"That kind of balderdash has nothing to do with me," the Mayor returned.
"I see what Lady Clevancy means, Palmer," Mr. Wilberforce interjected. "We are reformers, you and I. You improve society with your system of mail coaches just as I do with my fight against the slave trade. We, too, believe man can form a more perfect society."
"The way to improve mankind is to improve his knowledge," George stated. "When man knows for certain his place in the universe, his finer nature can emerge."
"Hear, hear," Dr. Parry agreed.
"Man knows his place through God." Reverend Jay's faith brooked no contradiction.
"Why are you looking so bemused, Davinoff?" the countess asked.
"I don't happen to think man can be improved." Davinoff sipped his brandy.
"You must believe man is redeemed in Christ," Reverend Jay exclaimed.
"I do not. And scientific knowledge only makes us more efficient. It will not change our moral deficiencies. We learn to make better guns, not to prevent war. We progress, then regress. Empires rise, empires fall in endless cycles. Misery and miserable acts remain constant."
"I agree with Davinoff," Madame Gessande chimed in.
"Madame?" Sarah queried in surprise.
"You forget, petite, I lived through the Revolution. I saw the hope of a new society rot from within because it was built upon Madame Guillotine's foundation. Then Napoleon's megalomania was followed by a return to monarchy. Davinoff's cycle exactly."
"But our philosophy has been refined over the ages…" George began.
" 'There is nothing so ridiculous but some philosopher has said it,'" Davinoff quoted. "As I am sure you recall, that was said in Rome before the birth of Christ. It was already true then."
"If you are going to quote Cicero," Mayor Palmer retorted, "you should acknowledge that his opinions were considered so dangerous to society that he was assassinated shortly thereafter."
"The cycle of progress and suppression. You prove my point," Davinoff agreed.
Sarah felt the need for a satisfying argument with Davinoff. He was maddening. But Madame d'Arblay cut off debate. "Well, our Mr. Davinoff is a cynic. And there is nothing to say to a cynic. So I will take my old bones home."
With that, the party broke up. Sarah was left with her retorts spinning unsaid. There was a bustle in the hall as carriages were called. Davinoff took his hat and cape, his cane and gloves, and was the first to swirl out the doors into the Crescent. A carriage already waited there. The bustle quieted. The guests, as one, peered past Davinoff. There could be no mistake. It was Corina's yellow landaulet. The butler was about to shut the door when the countess put her hand out and stopped its progress. No one noticed the frosty November air sweeping into the house.
Davinoff stepped calmly out from under the pediment as Corina opened the door and leaned out of the carriage. "I have come to rescue you from a deadly dull evening, Davinoff," she announced, smiling. She wore her ermine-trimmed blue pelisse that matched her eyes, and an enormous ermine muff rested in her lap. Her sparkle was perilous.
Davinoff stopped midway down the steps to the walk. He leaned on his cane and perused Corina with head cocked under his high-crowned beaver. "Do you always arrive at parties to which you were not invited?" he asked amiably.
"The party to which I want to be invited is just beginning," she said, staring up at him with provocative lips pursed in a pout.
"It seems you are the one doing the inviting," Davinoff observed.
"You are right." The intensity of Corina's will burned through that smile and shone in her eyes. "Are you going to stand in the street all night?"
Breaths were held inside the foyer behind them.
Davinoff put his cane under his arm and stepped into the yellow carriage. Corina pulled the door shut behind him, her eyes never leaving him. She did not acknowledge that there was an audience to her little drama. Indeed she seemed to be aware of no one but Davinoff. Her hair gleamed golden in the darkness as the carriage clattered off into the night.
Inside number seventeen, the stunned silence lasted for a moment more. Then Sarah began pulling on her gloves, hoping no one could see the tremor in her hands. Mr. Wilberforce took jovial leave of the countess, who stood immobile at the doorway, staring after the carriage.
Mrs. Piozzi took the countess's arm. "Come away from the door, Mary."
Sarah buttoned her pelisse. She had herself well in hand now. She only hoped Madame had not seen her shaking hands. "Soon it will be too cold for anything but a cape and a muff."
Madame examined her. "You are quite right, my dear."
"Come, Sarah. I shall drop you off home," George said as he took her arm. Sarah kissed Madame on her old cheek and promised to be faithful to the nuncheon engagement they had made the day before. Then she allowed George to guide her to his carriage.
Chapter Seven
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Sarah went to Chambroke the next week for Corina's house party with a sense of foreboding she could not shake off. She could not look forward to Corina and Davinoff performing their magnetic dance. The rumors about town were conflicting. Some said Davinoff had not spent twenty minutes in Corina's carriage after she picked him up at number seventeen the Royal Crescent. Others said he was more enthralled than she was. Some said he demurred at attending Corina's masquerade. All Sarah knew was that, if he came, something would be set off. The scent of gunpowder and the smoke of the flare that would ignite it hung in the air. She knew she would not like the result. Still, she could not stay away.
She had written to Lord Elgin and received a reply directly from a Mr. Thorpe, archeologist by trade, who promised to meet her at Clershing and view the dig site the following week. That left her time to dance attendance on Corina.
She arrived on Friday morning before the other guests to help her friend with last minute preparations. She found Corina in the Green Salon, lists strewn over the floor. Corina stood in front of a huge mirror, dressed in a deep rose wrapper, and stared at her reflection. She started when she saw Sarah. "Sarah, darling," she turned and tiptoed over to kiss her cheek. "I am at my wits' end. I cannot bear all these dreadful details alone."
"Would it help if I speak to Mrs. Derwent and go over her plans?"
"Yes. But I really needed you yesterday." Corina pouted. She glanced back toward the great mirror. "You know," she continued, Sarah already dismissed from her thoughts, "getting Davinoff to Chambroke will win him to devotion. He needs to see Chambroke to truly know me. It has grandeur. It has beauty. It is of my scale."
Sarah compared Corina's scale to her own, which seemed to run to keeping the household functional. The comparison made her angry, whether at Corina or herself she could not say. "Perhaps you are right, Corina." Her voice was only just controlled. "Perhaps he should attend one of the little parties that take place when only Reece and Lansing are about. The kind with guests from the stables instead of from the pages of Debretts. Does Davinoff know about those?" Sarah stopped herself, aghast that she had brought up a subject she had resolved to ignore.
Corina only laughed. "Not yet, Sarah. Not yet. But who knows to what his tastes will run?" She gazed at Sarah with smug assurance. "My father loved those kind of little parties."
Sarah felt her insides contract. She rose, slowly. "I am for Mrs. Derwent."
When Corina came down to where Sarah and Mrs. Derwent were directing the staff, she was dangerously radiant. Her gown was sea green lustring with gold braid trim. Its half-skirt, trimmed in gold fringe, was the latest Paris style. Sarah would never have chosen it, but she had to admit it made Corina look as fresh as a new-minted coin. Corina was just ahead of the arrival of the first guests, and she set out to greet them and play the hostess.
The grand carriages pulled up the circular drive and deposited their passengers. Though the affair was to last only three days, several trunks were needed for each fashionable guest to accommodate morning wear, dinner attire, a costume or a domino for the masquerade on Saturda
y, sporting gear for the men, and riding habits for the women. Each brought a dresser for the women, a valet for the men, and, of course, their grooms. Chambroke would house them all and the stables would find room for the carriage horses and the personal hacks and hunters, too.
Inside the house, guests were shown to one of Chambroke's innumerable bedrooms to freshen themselves after their journey. Everyone from the vicinity who was remotely titled was there. Corina had even invited the Countess Delmont. No doubt she wanted an audience for her triumph. And they all had come to see the truth of the rumors about Davinoff and Corina.
Madame Gessande was on the guest list, so at least Sarah would have someone to talk to while Corina held court. Madame was distantly related to the French throne, a circumstance most uncomfortable during the Revolution. "Who is going to take Celine du Fond in hand and give her some taste?" the older woman whispered to Sarah as she held her skirts to mount the stairs. "Mink and blue? I can hardly hold my tongue."
Sarah gurgled her laughter. "Madame, you are a shocking gossip!"
"And what other recreation are we likely to have for the next three days?"
Davinoff did not appear. As the afternoon waned, Corina grew petulant. Sarah was relieved. She did not want to see Corina at the chase. Perhaps she did not care to have Davinoff see Corina in scale with Chambroke. Others whispered, afraid the main entertainment was lost. A storm blew up outside. The men began to wonder whether the hunt tomorrow would go forward.
Dinner was awful. Corina's chef had extended himself tonight to the point of embarrassment, but his mistress was in an ugly mood. Her mouth turned down unhappily and her tone was angry. Sarah was glad to be relegated to the foot of the table. John Kerseymere and Sir Kelston sat across from her, describing their horses' innumerable fine qualities. She listened for as long as she could, but she could not help glancing toward Corina. Those around her friend carried on a stuttering conversation, confronted as they were by a hostess who looked likely to explode.
Finally, she did. Pretty young Lady Varington apparently laid the last straw.
"I could care less for watercolors," Corina fairly shouted. "Or Italian or the pianoforte, either. If you think these are the accomplishments that attract a man, I'm sure you will get just the one you deserve." She half stood, leaning on the table, unsure, Sarah thought, whether to continue her tirade or rush from the room. Lady Varington, who had apparently been extolling the virtues of a classical ladies' education, looked as if she had witnessed a murder. Her round brown eyes filled with tears. The table went silent, everyone fixed on their hostess in fascinated horror.
The door under the imposing marble columns behind Corina opened. "Mr. Davinoff." Reece's voice revealed no excitement, no expectation.
All eyes turned toward the new arrival. His black coat molded to his form, exuding elegance. His waistcoat was white satin with just a hint of woven pattern. A gold signet was his only piece of jewelry, gleaming in the warm glow of the chandeliers. Suddenly, all the men who had worn brown or blue or dark green coats and vibrantly colored waistcoats, watches, fobs, seals, and rings, seemed tawdry. Their clothes shouted rather than sang. Davinoff swept the huge assemblage with a glance, and his eyes came to rest on Corina. "To each his own, don't you think?" he asked.
The room turned back to Corina. She had been transformed from a sullen child into a luminous creature whose radiance put a glow into the room the chandeliers could not account for. "My dear Davinoff," she cooed, straightening. "Wherever have you been hiding yourself?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Hiding? I?" He moved with languid grace into the room.
Corina forgave him instantly. "Well, never mind, you are here now. Will you eat?"
Davinoff shook his head and waved the thought away.
"Then let us retire to the drawing room," Corina commanded. The party rose in a confused rustle of chairs and shuffled in clots into the white drawing room through the twenty-foot carved and gilded double doors.
It began. Corina vivacious, Corina coquettish, Corina moving beyond all limits. Sarah faded into the background purposefully. She did not want to make a fool of herself as the countess was doing, her eyes constantly upon Davinoff and Corina, her mouth turned down in disapproval as she moved from one knot of people to the next, gossiping her way about the room. The countess wore no scarf. Her insect bites had faded until they were merely red circles.
Sarah sought out Madame Gessande and talked intensely about everything, anything but Davinoff. When Madame sat to piquet, Sarah hinted to John Kerseymere that he should counsel Lady Varington upon the selection of a horse, and saw with satisfaction that young lady turn her doelike eyes up to her newfound benefactor most irresistibly. If John Kerseymere did not find the reality of a young admirer more alluring than chasing after Corina the Unattainable, Sarah would give him up. But even matchmaking could not hold her concentration. Corina badgered Celine du Fond into sitting at the pianoforte. Corina would request a waltz, Sarah was sure, and Sarah knew just with whom the girl would dance. She melted away to her bed before that could begin.
The next morning, Sarah stayed abed. The weather had turned fine for the hunt. Sir Francis Burdett supplied the hounds. Everyone would rise early for a light breakfast and be up and out to the fields. They were to lunch at Burdett Hall and return in time to prepare for the masquerade.
Sarah despised hunting, though it was certainly exhilarating to leap over hedges on a fine horse in the brisk morning air. She could not forget the horror of her first hunt, as the dogs found the fox and did what dogs will do, what we have all forgotten dogs were born for. She waited to come down until the breakfast room was quiet. She savored toast and jam and tea, undisturbed, over the latest copy of the London Magazine.
After breakfast, Sarah put on her own plain navy riding habit and walked down to the stable. She hoped that Pembly had not lent Maggie to or of the guests for the hunt. Maggie was one of the joys of coming to Chambroke whenever Sarah was summoned to relieve Corina's boredom. In the stable yard, she found Madame Gessande in serious conversation with the head groom, Pembly.
"Now, don't you give me a slug, mind you," Madame was saying. "Nor one of those nervous creatures that Corina creates."
"No, Madame," Pembly said, "I'll wager I have just the horse for you. Workmanlike, but pluck to the backbone." He motioned to a young groom and said, "Bring out Sultan." Then seeing Sarah he added, "And saddle up Maggie."
Sarah grinned. "Thank you, Pembly. I was afraid you might have lent her out."
"And who else would she allow to ride her, now?" the man shot back. "You've ruined her for anyone with heavy hands, Lady Clevancy."
She smiled in thanks. "Are you up for a ride, Madame? The park will be beautiful."
"I'll give you a lead wherever you need one, cherie," the woman returned with a gleam in her eyes. She went to choose her saddle, not trusting Pembly.
When Davinoff led his huge black horse out of the bam, saddle on his arm, Sarah was surprised. Corina would be so angry that he had not chosen to hunt! She drifted closer, drawn by his horse, a great creature, well over seventeen hands if he was an inch, shining black. His neck had the thick arch of a stallion, but he had an ineffable grace about him. He minced at the end of his lead, impatient as the saddle was thrown over his back.
Sarah stopped three feet or so behind Davinoff, so as not to startle either him or his mount, but he must have known she was there for he said, "Good morning," without turning, as he pulled on the girth straps.
"He is wonderful." Sarah could think of nothing else to say.
"What, don't you ask how I manage him? Most women do."
"It is too early in the morning for insults, Davinoff," Sarah replied. Then her attention was drawn back to the smooth muscles beneath the beast's shining coat, the fine dark eye that examined her. "What is his name?" she asked. Please let it not be Jerry or Welly after Wellington, a name so popular after the war.
"Quixote," Davinoff said.
"Quix
ote?" Sarah exclaimed, delighted. "Now let me think why you have named him Quixote. 'I can see with half an eye' as Cervantes would say." She paused. "It is because he is steadfast and will run all day and all night if you give him the office to do so, just as our friend from La Mancha was steadfast in his quest."
Davinoff snapped a stirrup to the end of its leather. "And… ?"
Sarah approached and held out a hand to steady the horse. He snorted softly into her palm. "And, and, and because he will jump anything you set him at, even if you overmatch him. It may be impossible, yet he will try." Sarah looked up at Davinoff's profile. "I would not have guessed you for a devotee of Cervantes. Quite out of keeping with your reputation as a cynic."
"We are talking, I believe, about my horse." Davinoff went round to the other side of Quixote, and she heard the snap of the other stirrup leather.
A young groom led up a saddled bay mare. Sarah always had to smile when she saw Maggie. She was fifteen hands and two, a dark bay built upon petite lines, with a delicate head and expressive eyes. There was no mistaking her for anything but a mare. That was not to say she was not strong. She was, and a good jumper besides. Her quarters were well muscled and her legs clean, with small, well-formed hooves. Sarah was always careful not to overmatch her. Like Quixote, she would have tried things she could not reasonably do.
The groom grinned. "Yell have a ride on your hands today, m'lady." He bent over and cupped his hands together. Sarah placed a boot carefully in his hands and he tossed her up. She turned, just the degree required, and landed in the sidesaddle. Then she lifted her right leg over the horn and arranged her habit. Madame emerged from the stable on her solid gray, Sultan.
"Will you ride with us, Davinoff?" Madame called. "I warn you, we will not be neck or nothing this morning, with the footing as bad as it is like to be after last night's storm."
Sarah busied herself shortening her stirrups.
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