A Matter of Honor

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  But finally the main task of greeting was over. Then Aggie was free to stand by the great banks of flowers, behind the line of dowagers in their chairs, and watch Cecilie being led through the steps of the dance. Every man who partnered her was catalogued and filed in Aggie’s mind. None of them seemed particularly appealing to her, but she was aware that no man held much attraction for her but the unattainable Denby himself. She tried to think as Cecilie would. Consequently it was upon the best dancers that she bent her most intent gaze.

  She was thus occupied when a sudden commotion by the door caught her attention. Curious, she looked to see what latecomer had caused such a furor. Framed in the doorway stood a tall blond woman. She did not wear the French muslin; her gown was of silk, a deep and vibrant blue that seemed to draw all eyes. But perhaps it was not the gown itself, thought Aggie with a twinge of envy, but the way it fit, that caught one’s attention. It looked like the lady had been poured into it, and with some caution, too, for fear the seams might split. The bodice was cut low, so low that it almost seemed as though at any moment her barely restrained bosom might escape its confines altogether. There was a decided rustle as the dowagers leaned toward each other.

  “The woman’s a fool,” said one in red and white striped silk that reminded Aggie of an awning at the fair. “Denby’s too sensible to be lured by such display.”

  The other matron, whose gown of bright yellow satin was in glaring contrast to a deep purple turban trimmed in green-dyed ostrich plumes, giggled in falsetto tones before replying in a hoarse whisper. “Denby’s a man, ain’t he? And you’ve got to admit Lady Alicia’s got the looks for it. Her bosom’s not as good as mine was, but it’ll do. It’ll do.”

  Her face crimson, Aggie moved silently away. So this was the fabled Lady Alicia Temple. She paused beside a palm to take another look. Lady Alicia still stood in the doorway, surveying the crowd before her with imperious eyes. Certainly she did not lack confidence. Now Aggie wished she had stayed where she was. She might have heard more about Denby and Lady Alicia - heard, for instance, if they were already engaged in some sort of illicit - liaison.

  As she watched, heart in mouth, Denby crossed the room to welcome the newcomer. Her gloved hands reached out to grab his and the kiss she gave him was hardly a mere salute of greeting. In fact, it might have become embarrassing if Denby had not extricated himself from her embrace and led the lady to the dance floor.

  Lady Alicia trod the measures of the quadrille with grace, her blue-green eyes laughing warmly up at the Earl. Aggie felt a lump rising in her throat. Just so had he once looked down at her. For a terrible second she found herself wishing that some misfortune might befall the golden Lady Alicia. If only someone would step on that too-tight gown, causing the seams to part and leaving the lady exposed in her petticoat -if she were wearing one.

  Aggie stopped her wandering imagination in dismay. It was surely not the lady’s fault the way Denby chose to behave. To be thinking such evil thoughts was very unlike her; Aggie felt a trifle ashamed.

  She turned her attention determinedly from the Earl and sought among the throng for Cecilie’s small form. Finally she found her, pacing off the measures of the quadrille with a sober-faced gentleman of middle age. He seemed quite attentive, but even at this distance Aggie could tell that Cecilie was bored. Unfortunately, the girl was not trying very hard to hide it from her partner. She returned little perfunctory nods to his remarks, remarks which from the earnest expression on his face might well have been compliments. Cecilie’s behavior, however, did not seem to daunt her admirer, who amiably escorted her back to Aggie’s side, paid her another compliment, and departed, still smiling.

  “Who is that gentleman?” inquired Aggie casually.

  Cecilie frowned. “He’s the Marquess Connors. Quite fatiguing.”

  “He seemed to dance well,” commented Aggie half aloud, as though to herself.

  Cecilie shrugged. “Yes, he does. But when I asked about his cattle -” She sent Aggie a sidelong glance. “To find, you know, if he is a good rider.”

  Aggie nodded.

  “Well, he isn’t.” Cecilie’s small mouth formed a moue of disgust. “And then he read me the most dreadful lecture on the folly of keeping a big stable. All about the horrible expense of so many cattle, with figures and all. And then he went off scolding me about racing. He’s quite a disagreeable creature. I hope he keeps his distance.” Her eyes began to search out over the throng, but the expression on her face was not hopeful. “There’s not a real out and outer in the whole room,” she complained. “Lady Bakiston’s guest list stinks. “

  This last was far too loud for Aggie’s peace of mind. “Please, Cecilie. You must not carry on so. Someone may hear you.”

  “I don’t care,” said Cecilie stubbornly, but she lowered her tone and cast a furtive glance around to see where the Earl might be. Thus it was that she discovered him dancing. “Aggie, who is that woman?” she asked curiously. “She simply hangs on his lordship.”

  “That,” said Aggie in a voice she tried to strip of emotion, “is Lady Alicia Temple. She is a friend of the Earl’s.”

  “An old, old friend from the looks of things,” said Cecilie bluntly.

  Aggie was about to reprimand her and then thought better of it. Sometimes the information learned from servants was very useful.

  “I don’t like her,” said Cecilie definitely. “She’s far too obvious about it. A woman should wait to be chased. Or,” she added with a mischievous smile, “at least let the man think so.”

  “Cecil -” Aggie began, but her charge was already gone in a swirl of satin skirts. Aggie sighed. Life was not getting any easier. Not at all. And getting Cecilie safely married was not going to be a simple matter.

  She sank down on a nearby chair. Thankfully there were no more dragonish dowagers nearby to tell her that they remembered her come out. Several had already done so, to her great embarrassment. And then there were the several older ladies, not yet dowagers but obviously obsessed with the fading of their charms, who had congratulated her on her entry into Denby’s establishment. It was not until after the third of these creatures had dropped something about “so many advantages and the Earl such a prime article,” that her dazed mind accepted the facts. These women clearly believed that she meant to parlay her position as Cecilie’s companion into some kind of alliance with Denby. And from their sly looks and the way they rolled their eyes it was clear that they were not thinking of any honorable connection. This had become clear to her as she was speaking to this last woman and Aggie flushed scarlet to the roots of her hair and started to move away. But the offender had grabbed her arm. “I didn’t mean to put you to the blush, my dear. But at your age - After all, we must take advantage of our opportunities.”

  Aggie had only been able to nod. Finally, spying a friend, the other woman had released her and trotted off.

  Now, remembering, Aggie took a deep breath. She had to accept this as she accepted the rest. She had nowhere to run - no hiding place, no comforter, no partner in life. The man who had been supposed to take that place in her life had not done so. She must fend for herself. She tried to wrench her mind away from those terrible women and concentrate on Cecilie and what was happening to her.

  As she stood looking out over the dance floor, she felt a presence behind her. Without turning, she knew instantly that Denby stood there, his eyes fastened upon her. She forced herself to remain still. She did not want to get into any contention with him; or to have him argue with Cecilie. So far things had been going along quite well. Aggie wanted them to continue to do so.

  Denby took the step that brought him up beside her. He stood so close that the arm of his coat brushed the sleeve of her gown. “It seems to be going well, does it not?” he said conversationally.

  “Very well, milord,” replied Aggie, her eyes still on the floor.

  “Do you think Cecilie has seen anyone she finds suitable?”

  Aggie shook her head. “I thi
nk not.” She forced herself to turn and face him. “You must understand Cecilie. She is very young. She wants a young man. Someone to have fun with.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

  “Fun?” said the Earl in a tone of disbelief, his eyes clouding over. “My acquaintance with the institution of matrimony is limited and is not of a firsthand nature,” he said somewhat dryly. “But never have I heard of anyone who was leg-shackled merely for the fun of it!”

  “Cecilie is young,” Aggie repeated. “Her mother died when she was still a babe. She has little idea of the reality of marriage.”

  “Have you considered informing her?” asked the Earl in the same dry tones.

  “Of course I have. But Cecilie only learns from experience; words of advice have very little effect on her.”

  The Earl sighed. “I must have been daft or in my cups to take on the guardianship of such a creature. Thank God I have no daughters of my own who will someday reach this obnoxious condition.”

  “If you had daughters, milord,” replied Aggie over the lump in her throat, “I am confident you’d do better at raising them than Cecilie’s papa did.”

  His eyes reflected amazement. “You are? I should have thought you’d pity the poor things for having a tyrant for a papa.”

  Aggie allowed herself a small smile. “A tyrant, if he be consistent in his tyranny, can be lived with,” she declared. “When a man is swayed by tears and pouts, a young person becomes quite spoiled and self-indulgent. And if he runs now hot, now cold - first persuadable and then not - his children may be very disturbed; for there is no consistency in their lives.”

  The Earl’s eyes were suddenly warm. “You have a great knowledge of children,” he said in a voice of admiration.

  “It is a necessary prerequisite for a governess-companion,” replied Aggie, losing herself in the warm depths of his gaze.

  And then, just as he leaned toward her confidentially, just as he seemed about to say something very important, there was the rustle of satin and the sound of a deep husky voice. “There you are, Denby, you bad boy. Come. Since you refuse to let them play any waltzes, you must dance this quadrille with me.”

  Before she turned, Aggie knew that the voice belonged to Lady Alicia Temple. For one long moment his lordship’s eyes still held hers. Then he turned and she did the same. Up close. Lady Alicia was even more stunning. Her complexion was flawless, her hair the hue of burnished gold, and the cut of her gown... Aggie averted her eyes.

  “Lady Temple,” said the Earl, evidently wishing to preserve the amenities, “this is Miss Trimble, Miss Winthrop’s companion.”

  The two women stared at each other. Aggie endeavored to keep her face blankly polite, but Lady Alicia evidently felt no such constraint. Her glance was direct and derogatory, as though she had no time to waste on lowly companions. Her aristocratic nose wrinkled in what could only be called distaste and her nod was as imperceptible as possible.

  Aggie returned the nod, wishing again that someone would give this high-and-mighty lady the set-down she needed. But the Earl obeyed the tug on his arm and followed to the dance floor where Lady Alicia’s execution of the intricate measures of the quadrille still did not burst the gown’s strained seams. Like a sausage casing, thought Aggie angrily, that’s what the lady looked like - a blue stuffed sausage. But for some reason the ridiculous image did not serve to cheer her up. How like the man to be taken by some overblown creature like that, who exposed her charms to public viewing.

  Aggie turned away. This kind of thinking was stupid - and futile. The Earl was Cecilie’s guardian; that was all. As long as he conducted himself properly on that score, what he did with his private life was no concern of hers. No concern at all.

  Chapter Seven

  For a few days after the ball, things went quite well in Denby’s establishment. Cecilie moved about, keeping Dillydums always with her. The monkey seemed very contented and at home except that whenever Denby entered the room the little creature ran gibbering into Cecilie’s arms and hid his face in her shoulder. No wonder, thought Aggie, the poor thing no doubt remembered his ill-treatment at the hands of the Earl. A dry smile twisted Aggie’s mouth at such thoughts. The Earl had a great deal of ill-treatment to account for!

  The days passed slowly. Aggie tried to teach Cecilie the fundamentals of needlepoint. She made an amusing picture, peering intently down at her work while the monkey on her shoulder mimicked her expression of concentration. But soon Cecilie would fling the work aside and jump up to do something more active.

  “Aggie,” she cried one morning, “I am going absolutely mad shut up here.”

  “We’ll be going to the theater in several days,” Aggie reminded her. “You’ll get to see a lot of people then.”

  “I know. But I want to do something now. I’m so dreadfully, dreadfully bored.”

  “I know, dear.” Aggie put aside her sewing. “But that’s natural. We were all so excited about your ball. Now that it’s over we are naturally feeling a little lost and let down. That will pass as soon as we begin to go out.” For some unaccountable reason her mind presented her with a picture of herself in Denby’s arms, being whirled around the floor to the pulsating rhythm of the waltz. “I’ll tell you what. It’s such a lovely day out. Why don’t we take Dillydums and go out in the courtyard for a while? But be sure to put him on his leash.”

  Cecilie nodded. “All right. I’m awfully tired of sitting up here. I wish there were an easier way of getting a husband.”

  Aggie allowed herself a small smile. “After all, my dear, you will be spending the rest of your life with this man. A person should take her time in making such a decision.”

  “I suppose so,” said Cecilie, her eyes widening with mischief. “But think how much simpler it would be if we could just go to a market, or a fair, like Papa did to buy horses!” Her eyes lit up with merriment. “Just think, all the men could line up and we could go along and inspect their looks.” She giggled. “Even their teeth as Papa used to do with the horses.”

  “But men cannot be bought and sold,” protested Aggie, trying to stop a little smile that insisted on tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “Oh, I know that.” Cecilie brushed the objection aside. “And they could have a big card suspended behind them that told important things, like ‘good dancer,’ ‘crack horseman,’ and the like,” She burst into a sudden fit of laughter and Aggie could not forbear laughing, too.

  “What is it now, you little minx?” she asked. “What has your imagination been conjuring up?”

  Cecilie resumed a straight face. “I was just thinking how very ideal such a situation would be for me.” And she burst into laughter again.

  Aggie waited patiently. It was good to see Cecilie merry once more.

  When she stopped laughing, Cecilie wiped at her eyes. “Shut your eyes, Aggie. Just keep them shut and imagine what I tell you.”

  Aggie nodded and obediently closed her eyes.

  “First, it’s a great building, built in a big circle, sort of like the amphitheater. And all around the edges are little cubbyholes, sort of like stalls. Over each one hangs the sign.”

  Aggie’s imagination built such a building for her and furnished it as Cecilie described. Then it stopped in front of one of the cubbyholes.

  “The men stand or walk about, showing themselves off,” continued Cecilie. “Can you see his lordship among them?”

  Without opening her eyes, Aggie nodded again. She could see him quite plainly.

  “He’s wearing riding boots,” Cecilie went on. “And inexpressibles of tan Bedford cord.”

  Aggie nodded again. She could see him as clearly as if he stood before her.

  “And,” said Cecilie in triumphant tones, “every man’s chest is bare!”

  Aggie’s eyes flew open with the shock, but not before her mind had presented her with a very clear picture of the Earl’s unclad chest, the shadowy mat of hair. “Cecilie! You must not say such things! They are not proper
for young ladies to discuss.”

  “But, Aggie, wouldn’t it be a good idea?” persisted Cecilie. “Think how nice it would be. We could walk up and down the aisles, admiring all the gentlemen.”

  By now Aggie’s shock had somewhat abated. She shook her head. “Oh, Cecilie. But what if the tables were turned and we were on display? I collect you would not like that so much.”

  Cecilie tossed her blond head and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I don’t know. It wouldn’t be too bad. I could look at the gentlemen while they looked at me. And you know, Aggie,” she said in sudden seriousness, “all this is really not so far from the truth.”

  Aggie gazed at her in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, that’s sort of what the come out was for - to exhibit me. And when we go to the theater, we are on display. So are the gentlemen.”

  Aggie considered this. “I suppose you’re right,” she conceded. “But certainly society would not look with much favor on your plan.”

  Cecilie’s sigh was only partly exaggerated. “I suppose not. The ton is very dishonest. Always hiding the truth from itself.”

  “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it is polite, “commented Aggie.

  Cecilie shrugged. “Everyone knows that the marriage business is exactly that - a business. I don’t know what they hope to achieve by deceiving themselves.”

  Privately, Aggie thought that her ward had reached quite a mature understanding on the subject. But, knowing Cecilie’s characteristic honesty, she thought it wiser not to tell her so. It would obviously not do her any good to advance such opinions among the ton, and it might do her a good deal of harm.

  “Shall we go down to the garden now?” said Aggie, and Cecilie, snapping the monkey’s leash, nodded.

  At the bottom of the front stairs they were met by Bates. “His lordship wishes to see you in the library,” he said.