by Mary Nichols
‘Mark saw him in the village too?’
She nodded.
‘That might account for his anger, don’t you think? It was not just last night’s indiscretion he objected to, was it?’
‘I suppose not, but he had no right to challenge the man like that.’
‘Come, Maryanne, you are part of our family and Mark is very fond of you, as I am; he was only protecting you. Thank goodness no one else saw you and he was able to cover up your absence.’
‘I am grateful to him, of course, but if there had been a duel, as Mark wanted, it would have been all over London.’
‘Yes, it would seem the young man had more sense than Mark on that score. You know his name?’
‘At first he said it was Jack Daw.’ She watched his mouth twitch in a smile. ‘Oh, I am sure that is not his real name. Lady Markham called him Saint-Pierre...’
‘Saint-Pierre!’ His lordship almost dropped the cup of coffee which, at that moment, he was carrying to his lips. He set it down hurriedly. His face had gone very white and his hands shook a little, but his eyes were bright - with what? Fear? Hope? Anger? She could not tell. ‘Where did he come from?’
Why had his lordship not heard the name before? she asked herself. But then, she reasoned, he did not often listen to gossip, nor had he been present when Lady Markham had introduced them. And last night Mark had referred to Adam as ‘that damned Frenchman’.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘No one seems to know; he just appeared. I believe he is French, but he speak English very well.’
‘It can’t be,’ his lordship murmured. ‘They are all dead.’
‘My lord?’
He seemed to shake himself. ‘‘Tis nothing. Where is he staying in London?’
‘I have no idea, but surely he will not stay in town after refusing a challenge? Not that I am sorry about that, I could not bear it if either of them were to risk arrest or be hurt on account of me. Please don’t try to find him. I beg you, let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘Let sleeping dogs lie,’ he repeated softly. ‘Can it be that easy?’
‘I don’t understand, my lord.’
He seemed to pull himself out of a daydream to answer her. ‘No, of course you don’t. Now, we will say no more about the matter; there is no need for anyone outside the family to know about it. It is an indiscretion I am sure you will not repeat; isn’t that so?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
She would not repeat it, could not because she was sure the opportunity would not arise again. If Adam had any sense, he would leave the country, go back home to France and forget whatever it was that had brought him to England. But he had left her emotions in a tangle and the more she tried to straighten them out, the more confused she became. Had she really wanted a complete stranger to kiss her like that? In the cold light of day and facing this gentle man who had loved her and befriended her all her life, even if she had not known of it, she could only look back in horror at her own weakness and stupidity. It must be, as Caroline so often said, that she did not know how to go on in a society which allowed flirting so long as it was conducted in the prescribed manner. It was looked on as a kind of game, but only for those who knew the rules, not young unmarried ladies at their first coming out.
Her confusion was not helped by Lord Danbury’s reaction on learning the man’s name. It had, for a moment, thrown him off balance, and sent him into another time, another place, and confirmed her suspicions that it was the Danbury family and perhaps his lordship in particular who were the objects of the Frenchman’s curiosity. Or was it more than curiosity? Hatred perhaps? She had no answer to that and now she supposed she never would have. And mixed with her feelings of shame and remorse for being such a disappointment to his lordship were others of grief, of having lost something beautiful, of joy stillborn.
She was in no mood to hear that it was not the end of the affair and that the Frenchman had accepted another kind of challenge, and that, far from leaving town, he was still to be seen out and about. Not quite in the highest circles, but certainly among those of the ton who enjoyed a certain notoriety. He rode in the park with Lord Markham, played cards with Lord Alvanley, had Henry Luttrell to dine and even out-dressed Sir Lumley Skeffington. All this came to Maryanne by way of Caroline’s gossip. He was, the tattlers variously said, a French spy; a nabob; a highwayman whose costume had not been put on solely for the benefit of Lady Markham’s ball; a smuggler who had become rich smuggling French brandy; a professional gambler. And everyone brought their own evidence to bear on their own theories. Far from making an outcast of him, the stories only added to his allure for all but the most staid of matrons.
The biggest talking-point of all was the curricle race and that threatened to eclipse even the gathering of the Congress of London as a subject of conversation. While all the European heads of state gathered in the capital with all the pomp and ceremony such an occasion demanded, and with the populace going wild at the imminent return of the Duke of Wellington, the ton was speculating on the Frenchman and why he had refused a challenge from someone who was considered an indifferent swordsman, and why a fight to the death should have been reduced to a curricle race.
Caroline, who would not let the matter drop until she had inveigled the details from an irritable Mark, never lost an opportunity to plague Maryanne about it.
‘You would think you had been brought up in a whorehouse, not a rectory,’ she said one morning about a week later, just when Maryanne was beginning to think no more would be said on the subject. ‘But they say still waters run deep, don’t they? And the demure ones are the most depraved.’
‘Caroline, that was uncalled for,’ Mrs Ryfield put in. ‘And it would be better if you did not talk so freely about it, nor repeat the gossip you hear. After all, no one outside the family knows Maryanne is involved in the affair, and we must make sure it stays that way. Maryanne is wanting in conduct, that is true, but it behoves us to be charitable and I doubt the Reverend Mr Cudlipp taught her how to behave towards the less respectable gentlemen in Society.’
‘He is not a gentleman,’ Caroline said. ‘Lady Markham introduced him into Society and must needs stand by him, though I’ll wager she regrets her generosity. Everyone of any note will refuse him entry. I certainly hope he will not be at Almack’s on Wednesday, for I should not be civil to him.’
‘We are unlikely to meet again,’ Maryanne said, her calm voice belying the misery and anger she felt; it did not help to have a verbal battle with Caroline, who could make life unbearable simply by constant and loud repetition of her supposed grievances. ‘I would as lief forget the whole thing.’
‘If the reason for the challenge gets out, you will not be allowed to forget and you will not be invited to any more functions.’ Caroline turned to the mirror to put on her riding hat with its tall crown and raking feather, for she was off to the park with Lord Brandon to show off her new habit with its elaborate Polish frogging. ‘You will be cut by everyone and I shall disclaim all connection with you, and so will Mark, if he has anything in the attic at all. Why Papa has not insisted on sending you back to Beckford I cannot imagine.’
‘The last thing I want is to embarrass you,’ Maryanne said. ‘And I would return to Beckford if his lordship would allow it, but you know he will not. He says if Mark didn’t prolong the gossip by delaying the race it would all blow over in no time.’
‘You can hardly have a race through the streets of London when they are so thronged with people that there is hardly room to walk, let alone drive,’ Caroline said, referring to the fact that the streets had been almost impassable since the Prince Regent had entertained his illustrious guests to dinner at the Guildhall, a few days before, and staged an elaborate procession which had driven the populace wild with excitement. ‘He has been persuaded to wait until the celebrations die down.’
‘Why does it have to be in London? He could arrange it in the country just as easily,’ Maryanne replied.
‘And wh
o would watch it? Mark needs witnesses to the Frenchman’s defeat, if honour is to be satisfied. It will be the event of the season and already the wagers are reaching prodigious proportions.’ She pulled on her gloves and picked up her crop.
Mrs Ryfield, torn between accompanying Caroline and leaving Maryanne to her own devices, sighed and decided her first loyalty was to her brother’s daughter; she went out to the waiting barouche in which they intended to follow the riders.
Left to herself, Maryanne went to her room and fetched a book, which she took out into the garden. She had told herself to forget Adam Saint-Pierre, but how could she do that when everyone was talking about him, when Caroline grumbled endlessly about him and Mark could not bring himself to speak to her because of him? On the one hand, she wanted to clap her hands over her ears so she did not have to hear what was said about him; on the other, she was hungry for the tiniest scrap of information, the least morsel which would tell her he was not as black as he was painted. Her book could not hold her attention and she let it fall in her lap.
‘Maryanne.’
She looked up to see Mark approaching her and smiled. She did not like quarrelling with him and if they could make it up she would feel a great deal better about everything.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘I am listening, though I hope you are not going to scold. I have had enough of that from Caroline.’
‘Maryanne...’ He sat down on the bench beside her. ‘I believe what happened was because of your innocence, your inexperience, and that is something I prize.’ He took her hand. ‘Tell me that is true, that you didn’t understand what the man was about.’
‘Oh, I knew what he was about. He was kissing me.’
He hid his annoyance. ‘You misunderstand. I mean you did not know the man was a bounder.’
She smiled wearily. ‘That is still true. I don’t know that he is a bounder, only that you think he is.’
‘Maryanne! How can you say that? He put his own honour and your reputation at risk; no gentleman would have behaved in that fashion.’
‘I am sure it was done on impulse and meant nothing,’ she said dully. ‘I wish everyone would not go on about it. I was the victim, after all, not the perpetrator, and that should have made a difference.’
‘Very little to Society,’ he said laconically.
‘But I am assured Society knows nothing of it.’ She was beginning to feel angry with him for the first time since it had happened. ‘Unless you have said something, or Caroline, perhaps? Your sister is not always careful of her tongue.’
‘Certainly I have said nothing and I am sure Caroline has more sense than that. How do you think a scandal would affect her chances of a good marriage? My concern is that you seem to treat the matter so lightly.’
‘What do you expect? Sackcloth and ashes? I have apologised to his lordship and that should be enough.’ She stood up suddenly. ‘I will not stay to hear any more.’
He stood beside her and laid a hand on her arm. ‘I am sorry, my dear, I did not mean to grumble. It is just that whenever I think of him touching you my blood runs hot and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to put a sword through his heart.’
‘Why should you be so angry? What has he done to hurt you?’ Nothing yet, she thought, but in the future, what of the future? Was Adam Saint-Pierre his enemy? Should she be concentrating on that and not worrying if she would ever see him again?
‘It is what he has done to you that matters. I shudder to think of what would have happened if anyone but me had come into the conservatory and saw what I saw. You would have been branded a harlot and that didn’t seem to have bothered him in the least. You can’t possibly think that he cares for you?’ She did not answer and he persisted. ‘You don’t, do you?’
‘No.’ She spoke softly, not daring to look into his eyes.
‘Then why, Maryanne? Why?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t think. He said he had something to tell me.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Yes.’
He smiled and took her hand. ‘You silly little goose, what an innocent you are!’
‘Your father says it will blow over as soon as you have held this race you are planning.’
‘So it might, and I would have it tomorrow if I could be sure of a clear passage.’
‘You are surely not intending to race through the streets? If you must indulge in such childish pursuits, then why not go to Hyde Park?’
‘There is nothing childish about it, Maryanne, I assure you. And Hyde Park is being turned into a fairground. Every tavern keeper in London has set up a booth and moved there lock, stock and barrel. They are building pagodas and temples and heaven knows what else. There will soon not be a blade of grass to be seen.’ He paused, then went on, ‘You are turning me aside from my purpose, Maryanne. Please sit down again and I promise I will not mention the Frenchman.’ He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘There are more pleasant topics of conversation.’
‘What do you want to talk about?’ she asked, as they seated themselves again. ‘Have you read Pride and Prejudice?’ She tapped the cover of the book she had been reading. ‘It is very good.’
‘No.’ He did not want to talk about literature either.
‘You should. It pokes fun at the pomposity of Society in a most amusing way.’
‘Maryanne, I am trying to propose to you.’
‘Oh.’
‘Don’t pretend to be surprised. After all, I have mentioned it before.’
‘So you have, but I did not think you were serious.’
‘I was never more serious in my life.’
‘Even though I appear to have disgraced you?’
‘It is not you who has been disgraced, nor will you be while I can protect you. It is that...’ He saw her open her mouth to speak and stopped her with a finger on her lips. ‘I know, I gave my word not to mention him.’ He moved his finger from her mouth to her chin to tilt it up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. ‘Tell me you will marry me. I am eminently suitable, one day I shall be Viscount Danbury, if nothing higher, and, though I am not exactly plump of pocket, I am not penniless and Father will see us right. We could go on very well together.’
‘What does his lordship say about it?’ she asked, avoiding a straight answer.
‘Oh, I think I can safely say he will give us his blessing, not that you need it. In a few months’ time you will be twenty-one and may choose whom you please.’
For a moment her mind left the young man beside her and flew to another who was uncannily like him in looks but so very different in every other way. Would he have been her choice? But he had not asked her to make a choice; he had simply kissed her. She shook herself. That was the most cork-brained thing she had thought of yet.
‘I have already told you what I would say,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the honour you do me, but I need time to think about it.’
‘How much time?’ He took her hand in his. ‘Please forgive my impatience, but I have been able to think of nothing else since you came to live with us. My thoughts are full of you, of a future that is bright and hopeful as May Day blossom.’
She laughed, wondering why his compliments did not ring so true as Jack Daw’s, why she felt embarrassed by the one and delighted by the other. ‘And as easily blown away by a puff of wind.’
‘No, no, for blossom bears fruit; it endures in that.’
‘Oh, I am to be a bearer of fruit, am I? I am not at all sure I like that.’
‘You are teasing me, and all because I am so inept at putting my feelings into words.’
‘That is the first time you have mentioned feelings.’
‘They are too deep for easy expression.’ Angry and humiliated, he rose and bowed to her. ‘I will come back when the influence of Miss Austen has worn off. Good-day, Maryanne.’
She sprang to her feet and took his arm. ‘I am sorry, truly sorry. It is simply that a proposal that does not mention
love is, to me, not worthy of the name. Oh, I know many couples exist quite happily without much affection, but, you see, my father and mother loved each other deeply and, as far as I am concerned, that is how a marriage should be.’
‘You would be hard put to exist on love alone,’ he said, picking up her book and tucking her hand beneath his arm to stroll with her along the path. ‘The necessities of life demand more than that. I was merely pointing out...’
‘That you have much in your favour. Yes, I am humbly aware of that, but, you see, it is not only that I want my husband to love me, I must also be in love with him...’
‘You do not love me?’
‘I have a very high regard for you. If it hadn’t been for your kindness when I first came to Beckford Hall, I don’t think I could have stayed, but my life is so different from what I expected it to be when I lived at the rectory that I am unsure of myself.’
He smiled and there was a light in his eye which could have been relief, but could equally have been triumph. ‘Do you think it was simply kindness which made me escort you back to the ballroom and dance with you a second time? It was the only way to protect you from gossip and the only way to keep the family name untarnished. I shudder to think what the tattle-mongers would say if they had seen what I saw - a Danbury allowing herself to be manhandled by a perfect stranger. It was as well the fellow was also dressed as a highwayman; as far as the world is concerned, it was you and I in the conservatory and we were there for one reason only - that I might propose to you. If the public announcement of our engagement does not follow very shortly, not only will your name be murmured over the teacups, but mine as well.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I do not joke about such things.’
‘I need time, Mark, it is too soon.’
He sighed. ‘I do not want to be kept dangling, Maryanne; I have my pride, you know. Do you want to make me a laughing-stock?’
‘No, of course not, but...’
‘Then it is settled. We are engaged?’
She felt trapped, like a wild bird caught to be caged and made to sing its master’s tune. Was he right about the scandal? Even if she cared little about the gossip on her own account, was it fair that the rest of the family should suffer for something she had done? If she was in a trap, it was her own fault. And was the prospect of being married to Mark so distasteful? He seemed gentle, kind and attentive, and he professed to care for her, so why was she hesitating? Could it be because of a man who had thought nothing of her honour and reputation, a nobody who considered only his own pleasure? She should not even be thinking of him.
