An Indecent Charade: Letitia's After Dark Regency Romance

by Alicia Quigley

  “Whenever would you find the time?” asked Letitia teasingly. “As a widow I have little else to do but sew and nap and read, but you are the busiest woman I know. And your skills are so redoubtable that it does me good to know there is one area in which you cannot challenge me.”

  “Pish,” said Isobel. “You certainly have nothing to be ashamed of. How have you been spending your time outside of napping and entertaining bishops?”

  “I have done very little else,” said Letitia, reflecting on how surprised Isobel would be if she told her of her actual activities. “And I find napping infinitely preferable to Dr. Wolfe’s visits. Only fancy, Mr. Markham called this morning to apologize if his “rudeness” to the bishop had offended me. I told him I find him to be by far the greater gentleman.”

  “Mr. Markham called?” asked Isobel.

  “Yes,” replied Letitia. “Do not look so severe. He only came to apologize and indeed seemed rather uncomfortable. I am aware that our friendship seems odd to you, Isobel, but I do promise you there is nothing of which I need to be ashamed.”

  “You have no need to make promises to me,” said Isobel. “I know you would not choose a friend unwisely and I am sure that Mr. Markham is a wonderful fellow. But I am happy that you wish to go out more; despite your lawyer’s excellent qualities, I am sure there are other men whose company you would enjoy.”

  Letitia laughed at this speech, suppressing the thought that there were probably few men whose company would satisfy her as well as Mr. Markham’s. “Very pretty, Isobel. Have you arranged a second coming out ball for me? Shall I wear pink and dance with all the most eligible men?”

  “Now you are making fun of me,” said Isobel with a smile. “And I daresay I deserve it. But Letitia, I have had an excellent idea. Tomorrow night, as I am sure I have told you a hundred times, the Strancasters host a splendid ball. It is very near the end of the Season, and this will be the last great entertainment - all of Society will be there. I would be so happy if you could come!”

  “A ball?” said Letitia. “I can’t think it would be seemly, Isobel. I am in mourning, and Alfred has not been dead yet a year. If I were to go to a concert that might be acceptable, but I think a ball would be considered terribly fast.”

  “I have thought of that too, Letitia. But it is not as though you will be going to countless balls; this is the last great party of the Season and then you will promptly go back into retirement. All the world knows how very circumspect you have been; why, no one has heard of you since Alfred’s death except Francis and myself. I know countless widows of shorter duration than you who go about a great deal more. People are positively talking because you are never seen!”

  “You are doing it a bit brown, Isobel,” laughed Letitia. “Are you actually trying to convince me that my proper observation of mourning customs is causing gossip?”

  “Perhaps not gossip, but certainly comment,” persisted Isobel. “I believe it would do you a great deal of good to get out and see some new faces, and I do not believe that Society would judge you harshly, especially when you are known to everybody as a very good friend of mine. Your presence at this ball would not be thought at all unusual.”

  “You are very persuasive,” said Letitia. “But when I proposed that I should go out more I meant that I might come to dinner or accompany you to the theater. I did not mean I would be attending a large social gathering.”

  “It would not only do you good, it would also give me great pleasure,” said Isobel. “I do so hate thinking of you sitting here alone while I am out dancing each evening. I know you are not as eager as I am to be out and about, but I remember very well a time when you adored parties. Surely you are lonesome sometimes?”

  Letitia sighed, and reflected that without Mr. Markham, her days would have been far lonelier. “Certainly I am. When Alfred first died I did not want to see anybody at all, but now the shock is wearing off and I am feeling more myself. But that does not mean I should be attending balls.” She bit her lip. “Though it does sound very tempting,” she added.

  Isobel gave a little crow of triumph. “You see, you do want to come,” she said. “And there is no reason why you should not. Of course you will not dance, and you shall have to sit with the dowagers and discuss their grandchildren with them, but it will be so lovely for me to have you present. It is such a joy to have someone there I can speak honestly to!”

  “Dare I?” asked Letitia, her eyes lighting up. “I had thought I was immune to tonnish activities, but you make it sound very enticing. I could even support the dowagers, I believe. Only think how shocked Dr. Wolfe would be, to find me abandoning myself to frivolity.”

  “That is all the more reason to come, Letitia. If he is shocked perhaps he will leave you alone. For he may be there, you know; cards were sent to vast numbers of people.”

  “Then we shall throw caution to the winds,” said Letitia. “If there is the least chance that I can drive away Dr. Wolfe by attending your ball, I must immediately seize the opportunity. I now see it is imperative that I attend.”

  “Indeed it is,” said Isobel. “Your presence will alleviate my boredom as well, you know.”

  “Then I shall come,” decided Letitia. “No doubt many people will be shocked, but I daresay I can weather their disapproval.”

  “I am so pleased,” exclaimed Isobel. “It has been too long since I have had anyone but Francis to share my sense of the ridiculous with!”

  Isobel, her task accomplished, soon departed, as she had much to tend to before the following evening. Letitia sat some moments, contemplating her proposed return to Society. She felt slightly nervous, for there would doubtless be people only too happy to make cutting remarks at her presence, but she also felt a sense of rising excitement.

  The entertainment would be very grand, the company most elegant and the press of people great. Perhaps she would even encounter Lord Eynsford; she had little doubt that Isobel was still eager for their meeting, though the marquess seemed far less interesting to her than her lawyer. Letitia gave a start. She had only some twenty-four hours to somehow find in her slender wardrobe, an ensemble of suitable elegance, and her stock of evening dresses in half mourning colors was not large. Ringing for her maid, she fled to her dressing room.

  Isobel returned home, greatly pleased with the results of her visit to Kensington. She encountered her husband upon entering the house, and gave him a kiss.

  “You will be so pleased, Francis,” she said. “I have coaxed Letitia to join us tomorrow evening.”

  One of Lord Exencour’s eyebrows shot up. “She will be attending the ball?” he asked.

  “Is it not delightful?” said Isobel. “It took some doing, but it was not as hard as it might have been, for I believe she is rather bored and longs for some diversion.”

  “That will be very pleasant,” said Lord Exencour. “It’s time for Letitia to begin re-entering society.”

  “That is precisely what I told her,” said Isobel. “And only think, Francis, perhaps she can meet Eynsford. I know you find me very amusing, but I think they would find each other much to their liking.”

  “They may indeed,” said Lord Exencour, “but not tomorrow night. Phillip has conveyed his regrets, but the Regent has requested his presence at Carlton House tomorrow evening. And you know that he may not say ‘no’ to Prinny.”

  “How vexing,” said Isobel. “I was sure this would be ideal. And now the Regent must cause problems. It is too bad of him.”

  “Prinny, while not the most considerate of men, doubtless was not thinking of annoying you when he summoned Eynsford,” observed Lord Exencour. “There will be many other opportunities for him to meet Letitia.”

  “You’re right, of course,” said Isobel, “but I cannot help being frustrated. I have been trying to introduce the two of them for months, and now that Letitia is agreeable, the Regent, of all people, must interfere! I know I owe him respect, but I find it very hard to like him.”

  “He can be
very interesting and charming and he can be extremely tedious,” said Francis. “I suppose he knew of our party and spared me tomorrow evening, so I may still attend to my wife. Does that make you like him any better?”

  “Nothing will change my opinion of Prinny,” Isobel laughed, “but I like you very much, indeed,” she continued, as she turned to him, reaching up to pull his head down.

  Francis lifted his mouth from hers a few moments later and looked down into her languorous eyes. “It’s a bit early to be dressing for dinner,” he observed. “But perhaps we could go upstairs now anyway.”

  Chapter 25

  Letitia sat on a delicate sofa among the chaperones in the ballroom of Strancaster House. She was feeling extremely doubtful about the propriety of her presence at this, one of the grandest events of the Season. She wore a gown of a heavy lavender silk, long sleeved and made up high in the neck with a tiny, almost Elizabethan looking ruff of grey lace. Despite its modest design, the dress did not detract from her astonishing beauty, for the silk clung to her figure in heavy folds, and the ruff framed her perfect face, with its large blue eyes, rosy lips, and white gold curls, tumbling from a headdress of lavender, with silver ribbons threaded among them.

  Isobel was still at the head of the stairs with her mother-in-law, the Duchess of Strancaster, greeting guests, as Letitia chatted with the other ladies who did not dance. She was by far the youngest of the company, but she listened with interest to their conversation of children and grandchildren, and was astonished by the breadth and detail of gossip exchanged. She learned a great deal more than she wished to know of the various scandals surrounding the Carlton House set. The ladies seemed to know all the details of Byron’s intrigues and his various amours, and the Regent’s iniquitous expenditure of 130,000 pounds at his silversmith.

  After a time, Letitia looked towards to the entrance of the ballroom, catching Isobel’s eye, who indicated with a wave that she was on the verge of leaving her post, as it was growing late enough that few additional guests were expected. At that moment, however, a rustle of whispers swept the vast room, and it became evident that the Regent had chosen to grace the Strancaster’s ball with his august presence. All eyes were on the great doors, where the grossly fat regent and a group of gentlemen were greeting the duchess.

  Letty’s gaze swept the group rather derisively; Prinny’s set represented much of what she had grown to despise most about gentlemen of ton. Then, with a sickening feeling of horror, she found an all too familiar face among the crowd of the regent’s cronies. A tall and extremely handsome gentleman, his head of curly, old gold hair standing out above the crowd could be seen. He was perfectly dressed, his evening coat and knee breeches whispered of the restrained hand of Weston, his cravat was a masterpiece, and the single sapphire winking among its folds highlighted the dark blue eyes in which Letty was accustomed to find the warm glow of friendship.

  Tonight however, a supercilious expression blanketed the gentleman’s regular features, and a cold, hard light dwelt in the remarkable eyes. As she watched, the gentleman raised his quizzing glass, viewing the festivities with a critical mien. Eventually his uninterested gaze passed by her, and then returned abruptly. A look of surprise and then horror, hastily suppressed, crossed the handsome face; it was plain that the gentleman recognized her, and equally clear that he was not pleased about it.

  Letitia looked away, stunned, her thoughts a mass of confusion. How could her friendly Mr. Markham be among Prinny’s set? Why did he look at her so? His attentions to her had seemed so disinterested, so friendly and kind. Most important, how could the down-to-earth, ordinary, friend whom she valued so for his commonsensical attitude and distaste for fashionable pastimes, be standing in the ballroom of Strancaster House, casting every other gentleman in the room into the shade with his appearance, and clearly on the best of terms with the Regent?

  Letty was horrified. When she looked back, the Regent’s party had left the doorway, and was moving through the ballroom with the duchess and Isobel in tow.

  Letty looked down again, confusion engulfing her, as she fought to control her emotions. She heard a little stir around her and looked up to see Isobel approaching with Prinny and several gentlemen, among them Mr. Markham. Letty rose and curtsied deeply, feeling completely shattered. She had turned quite pale, and she noticed that Mr. Markham appeared to be slightly flushed.

  The Regent greeted her with great kindness. “A very sad business with your husband, Lady Morgan, very disturbing indeed. We often had the pleasure of meeting him in Brighton.”

  Letty murmured something in reply, she hardly knew what, nor how to look at Mr. Markham, who stood at the Regent’s side. He whispered to the Prince, who smiled. “To be sure, to be sure,” he said. “This gentleman desires me to present him to you. Lady Morgan, the Marquess of Eynsford.”

  Letty felt an overwhelming sense of unreality as Mr. Markham bowed over her hand, apparently masquerading as the Marquess of Eynsford, a Nonpareil of the fashionable world.

  “I had the pleasure of dancing with you some seven years ago Lady Morgan, but I feared you would not recall the occasion. However, it has been engraved upon my memory,” this stranger remarked.

  The Regent smiled at the pretty sentiments, and moved off with the rest of his party, observing to Isobel that Eynsford was the best of good fellows. Isobel glanced back, having noted Letty’s carefully hidden distress when the Regent had appeared, and wondered what had happened to overset Letitia so.

  The Marquess seated himself next to Letty, as the tide of the party ebbed and flowed about them. Letty knew not what to say, so she remained silent, feeling that perhaps the gentleman should begin the conversation.

  “Lady Morgan, it is delightful to see you here. You are an ornament to the setting,” Eynsford said. He fell silent, realizing that such absurd compliments could hardly begin to fill the gulf between them. He tried again. “I suppose you must find it rather odd to learn that I am not a solicitor.”

  The words fell hollowly, like stones in a well. Again, Letitia did not reply, but the look of disappointment and distress on her face spoke eloquently of her emotional turmoil.

  “Lady Morgan, I wished to become reacquainted with you, and you were so persistent in your refusals to go about, or even to meet me as a guest in the Exencour’s home that I despaired of an opportunity. When I learned of your direction in Kensington, I chose to figure as a solicitor, knowing that I could not overcome your dislike of gentlemen of fashion by any ordinary means.”

  “And so you chose deliberately to deceive me, Lord Eynsford,” exclaimed Letty in trembling but hushed tones. “I would say that your actions have merely confirmed the prejudices you mention.”

  “My intention was not to engage in a continuing fiction. At first I wished only to dissipate the spell that the memory of a dance seven years ago had laid upon me. Then when I met you again and found that you were still as beautiful, kind, and charming as I recalled, I wanted to continue to enjoy your company, and that artlessness which your ignorance of my title permitted,” Eynsford replied.

  “It is too bad of you, Lord Eynsford, to offer such an insult to one so lately widowed, whose circumstances might be expected to protect her from such behavior. I do not understand how you could have behaved so,” protested Letty.

  Eynsford had the grace to look ashamed. “I had no desire to insult you, ma’am, and while I acknowledge the wrong I have done in deceiving you as to my name, I think you must admit that it was an honest deception,” he said in his own defense.

  “On the contrary, this entire business has been an indecent charade, my lord!” she hissed. “Our friendship has been based solely on a lie. I liked you and trusted you. I thought that you at least were a friend on whose disinterested goodwill I could rely.” Letty stopped, plainly struggling to hold back her tears. “Enough, sir. I will not make of myself or you food for gossip, by bursting into tears in the Duke of Strancaster’s ballroom. You must leave me instantly, and do
not come again to Kensington Gardens, or call on me; I will not see you. There can be none of that trust upon which friendship is based between us now. I wish you a good evening.”

  Letty bowed her head to him frostily, and rose with grace from the settee. Composing her features, she made her way to the antechamber which had been reserved for the use of ladies who needed to make repairs to their gowns or coiffures, where she covered her distress by pretending to attend to a tear in her petticoat until her agitation had subsided sufficiently for her to return to the ballroom without betraying herself.

  Eynsford, anxious to avoid creating talk, had risen when Letty did, and bowed as she departed. He now walked across the ballroom to the windows, which had been flung wide to cool the crowded rooms. Narrow, ornamental balconies graced them, and he passed through the curtains into the evening air. His emotions were confused. In fairness, he could not blame Letitia for her angry dismissal of him. He recognized that he had acted abominably in deceiving her about his name and station. His intentions, he reflected, however, had been honorable.

  As this thought crossed his mind, Eynsford's mental processes came to a sudden halt as a stunning revelation took hold of him. An honorable intention with regard to Lady Morgan could only mean that he expected to marry her. He had never consciously considered this, he now realized, and yet, what other conclusion could he have expected from his acquaintance with Lady Morgan? Though she had no notion of it, when he considered his actions, he realized that they could only be interpreted as a courtship, though of a most unusual sort. Letitia, recently widowed, and viewing him in the light of a safe and friendly person, who could have no designs upon her, was understandably ignorant of this. He, however, was forced to recognize the lengths he had gone to in his pursuit of her.

  Letitia's beautiful face appeared before his mind's eye, and a wave of warmth and affection flowed through him, along with a familiar desire to protect her from the vicissitudes of life which fate had visited upon her. His plans to wed a malleable schoolgirl vanished as though never considered, and a glorious future in which he and Letitia oversaw a happy brood of remarkably attractive children as they grew up at Milvercourt shone before him. The Marquess smiled to himself. The problem was easily resolved. He had only to visit Letitia, and assure her of his desire to offer her marriage for all to be well.