Lady Hawk's Folly

by Amanda Scott

  “Really, Beatrix,” Mollie said sweetly before Lady Bridget could gather her wits to reply to the stricture, “it is scarcely fair of you to descend upon us the moment we arrive and declare our appearances outdated. We have, as you well know, been on the road all day. And considering that neither of us has been cutting a dash for a good year or more, it is outside of enough to condemn our lack of à-la-modality.”

  “I’m sure I never meant to criticize,” replied Lady Andrew, looking down her nose. “However, I for one do not consider mourning an excuse to fall into disrepair, Margaret. And I notice, moreover, that your hair is becomingly styled. Not, of course, that you will dare pretend a lack of social activity on your own part this past year. You have not behaved, as I have mentioned on several occasions, in a manner befitting a Colporter. One can only hope, my dear girl, now that Hawkstone is safely returned to us, he will see that you do nothing further to disgrace the family name.”

  “Beatrix, you ought not to speak of things you can know nothing about,” Lady Bridget said, rallying with unaccustomed vigor to defend Mollie.

  “I know a good deal more than you might suspect,” Lady Andrew told her ominously. Then, as the door opened, she looked up and smiled with something more nearly resembling warmth. “Hawkstone, how good to see you. We were just speaking of you, my lord.”

  Dressed now in the dark-blue coat and cream-colored breeches that were normal daily attire for a London gentleman, Hawk strolled forward, lifting his eyeglass to peer first at his guest, then at his wife, whose cheeks were red with anger, and lastly at Lady Bridget, whose pale-blue eyes sparkled with indignation. Lowering the glass, he returned his gaze to Lady Andrew, a smile just touching his lips. “How do you do, Aunt Trixie? Been setting the cat among the pigeons already, have you?”

  She set down her cup and pulled off her gloves. “I have merely been telling Mollie that it is too long since you have been among us, Hawkstone, that it is time and more you took up your proper role as head of the family.”

  “Have you, indeed?” His tone was gentle.

  “We must all be glad to have him home again, Beatrix,” Lady Bridget said pacifically, regaining her composure now that Hawk had come into the room.

  “Yes, well, ’tis time and more that he gathered the reins, as I was only this very morning telling Andrew. As your aunt, Hawkstone, and one who cares for the good name of this family, I do not scruple to tell you that you have shirked your responsibilities most shockingly. I have no wish to say more on that head, however.”

  “Do you not?” The gray eyes were chilly now.

  “Indeed, it is of little use to poker up like that with me, young man,” she informed him. “Though I daresay you like hearing criticism as little as your misguided wife does—”

  “Have a care, Aunt,” Hawk warned.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure I mean no offense, Gavin, but I believe in plain speaking. No one has ever yet accused me of beating about the bush when there was something unpleasant to be said. However, I shall say nothing further about Margaret’s behavior, for no one is more certain than I that with you at home again, we shall have no further cause to blush for her. However, I take the liberty of hoping that you will take immediate steps, if you have not already done so, to find a sterner man to deal with Harry!”

  “What has Harry got to do with anything?” Hawk asked, genuinely bewildered.

  “Yes, well, I thought as much,” Lady Andrew stated, casting an accusatory look at Mollie. “I told Andrew precisely how it would be if he did not take it upon himself to write you an account of the whole. But he said there would be time and more to discuss little Harry upon your return. I daresay they’ve been filling your head with rubbishing nonsense about sending the boy to school!”

  “I fail to see what concern that matter is of yours,” Hawk said, his lips thinning as his heavy brows drew together.

  “’Tis simply that I knew no one else would tell you how abominably he behaves,” she said righteously. “They all cosset and spoil him to death, but I suppose I know my duty better than that. He’s no more business to be sent off to school, where his behavior will disgrace the family name, than…than…well, he oughtn’t to be, and that’s all I shall say,” she ended, faltering at last as the glint in Hawk’s eyes became undeniably glacial.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to tell me more, Aunt?” His tone was not in the least encouraging, and a small, leaden silence followed his invitation.

  Then, with a self-conscious laugh, Lady Andrew said, “Well, to be sure, I never meant anyone to take offense.” She reached for her cup and took a small sip, then looked up brightly and said in a tone she might have used to comment upon the weather, “I daresay you have all heard by now about the dreadful attack on Queen Charlotte, have you not?”

  As a diversionary tactic it was entirely successful. Lady Bridget uttered a cry of dismay. Mollie quite forgot her indignation, and even Hawk’s expression changed almost ludicrously to one of astonishment. He lifted his glass again and peered at his aunt.

  “We certainly had not heard,” he said. “Where did you come by such a tale?”

  “Why, ’tis all over town,” she insisted. “Surely, your servants know. I am surprised your man didn’t tell you, Hawkstone.”

  “We don’t encourage our servants to gossip,” Hawk said repressively, then spoiled the effect entirely, eliciting a choke from his irrepressible wife, by adding, “Besides, like us, Mawson has only just arrived.”

  Mollie stifled the bubble of mirth and returned her attention to Lady Andrew, for once finding herself interested in something the woman had to say. “Tell us,” she invited.

  “Yes, well, it happened only yesterday. Her poor majesty was awakened out of a sound sleep at five o’clock in the morning by the assistant mistress of the robes, who was shrieking and screaming at her from just outside her bedchamber door about some imagined wrong or other.”

  “How frightening,” Lady Bridget said.

  “Whatever possessed the woman?” asked Mollie.

  “No one knows for certain, though Miss Davenport—for such is the unfortunate young woman’s name—was born and raised in the queen’s palace. Her mother was rocker to the infant princesses, and in consequence, Miss Davenport became inordinately fond of the Princess Amelia. It is thought that her mind was unhinged by the princess’s death. They believed she had recovered, though she is still subject to fits of melancholy. Nevertheless, it was deemed safe for her to return to her old rooms in the tower above the queen’s bedchamber.”

  “Clearly an error in judgment,” Hawk observed dryly.

  “Yes, well, it took a page, two footmen, and a porter to subdue her,” said Lady Andrew, “and that only after she had smashed through the outer door to the queen’s chamber and was endeavoring to force the inner door. Then Dr. Willis, who was in attendance upon the king, was sent for, and Miss Davenport was got into a straightjacket!”

  “Merciful heavens!” exclaimed Lady Bridget.

  “Poor woman,” said Mollie sympathetically, but though she spoke of Miss Davenport, Lady Andrew assumed she meant the queen and replied accordingly.

  “Yes, well, you may well say so. I have it on good authority that her majesty was so overcome by fright that she actually sent for the Regent!”

  As Mollie, and indeed everyone else in England knew, there was no love lost between Queen Charlotte and her eldest son. If she had sent for him, clearly she had been frightened out of her wits.

  “What became of poor Miss Davenport?” Mollie asked.

  “Oh, they packed her off to a private lunatic asylum. I daresay she’ll be well enough cared for.” Lady Andrew dismissed Miss Davenport. “I only hope this don’t spoil the grand dinner his highness is giving at Carlton House tomorrow in her majesty’s honor. You mean to attend, do you not?”

  Mollie opened her mouth to deny any such intention, but to her astonishment Hawk nodded. “We are. And if I know her majesty, she will recover her nerves quickly e
nough. There is nothing she delights in more than an entertainment devised solely to honor herself.”

  Lady Andrew took her leave a short time later, and even Hawk breathed a sigh of relief.

  “That woman!” Mollie muttered between her teeth. Then, realizing she had spoken aloud, she looked up at her husband guiltily. “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot like your aunt.”

  He winked. “You’ve no need to apologize for showing the good sense to dislike her. A thoroughly detestable woman in my opinion. What on earth did Harry do to set up her back?”

  Mollie looked quickly at Lady Bridget, and when she saw the pale eyes begin to twinkle, she allowed herself a gurgle of laughter. “I’m afraid your abominable brother smeared honey in her best bonnet the last time she paid us a visit at Hawkstone. Lady Andrew had set it to one side in order to enjoy a dish of tea before they took their departure, and Harry—”

  “Say no more,” Hawk said with a chuckle. “I’ll wager I can paint the full scene for myself. She didn’t chance to notice before she put on the bonnet, and when she did, all the furies of hell descended upon your heads.”

  “Gavin!”

  “Sorry, Aunt Biddy, but wasn’t that the way of it?”

  “Indeed it was,” Mollie told him, grinning, “and what with Lady Andrew shrieking for her dresser and your uncle commanding in stentorian accents that Harry be brought to him at once for punishment, it was as good as a play.”

  “Oh, Mollie,” wailed Lady Bridget, “how can you say so? It was dreadful.”

  “Only at the moment, ma’am,” Mollie replied, patting her hand, “and it was soon over, for all that.”

  “I take it Harry had the good sense to play least in sight?”

  “Yes, and they couldn’t remain long enough to rout him out, because they had sent word ahead to Oatlands that they meant to arrive that night. As it was, they were delayed while Lady Andrew’s dresser washed the honey from her hair. It was a wonder her ladyship didn’t catch an ague, too, for her hair was still wet when they left.”

  “Perhaps she hung her head out the window of the coach to dry it,” Hawk suggested, his expression showing clearly how much he enjoyed the vision thus brought to his mind’s eye.

  Mollie chuckled.

  “But it was a dreadful thing,” Lady Bridget observed. “Harry had no business to have done it and ought to have been punished.”

  Hawk raised his eyebrows. “Do you mean to say he was not?” He looked at his wife, who returned his gaze defiantly.

  “No, sir, he was not, because I took it upon myself to countermand your uncle’s orders to Mr. Bates. Lord Andrew had already thrashed Harry himself earlier in the week for the merest trifle, and the poor boy could never so much as show his face without either your uncle or Lady Andrew cross-questioning and criticizing him. Nothing satisfied them. If his nails were not dirty, his hair was not combed to her ladyship’s satisfaction. If he spoke to anyone, either his grammar was corrected or his tone was declared to be impertinent.”

  “They said he must not call me Aunt Biddy,” said her ladyship in a puzzled tone. “I must say, Gavin, I thought it was going a little beyond what was necessary to insist that he call me ma’am when no one but dearest Mollie ever does so.”

  “It was, indeed,” Hawk agreed, “but you ought not to have let him off scot-free after such a prank, Mollie, no matter what provoked it.”

  “Well, I did tell him he ought not to have done it,” Mollie said, looking up at him from under her thick lashes. A small, choking sound came from Lady Bridget, and Mollie’s gaze shifted. “I did, ma’am. You know I did.”

  “To be sure, you did,” Lady Bridget agreed, “but I cannot think you caused him to feel the slightest remorse, you know.”

  “Why not?” Hawk demanded.

  Mollie looked at him, then back at Lady Bridget, whose lips were folded tightly, as though she felt she had said too much already. “Well,” Mollie said, casting a wary eye back at her husband, “I’m afraid I found the whole episode a trifle amusing, sir. It was difficult to scold Harry when I kept…well, when it just seemed as if…” She shrugged, unable to put the matter in words she thought would be acceptable to him.

  Hawk’s eyes began to dance. “Couldn’t stop laughing long enough to give the boy a proper trimming. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Mollie nodded, her own eyes atwinkle. “I daresay it was wrong of me, sir, but they had both given him such a time of it. He’d managed on his own to pay off Lady Andrew, and somehow I felt that by telling Bates he wasn’t to thrash Harry after all, I was helping him pay off his lordship as well.”

  “And not just for Harry’s sake, I’ll warrant.”

  His eyes were no longer laughing, but he was not angry with her either. That gentle, caressing note was in his voice, and Mollie felt the color rushing to her cheeks. Her gaze met his, and the understanding she saw in his eyes brought a sudden salty dampness to her own. She turned away and gave a small laugh.

  “I daresay I handled it all wrong, sir. Perhaps they are right to say we’ve spoiled him.”

  “There’s nothing amiss with Harry that a term or two at school won’t cure.”

  “You don’t think he will disgrace the family name?” Mollie asked, smiling more naturally now.

  “I thought you said Andrew’s reason for not sending him was that the boy was sickly?”

  Mollie nodded. “And I can’t think how he came by such a notion,” she admitted. “I confess, her ladyship’s reasoning makes more sense.”

  Lady Bridget gave a self-conscious little cough, and when they both turned their eyes upon her, a delicate shade of pink crept into her smooth cheeks. Flustered, she gave a deprecating little wave of her hand.

  Mollie’s eyes widened. “Surely, you never told them Harry was sickly, ma’am! Why, you’ve never in your life been able to tell a bouncer with any conviction!”

  “No, no. Oh, no, of course I did no such thing,” Lady Bridget said hastily, her cheeks darkening. “And I don’t even know for a fact that Thurston did so. Only—”

  “Of course,” Mollie said quickly. “That is precisely how it came to pass.” She looked at Hawk. “Your papa doted on the boy, but if he suspected anyone might accuse him of it, he went all brusque and crusty. I truly think he cared more about Harry than he ever did about anyone else. It is entirely possible that he complained of the boy’s being sickly and spoiled rather than admit he merely wanted to keep him at home.”

  Agreement having been satisfactorily attained, the subject soon turned to those preparations still to be achieved before Mollie and Lady Bridget would be ready to be seen in company. In the days that followed they enjoyed themselves with an orgy of shopping. Neither had realized that Hawk meant to plunge them immediately into the social whirl, and they had come to London ten days prior to the opening of Almack’s, generally the true beginning of any London Season, with the intention of replenishing their wardrobes. Not that they were totally unprepared, of course, for they had made a flying visit to London six weeks before in order to see their dressmaker. Still, there were final fittings to be seen to and a number of accessories to buy. Tuesday morning found them in Covent Garden bright and early to visit their dressmaker.

  Having done a great deal of work for them in the past, Mademoiselle Bertrand was happy to exert herself in order to provide both ladies with suitable gowns for the dinner that evening at Carlton House. The fittings were attended to, and Mademoiselle agreed to send the finished products to Grosvenor Square by four o’clock. Well satisfied, the Colporter ladies returned to their coach and directed the driver to Oxford Street and the premises of W. H. Botibol, plumassier, in order for Mollie to purchase a pair of ostrich feathers to wear in her hair that evening.

  The dinner at Carlton House was as grand as Lady Andrew had promised it would be, and Mollie was fascinated, as always, by the opulent decor. She had attended several balls and musical evenings in the Regent’s magnificent house, but because he lacked a suitable hostess—n
ot being upon speaking terms with his wife, who was currently doing all in her power to undermine what little popularity he retained with the English people—Mollie had never before attended a dinner there. Six courses were provided, each consisting of three or four main dishes, as many as ten or twelve side dishes, and upward of twenty removes. The meal seemed to go on for hours.

  It ended at last, however, and first the ladies and then the gentlemen, after their port, repaired to the Crimson Saloon, where musicians had been engaged to play for their entertainment. No one seemed to heed the music, however. Everyone was more interested in seeing and being seen. Mollie, looking for her husband when the gentlemen joined the ladies, was surprised to see him in conversation with the Regent and Lord Bathurst. They had moved a little apart, and their conversation appeared to be a serious one. She watched them curiously, having not realized that Hawk was on such terms with the secretary of war or with the Prince of Wales, who had become Regent, after all, in his absence. But then, she told herself, there were no doubt a good many things she did not know about her husband.

  She asked him about the conversation when they were once again in their carriage on the way back to Grosvenor Square. Hawk smiled at her.

  “His highness and Lord Bathurst were curious to hear what I might tell them about Wellington. I know little, of course, that they have not read in the dispatches, but I think Prinny, at least, liked talking to someone who has been there. He has always regretted not being allowed to take part in the action.”

  “It would scarcely be suitable for the Crown Prince to be sent off to war, Gavin,” Lady Bridget said gently. “’Tis no wonder his majesty would never hear of it.”

  “Well, Prinny resented it, nevertheless.”

  That was all he said on the subject, but Mollie’s curiosity was unappeased. She was sure he might have said more if he had wished to do so.