but the Beau was not to let her slur go unchallenged.
“Are you unescorted, Miss Ingleside? It is not the custom for a young lady to walk the streets alone in London.”
“I have reason to know one is never safe in London. When her friends cut her, what is to be expected of strangers?”
“You must be careful whom you recognize here,” he returned with something close to a sneer.
“Yes, especially when your own social position is so tenuous,” she said sharply.
“We really must be off,” Lady Melbourne remarked, taking hold of Beau’s arm. “Nice chatting with you, Miss Ingleside.”
“No hurry, dear Lady Melbourne,” Mr. Brummell said, patting her hand. “My position, and your own, of course, permit us even to speak a moment to Miss Ingleside without fear of falling into anonymity. Did you enjoy the Deitweiller’s rout last night, Ma’am? One hears you were there—for a moment.”
“Yes, we could only spare them a minute for we are very busy. You may have heard we are engaged in writing a book.”
“So I’ve heard. Am I to be one of your victims?”
“No, we are only writing about highly placed and famous people. Good day, Mr. Brummell, Lady Melbourne.” She curtsied and walked away before he had time to retort.
“What a bold minx it is,” Brummell laughed to his companion. “I really regret that that girl has sunk herself. I should enjoy crossing swords with her again.”
“I can’t think why. You always get the worst of it,” Lady Melbourne roasted him.
“You didn’t distinguish yourself, Cat. I am out of practice. With her for a sparring partner I would improve.” He turned back to Cruikshank’s cartoon. “What do we think of this?” he asked.
“We are amused. It is quite like him.”
“That won’t sound well at the clubs. We want more panache. Shall we declare that having outgrown his father’s throne, he is now occupying the floor? And looking very much at home there, too.”
At the carriage Effie enquired fearfully what had occurred between her niece and the pair at the window. “Just commenting on the display,” Daphne told her, but the sparks shooting from the girl’s eyes belied her mild answer.
“I don’t suppose Beau mentioned anything about our party? I know Lady Melbourne won’t come.”
“He didn’t mention it,” Daphne said, but in her heart she knew there was to be no redemption through the party. Their curtness told her clearly that she and Effie were through, and she became resigned to skulking off to Bath, where she was beginning to think they ought to spend the rest of her visit, with the two of them going to Wiltshire at its termination.
She began assembling her belongings from all the corners of the apartment and was just asking to have her trunks hauled up from the cellar when Effie came to her door. “It’s St. Felix,” her aunt said, smiling brightly.
“What does he want?” Daphne asked.
‘‘He wants to see you."
“I don’t want to see him. Tell him I am too busy.”
“I’ll do no such thing. Comb your hair and go say how-do-you-do, at least.”
Daphne was reluctant to face Lord St. Felix in the midst of her disgrace, yet she also felt a strong urging to run down to the Blue Saloon as fast as her legs could carry her. “I suppose I must say hello as he is come,” she said and brushed out her curls in preparation for the meeting.
When she entered the room, she said, “You must excuse the mess. I was busy upstairs. We have not been receiving callers the past few days.”
“You would have received a call from me yesterday had I been in town,” he answered.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you had been away,” she said. She wondered then if he knew of her disgrace. She had not been at Almack’s, and he had not been at the Deitweiller do. To discover whether his sister might have told him of the latter, she asked if he had been to see Lady Elizabeth.
“No, I came here directly I got back from Kent,” he said. “In fact, I haven’t been to my own house yet.” He still wore a many-caped driving coat.
This seemed like an undue eagerness for her company. “Is there a particular reason for this call?” she enquired.
“Yes, a most particular one. I want to find out how things are going, after the fiasco at Almack’s the other night.”
“Oh, you were there! We—that is—I did not attend. I’m afraid my absence might have caused a little talk.”
“Particularly as you made no excuse but announced—to Brummell of all people!—that you stayed away because of your aunt not receiving a voucher. You must know a divorcée is not welcome there.”
“They draw the line at bigamists! The Prince..."
He waved away her objection. “Prinney is a law unto himself.”
“As a divorcée is my best friend and aunt and hostess, I did not choose to go either.”
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone!” he charged angrily and threw his driving coat on a chair. “Having achieved the impossible and got yourself invited, you must thumb your nose at the world and snub everyone who matters in town. Good God, what am I going to do with you!”
“Say goodbye, if you like. We are leaving for a holiday in Bath.”
“No, that’s the wrong move. If you run now we’ll never be able to hold up our heads.”
“We?” she asked in astonishment. “You are not involved in our disgrace. It has nothing to do with you."
“It has a great deal to do with me. I consider Mrs. Pealing as a sort of surrogate mother. You recall telling me she might almost have been my mother. She was extremely kind in all her dealings with my family, and I wish to repay her.”
“She never had any intention of publishing that story or any of the others she could if she wished it. You know that was all a misunderstanding.”
“Oh, publishing—I forgot all about that. I referred to the duel, and the suicide threat, and so on."
“You mean she told you the whole thing, and she made me promise not to!”
“It slipped out. She was not bragging about it, if that is your fear."
“Yes, slipped out, while you put a dozen sly ques
tions to her. Well, it serves you right if you found out what you didn’t want to hear.”
“Certainly it does, but that is of no importance now. I don’t consider your situation hopeless by any means."
“You don’t know the worst of it,” she warned.
“What else have you been up to? More chicanery?” he asked with foreboding.
“We were so foolhardy as to accept an invitation we received to a small rout.”
“You shouldn’t have, not after the scrape at Almack’s. Let’s hear all about it. Cut dead by half the group there, I imagine.”
“No, by all of it, with the hostess herself falling into a fainting fit at our feet.”
He swallowed uneasily and asked, “Where did this take place? Not at one of the better homes I trust?”
“Deitweillers.”
He considered the name and seemed unsure whether to include it amongst the better homes. “Who was there?”
“Your sister, for one. Our visit was so brief I hadn’t much chance to notice.”
“We may manage to keep it quiet.”
“Oh, no, we are too notorious for that, Aunt Effie and I. It is quite the talk in the city today. Brummell mentioned it to me.”
Daphne was unsure why she was telling all this to St. Felix. Her most ardent wish had been that he never hear a word of it, but once he was there in person the whole came tumbling out. He would desert them like the others, and she wanted to have her fate sealed once for all, that she might get on with making a new life.
“Ah, still on terms with the Beau, are you? That’s good.”
“You said he didn’t matter! You said he was on the verge of ruin!”
“He may go on being on the verge for a year. He isn’t done for yet. I’m glad you have retained his friendship.”
“I haven’t retained it! I insulted him just this afternoon."
“Oh, lord, can you never keep that tongue of yours between your teeth! What happened?”
She gave him some idea of their conversation, and he shook his head at her folly. “He’s out then. And Lady Melbourne was with him, you say?”
