The Duke’s Daughters

by Amanda Scott

  “I shall leave you to amuse yourselves, my dears. I am very pleased to see you looking so well, Cicely. We have missed you.” She smiled, then added rather vaguely, “I trust Ravenwood is also well, but of course he must be or you would not be here.” She moved toward the door, then turned back, seeming a bit distracted. “Your father is in his library, dearest. I know you will not be remiss in your duty to him and will pay your respects before you go.”

  “I will see him, Mama.” She grinned at Brittany when the duchess had gone. “Kind of her to grant us some moments of privacy, was it not?”

  Brittany chuckled appreciatively. “If she is not sound asleep in ten minutes’ time, I shall be surprised. The girls nearly drove her distracted with their chatter.”

  “But surely there were two coaches!”

  “Of course, but it was thought best to keep Amalie and Lissa separated. They seem to be at a point where they irritate each other constantly, which is prodigiously wearing to those in their company. Consequently Mama allowed one at a time to ride with herself and Papa. Of course, neither finds it possible to keep a still tongue for more than a moment or two.”

  Cicely grimaced. “How is Papa?”

  “Well enough. He bellowed at each of them once, Mama said, then retired into a pretense of dozing for the greater part of the journey. Oh, Cicely! How glad I am that we are here. Are you happy? Mama was quite right, you know. You look to be in a splendid way. Is Ravenwood kind to you?”

  “Yes,” said Cicely slowly. “He is very kind. But I think …” She went on in a rush of words. “I think a modern relationship lacks something, Tani, though I am not perfectly certain what it may be.”

  “Does he have a great many …” Brittany paused, clearly searching for a delicate way to put her thought. “… amusements?”

  “Not that I know about,” Cicely admitted. “I suppose it is only that I had hoped to have the same habit of easy intercourse with my husband that I have been accustomed to enjoy with you.”

  “Well, I expect that sort of thing takes some time,” Brittany said reasonably. “Surely you talk with him.”

  “Yes, of course,” Cicely agreed, “but always upon some specific topic or other. Well,” she amended, remembering certain odd things they had said to each other the previous night, “nearly always.”

  Her blushes betrayed her, and Brittany’s eyes lit with amusement. “Is that part of marriage nice, Cicely?”

  “Oh, Tani,” she answered quickly, “’tis much better than ‘nice.’ I expect you’ll take me for a judy, but I quite like it. ’Tis beyond anything great. Only wait until you love someone!” She clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she had said.

  “Do you love him, Cicely? I think that must be wonderful.”

  Cicely stared at her sister blindly, turning her own words over and over again in her mind. Did she love him? And if she had truly fallen in love, what could she do about it? And what, precisely, was love anyway?

  It was too much to ponder at that moment, and for the next week things moved entirely too fast for her to take stock of her own feelings. First came the royal wedding.

  The Regent and His Serene Highness, Prince Leopold, came up to London from Brighton at last, and the royal couple once again became the primary topic of conversation everywhere. The Regent had been treating his daughter badly for years, but things seemed to come to a head with the wedding when he took the opportunity to lay down certain rules for her future conduct. Her highness was not to be allowed to use the scarlet royal livery but must use the so-called Kendal green instead. She was not to live in a royal palace but must acquire her own residence, and she would not be permitted to hold her own royal drawing-room receptions.

  “I think it is disgraceful,” Cicely said, not for the first time, as she and Ravenwood were preparing to depart for the ceremony. It was only two o’clock, but the streets between Berkeley Square and Carlton House were already teeming, and the crowds would only grow worse. “How can a man be so cruel to his own daughter?”

  Ravenwood smiled at her. “He has never been particularly kind to her, my dear, but you know the reason he gives upon this illustrious occasion as well as I do.”

  “That he may yet have a son? That to set the princess up in royal state as heir apparent to the throne would be improper, when by such an event she might later be disappointed?” She gave an unladylike sneer. “Stuff! Time enough for him to set her aside if that very unlikely happenstance ever comes to pass. He must first either rid himself of the Princess Caroline or allow her to return home from Italy.”

  “There has been talk of a divorce.”

  “There has been such talk for at least two years and more, sir, and well you know it. Yet he has not lifted a finger to effect such a thing. And whilst he dithers, the Princess Charlotte is the heir apparent whether he chooses to grant her the formal title or not. He behaves out of nothing more than petty spite, sir, and I say again, ’tis a disgrace!”

  “Gently, my dear.” He smiled again and handed her into the landaulet. “You have said so many times, but saying so does nothing to alter Prinny’s behavior. Perhaps the princess will find her happiness with her handsome prince. That is far more important, is it not?”

  She could only agree with those sentiments, and as he settled himself beside her she wondered briefly if Ravenwood was happy with her. He did not seem unhappy, to be sure, but she was beginning to hope very much that he was pleased with his marriage.

  So crowded were the streets that the drive to Carlton House was nearly frightening, but they arrived safely at last, and the wedding itself was wonderful to behold. Afterward Cicely had little memory of Prince Leopold, remembering only that he had worn something blue with military decorations. It seemed that hers was a general reaction, however, for the London Times reported the following day that he had greeted the citizenry from his balcony, wearing “a blue coat and a star.” Rather scanty attire for a prince of the realm, she thought when she read that.

  Her eyes, and very likely those of whoever had penned the report for the Times, had been firmly fixed upon the bride and old Queen Charlotte. The princess, beaming with happiness, wore a white gown with silver lamé trim, but although she looked as beautiful as any girl does upon her wedding day, her gown had been as nothing when compared with that of the Queen. Her majesty wore gold tissue trimmed with a mixture of gold and silver. The magnificent gown had two flounces of silver network, bordered with silver lame and richly embossed with stripes of gold lame. She had presented a grand sight indeed.

  After the ceremony the royal couple had departed for Oatlands, the country mansion of her uncle, the Duke of York, while their guests enjoyed an elegant dinner at Carlton House, hosted by the Regent himself, who sat with his foot propped up and enjoyed the fussing attentions of a good many attendants.

  The very next night, Almack’s opened its doors for the first assembly of the Season. Ravenwood and Cicely attended together, as they had planned to do, in a party with the duchess and Lady Brittany, but although he stood up with her for the opening set and danced once with Brittany as well, Cicely saw little of Ravenwood after that. She and Brittany were rapidly surrounded by her admirers, and though Brittany proved to be as much of a success as everyone had predicted, Cicely never lacked for a partner. She and Sir Conrad, along with Lady Brittany and her partner, a young baronet who gazed at Brittany with sheep’s eyes, went down to supper just before midnight, and she caught a glimpse of her husband a few tables away, sitting with Sir David, Sally, and several others. He nodded politely but made no attempt to join them. She glanced away again when Sir Conrad brought her a plate of canapés and a cup of orgeat.

  “I’ve not had an opportunity to mention it before,” he said as he seated himself beside her, “but you will be pleased to learn that George Vaughan has recovered my mother’s rubies.”

  “So soon! Have they caught the thieves, then?”

  “Not so much as a clue.”

  “Then
how did he manage to recover the gems?” Brittany asked as she received her refreshments from her bashful escort.

  Sir Conrad shot Cicely a humorous look. “I’m afraid I didn’t think it politic to inquire further into the matter.”

  “Dear me.” She frowned. “Then do you think he is in a league with the villains?”

  “Oh, no,” he denied, looking slightly alarmed. “Nothing like that! I do think perhaps he spread the word through the criminal community that the owner would pay more highly for the recovery of the jewelry intact than a fence would pay for the gems alone.”

  “A fence?” Brittany looked puzzled. “Pray, sir, what might that be?”

  Sir Conrad smiled. “A fence is a receiver of stolen goods, my lady. He either purchases the things outright or sells them for a percentage of the take. A lucrative profession, I’ve been given to understand.”

  Cicely’s attention was still upon his original statement. “Does the sort of action you’ve indicated not encourage the villains in their work?” she inquired.

  He shook his head, with a somewhat superior smile. “They need no encouragement, sweet coz. They are, by their very nature, bad men.”

  She glanced toward the other table as she thought about his words. Ravenwood was watching her. She remembered the way his eyes had always seemed to twinkle when she was in the company of another man. They did not twinkle now. In fact, if one were the least bit fanciful, one might think them a trifle sad. But she was not fanciful, she told herself sternly, and it was perfectly childish of her to want suddenly to go to Ravenwood when she was with one of the handsomest men in the club, a partner that nearly every female present would give her best lace to have at her side. She straightened, favoring Sir Conrad with a brilliant smile.

  He was at his best tonight, too, she thought a moment later, laughing at some sally he’d made. He was so extremely good-looking and so well set up. He looked particularly well in the knee breeches that were the required male attire at Almack’s. But more than that, he was charming, witty, and able to make her feel charming and witty, too. Acknowledging to herself that she found it flattering when he chose to spend so much time with her, she sighed and let her gaze drift absently back to Sir David’s table. Sir David and Sally were still there and appeared to be having one of their arguments. The others had gone.

  “Pardon me, my dear.” The familiar voice startled her, and she turned, her eyes lighting, to find him standing just behind her. “The next dance is a waltz, and I’d like it very much if you would favor me as a partner.”

  “Oh!” She glanced at her dance card. “I’m sorry, Gilbert,” she said sincerely, “but I’ve promised this dance to Lord Faringdon.”

  “Tony will no doubt agree that I have a greater claim to your company, my lady, and though I daresay he will be prodigiously disappointed, he will survive the loss.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes widening with surprise. Such an attitude was unlike him. He looked perfectly normal—relaxed and slightly bored. But she had the oddest notion that he would not be sent away even if she were inclined to attempt it. She smiled uncertainly. “In that case, sir, I should be happy to dance with you.”

  He offered his arm, and she stood to take it, making her farewells with slightly forced laughter to the others. The musicians were just returning to their box when they entered the main ballroom, and while they waited for them to tune their instruments Cicely looked up into her husband’s face.

  “You seem very grim, sir. Do you mean to scold me?”

  He glanced down, his expression lightening considerably. “I had not thought of it, my dear. Do you deserve a scold?”

  “No, of course not! I only wondered because you looked so serious.”

  “My apologies. I was preoccupied, I expect. But it is nothing of importance and surely has nothing to do with my feelings toward you.”

  She was on the verge of asking him just what those feelings might be, but the musicians struck up the waltz at that moment, and Ravenwood swung her deftly onto the floor. It was the first time she had waltzed with him. In fact, she had not even thought he did waltz. But he did, and very well, too. Her excitement at being held in his arms in so public a manner drove all thought of inquiring about his feelings from her mind. She felt like a feather, light and graceful. Smiling up at him confidently, she discovered a warmth in his expression that she seldom saw in public, and it occurred to her suddenly that his actions might very well have been prompted merely by his wish to quell any gossip about her. Though it took the edge off her enthusiasm, she determined to do her part. He was her husband, after all, and all thought of a modern relationship aside, she did not want anyone to imagine she was unhappy in her marriage.

  In the days that followed, the social pace increased. Though it had been common for her to be out most evenings in the weeks that preceded the official opening of the Season, it now became necessary to fit a number of entertainments into any given evening. It was not uncommon, in fact, for her to plan to attend as many as five or six functions before returning, exhausted, to fall into bed. Meg Hardy scolded and threatened, but to no avail. Cicely was enjoying every moment.

  Ravenwood said little, but he showed no inclination to follow the fast pace himself. Often he would escort her to one affair, only to relinquish her to one or another of her cicisbei when she mentioned a desire to go on to another.

  The constant late hours did take their toll, however, and she began sleeping later and later into the mornings. This meant she had to decline Sir Conrad’s frequent invitations to ride early in the park, but that did not mean she saw much less of him. He often served as her escort in the evenings, and was nearly always present when she paid a call upon her aunt at Uffington House. Meg Hardy accompanied her on those latter occasions, of course, and was also with her when she chanced once to meet Sir Conrad while shopping in Bond Street.

  Sir Conrad was handing some parcels up to a servant on the box of his coach when they saw him. Just before Cicely moved to hail him, however, she heard the young woman beside her make an unladylike sound very much in the nature of an indignant snort.

  “What is it, Meg?”

  “That’s that upstart Alfpuddle with him, Miss Cicely. I’ve told you about him.” As indeed she had. The man Alfpuddle had seen Meg on one of their visits to Uffington House and had evidently taken a liking to her. But Meg, considering herself quite beyond his touch, would have none of him, and her indignation over the man’s continued advances provided a good deal of amusement for her mistress.

  She chuckled now. “I’ll protect you from him, Meg.”

  “That’s as may be, my lady, but who’s to protect you from his master? Like man, like master, I always say.”

  Cicely was astounded. “Whatever do you mean, Meg? What a thing to say! Sir Conrad is my cousin and every inch a gentleman. Moreover,” she added with a touch of irritation, “you’ve got the thing wrong way round. ’Tis supposed to be ‘like master, like man.’”

  “Well, that’s true enough where Mr. Pavenham is concerned, I’m sure,” announced Meg Hardy, undaunted. “Mr. Pavenham has a great deal of character. He is as much a gentleman as that Alfpuddle there is an underbred gapeseed.”

  Diverted, Cicely stared at her. “Pavenham! Oh, Meg, you rogue. Never tell me you’ve designs on Pavenham! He’s as starched up as one of Ravenwood’s neckcloths.”

  “Mr. Pavenham,” stated Meg with great dignity, “is a high stickler and no doubt, Miss Cicely, but he’s as kind as the master is and no mistake.”

  So Meg thought Ravenwood a kind master, Cicely thought, regarding the other woman fondly. And so he was. Kind and generous and tolerant. And able to set her nerves tingling just by looking at her. The mental list of his qualities might have grown a good deal longer had Sir Conrad not caught sight of her just then and come to join them. If he had hoped for private conversation, however, his hopes were dashed, for Meg stood quite close to her mistress, and for all the attention she paid to the wiry, gap-to
othed Alfpuddle’s come-hither gestures, the man himself might have been so much air.

  The next day was the day scheduled for the Malmesbury ball. Cicely had promised to help with the last-minute details and so was forced to arise earlier than had become her habit. Bleary-eyed, she watched as Betty approached with her chocolate and laid the tray gently across her knees.

  “You look fagged nigh to death, m’lady. Be you certain sure you’ll not stay abed the morning?”

  “I’ll be right as rain once I’ve had my breakfast, Betty. Ring for Miss Hardy, if you please.”

  Meg Hardy was more outspoken than Betty, scolding and telling her mistress that the proper place for her that morning was bed. “And no mistake, Miss Cicely. Your mama has a houseful of servants and four other daughters to help her. She’s got no call for an extra pair of hands, and so I shall tell the master if you don’t lie straight back down in that bed this very minute. Betty, draw those curtains again. Her ladyship is going back to sleep.”

  “No, Meg, her ladyship is not,” Cicely said calmly but with a note of unmistakable authority in her voice. “And you will say nothing to Ravenwood about it, either. I promised Mama I would help, and she is depending upon me. You know how she gets before an affair of this sort. I cannot let her down. Now, say no more about it, if you please. I shall wear the sprig muslin with the green sash.”

  Meg gave her a sharp look but responded to her tone, and Cicely was soon dressed and ready to go downstairs for a proper breakfast. She found Ravenwood in the breakfast parlor, reading the Times. When she entered, he folded the paper and laid it beside his plate before rising to greet her. His glance was nearly as penetrating as Meg’s had been, but he made no reference to her appearance. A footman entered.

  “Coffee for me, please, Michael,” she said, “and tell Cook I should like a baked egg and some of that Yorkshire ham with my breakfast.” The footman bowed his way out, and Ravenwood held her chair. “Thank you, Gilbert. ’Tis a fine morning, is it not? What news had the Times to offer?”