An Honest Deception

by Alicia Quigley

  “Who shall keep you company, Letty?” inquired Isobel, “I do not think that you would care to be merely a Lady for it would be rather a lonely existence; you must have a companion.”

  “Oh, there are any number of ladies of my acquaintance who would be delighted to cast aside their existences as companions, or genteelly impoverished governesses. Indeed, I think I could find one or two married ladies in situations like mine to join me. There is no difficulty there,” Letty answered expansively.

  Isobel nodded wisely. “No doubt,” she said, but then a look of alarm appeared on her face. “Letty, I do believe that The Ladies of Plas Newydd wore only riding habits. Do you not think you might tire of riding habits?”

  Much struck by this question of a la modality, Letty regarded Isobel seriously as she refilled their glasses. “It is a grave concern to be sure,” she said. “Indeed, I do not think that I could support a riding habit as a costume on a constant basis.”

  “I suppose there must be some reasonable alternative,” postulated Isobel.

  “We could wear daring red silk ball gowns, damped, and without petticoats each day,” proposed Letty.

  “How very shocking, my dear,” said Isobel in a comfortable tone. “Only I fear you will have to name your house 'Place Infame' rather than Plas Newydd. And indeed, red silk is quite ineligible in the country you know. Decidedly de trop, my dear.”

  “Besides, if my companion had recently left employment as a governess she might feel quite uncomfortable wearing red after months and months in brown stuff, I suppose,” said Letty consideringly.

  “But brown is so lowering to the spirits; I should think rather that she might feel very much relieved,” countered Isobel.

  “Well, I certainly would,” remarked Letty. “I am feeling quite irritated after only a few weeks in mourning. I vow that the very sight of a black dress depresses me.”

  “It is hideous,” agreed Isobel. “We were in mourning for Exencour’s brother until very recently, and while I was very fond of Charles, I could not but think that he would not have wished that on his family.”

  “When I am a fatal widow I shall wear red ball gowns then,” said Letty firmly. She drained her glass and eyed the empty bottle sadly.

  “It sounds delightful,” said Isobel comfortably. “I have never known a fatal widow. Will it be terribly scandalous for us to be friends?”

  “Terribly,” stated Letty. She looked down at her empty glass, and tears began to well up in her eyes. “Oh, Isobel, how glad I am to have you here.”

  “I am so glad to have you restored to me as well,” said Isobel, patting her hand. “Now we need only set about making you content. If all it takes is champagne and red ball gowns, it will be quite simple. Don’t cry, Letty. We will make sure that you and the children are happy.”

  Letty blinked back her tears. “How foolish I am to weep,” she said. “I must look forward to the future, now that Alfred is in my past.”

  “Exactly,” said Isobel. “Whatever sort of widow you are, Letty, it most definitely will be better than being his wife.”

  Chapter 8

  Viscount Exencour strolled leisurely towards his home in Grosvenor Square. He had spent the afternoon at White’s, and upon leaving had found the weather so unseasonably warm that he had determined to walk home. He looked forward to seeing Isobel and discovering what progress she and Letitia had made in securing a house for the latter; the process had become quite complicated, for although Letitia would have been quite happy with any number of the houses they had seen, Isobel deemed none of them to be sufficient for her friend, and thus the search continued.

  Lord Exencour’s secretary was becoming quite frantic in his attempts to find a house that would satisfy Lady Exencour. His lordship found the whole business amusing; Letitia Winwood had come to stay with them after Morgan Park’s tenants took over in February, and he was perfectly content to have her under his roof as long as she cared to stay, and therefore did not attempt to hurry the hunt along. As he strolled and enjoyed the sunshine, a rarity in late winter, he was greeted by another walker, a strikingly handsome gentleman of about his own age.

  “Francis!” he exclaimed. “I am pleased to see you. It has been too long since our days together in Lisbon!”

  “Phillip!” exclaimed Lord Exencour. “How good to see you again. Don’t tell me they no longer need you in Vienna, for I shall not believe it.”

  “They will have to do without me,” responded the Marquess of Eynsford. “I have been too long away from England, and so I told them. You perceive me a free man, Francis, without a care in the world!”

  Lord Exencour gazed at the other man with affection. His friendship with Phillip long preceded that gentleman’s accession to the Eynsford marquisate, so he knew the warm and generous side of the marquess’ nature. Francis was appreciative of Phillip’s natural brilliance of mind, which, combined with an ease of manner and, in his younger years, a sweetness of disposition, made him a natural negotiator who could extract concessions from opponents and yet leave them feeling as though they had emerged from the encounter victorious.

  “You deserve it, Phillip,” said Francis. “Lord knows you’ve given king and country enough of your time these last years. Sometimes I think the diplomats had it worse than the soldiers.”

  “I suppose that depends on whether you’d rather dodge a Frenchman’s bullets or Metternich’s tongue,” said the marquess. “I did think at times that bullets were less lethal.”

  “I am glad you survived, at any rate,” said Lord Exencour. “I have missed you, and of course those adventurous times in Lisbon. I’ll never forget the Duke’s face that night you stole Mrs. Marchant out from under his nose!”

  The marquess laughed. “With help from you, Francis, don’t let it be forgotten. I’ll not take all the credit for that. But I hear you’re no longer stealing ladies away from your friends. What is this about your marriage?”

  A smile played across Lord Exencour’s face. “I have indeed entered that honored estate,” he said. “I think that you will find my wife most charming. She is--”

  “I know who she is, Francis!” interrupted Lord Eynsford. “Any number of people wrote to give me the startling news that Miss Isobel Paley had succumbed at last. I have met her many times and even danced with her; what a sensation she was in her first Season. You have stolen a march on many a fellow, Francis. They must all be wondering how you did it.”

  “It wasn’t easy,” said Lord Exencour ruefully. “She was determined not to marry.”

  “Then your time in the army learning perseverance must have stood you in good stead, “ said Lord Eynsford. “I wish you very happy, and your charming wife as well. She must have made many an ambitious mama angry by wedding you; surely you were the finest catch on the Marriage Mart.”

  “No, you hold that title as long as you remain single, Phillip,” retorted Lord Exencour.

  “You wound me to the quick! Do not look for me to be marrying soon, Francis. You have wed perhaps the last young lady in London that I might have found attractive. None of them move me sufficiently to contemplate matrimony.”

  “Hence the cheres amies?” asked Exencour. “Do you still have that Spanish opera singer under your protection?”

  Lord Eynsford laughed. “Long gone, Francis. A delightful woman in many ways, but what a temper. I could not tolerate it for long.”

  “What better than a sweet English miss then, to make you forget her hysterics?” asked Lord Exencour with a wicked smile.

  “I must judge you to be very happy in your marriage, Francis, if you would foist the same on me. And my mother is before you, with her terrifying demands that I find a young and biddable bride,” shuddered Lord Eynsford. “But I have yet to meet a young lady who thought so highly of me that she did not think of my title and fortune first.”

  “Your problem, Phillip, is that you are a cynic,” said Lord Exencour.

  “While yours, Francis, is that you married a woman yo
u love,” responded the marquess. “Perhaps I will be so fortunate someday, but until then, I must find my enjoyment where I may. Though I do admit to owing it to the name to produce a brood of children in my own image. My current heir is my nephew, who combines indolence with a propensity for gambling and libertinism that would rapidly dissipate the wealthiest estate. But on a recent visit to Almack’s I found one young woman to be much like the next. Perhaps I will let you identify a fresh young miss straight out of the schoolroom for me, one who would bear me children and be docile enough to put up with my amours.”

  “How cold-blooded of you, Phillip,” said Lord Exencour. “I believe you have some years to seek out the right female before you sacrifice yourself and some child in such a way. You may still find someone who touches your heart.”

  “Your recent marriage has addled your brains,” said the marquess, but the statement was accompanied by a smile that softened the words. “I wish I were as romantic as you, Francis.”

  The gentlemen’s footsteps had led them to Grosvenor Square and they now paused some distance from Strancaster House.

  “You must come to dinner sometime, Phillip. Isobel will be glad to see you again, as she knows the esteem I hold you in. We do very little entertaining just now; a friend of Lady Exencour’s was recently widowed and stays with us.”

  “But you are not in black gloves as well, are you? I hoped that we might make up a party and attend the theater.”

  “I will speak to Lady Exencour. She is very concerned about her friend, but I am sure an excursion such as that would be tempting to her. We are only recently out of mourning for my brother,” said Lord Exencour.

  As the two gentlemen conversed, the door to Strancaster House opened and a lady emerged, accompanied by a maid and two small children. She presented a lovely picture, for although she was dressed in the strictest black, her widow’s weeds served only to highlight her startlingly fair beauty. Angelically fair curls framed an oval face with well-shaped brows over eyes of celestial blue. Her complexion had been compared by more than one admirer to that of an English rose, and her cupid’s bow lips were parted in a smile of delight. Despite her somber dress, she laughed as she promised the clamoring children that yes, indeed, they were going to the Park, and certainly it would be possible to play with their ball. The picture was one of considerable charm, and Lord Exencour was amused to find his friend staring quite frankly.

  “Is that not Letitia Winwood?” asked Lord Eynsford.

  Lord Exencour was startled that his friend recognized Letitia. “Yes, it is,” he responded. “Are you acquainted with her?”

  “No,” said Lord Eynsford. “That is to say, yes. I danced with her during her Season in London some years ago, but she was already engaged to Alfred Winwood at that time. She was a charming young lady.”

  “She is still very charming. I admire Lady Morgan; if it were not for her, it is very likely Isobel and I would not be wed,” said Lord Exencour.

  “What befell Lord Morgan?” asked Lord Eynsford.

  “A most distressing hunting accident,” said Lord Exencour. “Lady Morgan was very surprised.” He reflected that this, at least, was the truth.

  “I never cared for Morgan,” observed Lord Eynsford. “It was nothing I could put my finger on, but he seemed to be rather underbred. One could not say so, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed Lord Exencour. “But I fear that you were right about Lord Morgan, and I wish I had been as perceptive as you. Lady Morgan did not enjoy a happy married life.”

  Lord Eynsford gazed at the lady in question as she paused on the steps to take her daughter’s hand.

  “I realize that she does not go out into public, but perhaps you might introduce me, Exencour?” he asked.

  Lord Exencour laughed. “Of course, Phillip. I am pleased to see you taking an interest in an Englishwoman.”

  “Unkind, Francis,” said Lord Eynsford, a small smile on his lips.

  “Perhaps the best solution would be for you to come to dinner tomorrow night,” said Lord Exencour. “Lady Morgan does not go out in public, but if you were to dine with us en famille, you would not only be able to renew your acquaintance with my wife, but with Lady Morgan as well. Afterward, perhaps you, Lady Exencour, and I could attend the theater.”

  “An excellent idea,” said the marquess. “I would be delighted to see the former Miss Paley again, and I must confess to having fond memories of my dance with Lady Morgan.”

  Lord Exencour laughed. “Do not give up your heart to her, Phillip. She is quite set against remarrying; indeed, she has developed an abhorrence of the fashionable world, and I can hardly find it in me to blame her. It has not served her well.”

  Lord Eynsford gave his friend a haughty glance. “Do you think me so easily won over, Francis? I merely appreciate beauty when I see it.”

  Exencour laughed. “Is that so, Phillip? Then tomorrow evening you can also appreciate my wife.”

  “I already admire Lady Exencour, Francis,” said the marquess. “You shall soon be notorious for having the two most beautiful women in London living in your home!”

  “What a fate!” said Lord Francis. “But it shall not be so for long. Lady Exencour and Lady Morgan are seeking a house for Lady Morgan to rent. I think it is no secret that Lord Morgan sadly neglected his estate, and now Lady Morgan is attempting to save it for her son. It will thus be rented for some years, and she means to make her home quietly in London.”

  “She will be quite an addition to Society when she comes out of mourning,” observed Lord Eynsford. “Whatever her sufferings may have been, and even if her fortune is dissipated, she is still a great beauty, and of course bears an honorable name.”

  “I very much doubt that Lady Morgan will choose to lead a tonnish life,” observed Lord Exencour. “She has expressed little interest in joining the social whirl and even less in marrying again. Her experiences with her late husband and her cousin, Lord Bainstall, have not led her to think of noblemen as desirable partis.”

  “What, does she think so poorly of you as well?”

  Lord Exencour laughed. “I am the only exception, I believe. Lady Morgan thus far does not seem to doubt my sincerity. It is a great shame she does not wish to marry again, for I doubt she would lack suitors. When Horace Worth saw her last week he became positively foolish; rather like you, Phillip.”

  The marquess laughed. “I never become foolish over women, Francis. Aggravated, amazed, and frustrated, perhaps, but never foolish.”

  “I may see you at a disadvantage yet, Phillip,” said Lord Exencour.

  “You may, but I believe it unlikely,” said Lord Eynsford. “Well, Francis, I must be on my way. I look forward to tomorrow evening.”

  The two gentlemen shook hands, and Lord Exencour entered his house in search of his wife.

  Chapter 9

  Lord Eynsford hesitated a moment after the door closed behind Francis, and then turned his footsteps towards the park. It was too early to see the truly fashionable crowd riding and driving, but there were numerous strollers enjoying the fine weather, and many small children playing among the trees, their nurses in attendance. He found himself looking searchingly at the groups of children, until finally he spotted that for which he, almost unknown to himself, had been searching. Lady Morgan and her children were engaged in tossing a ball back and forth, presenting a picture of serene domestic happiness. The boy was a slender lad, unfortunately, to Lord Eynsford’s eyes, resembling his father, who had been very dark and handsome in the mold of Lord Byron. He seemed to be untouched by Lord Morgan’s unattractive character, however, for he was gentle with his little sister, a child of about three who laughed merrily as she attempted to catch the ball tossed carefully to her. Lady Morgan’s affection for her children was apparent in her happy smile and glowing eyes as she joined merrily in their game.

  Lord Eynsford did not approach them, but watched for some moments, his face clear of its customary haughty expression. Seven years earl
ier, Phillip Masham, aspiring diplomat, had entered Lady Wiggin’s ballroom, seen the newly out Letitia Devereux and lost his heart. Her pure ethereal beauty had bewitched him and, begging an introduction from his hostess, he had claimed her hand for a set of country dances.

  Enchanted with her pretty manners as well as her beautiful face, the then Lord Phillip had introduced himself to Letitia’s mother, only to receive a chilly rebuff. Letitia had received a most advantageous offer, and only the details of the marriage contract remained to be settled before the betrothal was announced. The third son of a marquess was of no interest to Lady Bainstall. Lord Phillip, who even then had reason to believe that Lord Morgan might not be entirely desirable as a husband, could do nothing, and had retired from the amatory lists.

  That encounter with Letitia was one of the rare times when Phillip had felt his heart might possibly become engaged, and his snubbing by her parent had left a lasting impression. While he could hardly be said to be wearing the willow for a lost love, Letitia’s open, pleasing ways and remarkable beauty had held a special, though unacknowledged, place in his heart ever since. This softness had been overlaid with so many layers of boredom, cynicism, and indifference that it would seem to have disappeared, but the sight of Letitia produced a sense of loss and longing that was entirely unfamiliar to him.

  He shook his head and walked on. It was foolish to be indulging in boyish fantasies; his path had long ago separated from Letitia Winwood’s, and he doubted a widow with small children would hold the same allure as had the laughing creature in the ballroom. That part of his life was over.

  The next evening Lord Eynsford presented himself at the Strancaster House promptly at eight o’clock. He was clad with great propriety in an evening coat and perfectly fitting knee breeches. He handed his hat and evening cape to the footman, and allowed the butler to show him to the elegantly appointed drawing room. Lord Exencour awaited him, and offered his guest a sherry.