A Lady of Consequence

by Mary Nichols

  ‘It was my privilege and pleasure,’ he said, still holding her hand. ‘And I am sorry.’

  ‘What for?’ She was genuinely puzzled.

  ‘Sorry that I have disappointed you. But will you keep the brooch? It was bought with you in mind and I wish you to have it. There is no price to pay. There never was.’ He raised the back of her hand to his lips. ‘Goodnight, Miss Charron.’ And with that he turned on his heel and went back to his carriage.

  She stood watching him being carried away, her vision blurred by tears. So much for hardening her heart and making herself fall out of love. She had played with fire and she had been burnt and it was no more than she deserved. She could have told him the truth, there had been opportunity in plenty, but it had suddenly occurred to her, when he mentioned her fictitious grandfather, that if he could not love her as she was, whoever she was, then she did not want him to love her as a count’s granddaughter. Love that had conditions was not love at all.

  She went into the house and groped her way up the stairs to her room, glad that she had left Marianne at the party. She could not bear anyone to see how she had been humbled.

  He loved her. There was no doubt in his mind now, but what to do about it, he did not know. How could he go to his father and tell him that he was to have an actress for a daughter-in-law, that the Loscoe inheritance would go to the offspring of a theatrical performer? The fact that her grandfather had been a French nobleman would hardly count with the Duke, unless she could prove it and was accepted in Society. But how could he go to Madeleine and say, ‘Prove it.’ He could imagine her reaction. He smiled grimly in the darkness of the coach carrying him homeward. She would slap his aristocratic face.

  He went to his club, which he realised, as soon as he entered, was a mistake. Benedict Willoughby and three of his cronies were there, playing cards.

  ‘Ah, the lover returns,’ Benedict said, waving a cigar at him. ‘We have not seen you in a se’ennight, Stanmore. Are we to infer you have been busy earning your fifty golden boys?’

  The others chortled, making Duncan realise the wager had become public knowledge. It infuriated him. ‘I have been busy,’ he said coldly.

  ‘Oh, yes, we know that. What we want to know is to what purpose? Have you had the lady in your bed yet?’

  Duncan clenched his fists, but held himself in check with an effort. ‘The bet is off,’ he said.

  ‘Off?’ Benedict echoed. ‘Oh, no, you cannot get out of it that easily. If you have not got the bottom for it, then say so and pay up.’

  ‘Oh, I say, Ben, that’s going it too brown,’ said one of the others. ‘There’s another se’ennight to go. Give the man a chance.’

  ‘I do not want a chance,’ Duncan said coldly. ‘Your disgraceful behaviour at the theatre the other night was the outside of enough. It was despicable. And I do not like being tarred with the same brush.’

  ‘Oh ho, so she was angry, was she?’ Benedict laughed.

  ‘Exceedingly. And I do not blame her.’

  ‘And so you are using that as an excuse for giving up on a wager. It is not done, you know, not in proper circles. A wager is a wager. It is like a debt of honour.’

  ‘I would rather pay you than insult the lady a second time. I’ll send a banker’s draft round in the morning.’

  ‘Insult? Insult? How can it be an insult? You are a man, aren’t you, and she is only an actress, after all.’

  The only way he could stop himself from hitting the man was to turn on his heel and march out, though he knew perfectly well that his defection would be all round town in twenty-four hours and he would be the butt of a thousand jokes. He prayed Madeleine would not hear of it.

  ‘Duncan, me boy, where are you off to in such a hurry that you cannot acknowledge an old friend?’

  Duncan suddenly realised that he had angrily pushed past Sir Percival Ponsonby in his hurry to escape. He stopped. ‘Sorry, Sir Percy. I was thinking—’

  ‘Furious thoughts, by the look of you. You have a face like thunder.’ Hearing the sound of raucous laughter, he looked into the room past Duncan’s shoulder. ‘Willoughby and his crowd, is it? It ain’t like you to let them get the better of you.’

  ‘Ordinarily they would not, but it is a delicate matter.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, smiling. ‘There is a lady in the case. And would I be right in supposing the lady in question is the beautiful Miss Madeleine Charron?’

  Duncan looked startled. ‘You have heard.’

  ‘I saw you leave the party with her.’ He put his arm on Duncan’s shoulder. ‘Come, m’boy, let us go and find somewhere more amenable and you can tell me all about it.’

  Duncan allowed himself to be drawn away from the club and across the street to Boodle’s, where Sir Percy was also a member. Having found a couple of comfortable armchairs in the corner of the reception room and ordered two bumpers of brandy, he sat back and observed his young friend over steepled fingers. ‘You have got yourself into a coil, am I right?’

  ‘Yes, and thoroughly ashamed I am. I suppose I should have realised Willoughby could not keep his tongue between his teeth. And if Madeleine were to find out…’

  ‘Find out what?’

  ‘That Ben offered odds I could not get her to bed. I have repudiated the whole sordid business but that does not stop him noising it abroad.’

  ‘I cannot see what the problem is. Tell her the truth, she will understand, especially if you have refused to accept it.’

  ‘But I did to begin with and now…’

  Percy smiled. ‘And now you have developed a real tendre for the lady?’

  ‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘My father wishes me to marry and…’

  ‘Marry then. It does not stop you taking a fille de joie and if Miss Charron is agreeable—’

  ‘She is not,’ he put in quickly. ‘And I do not wish it.’

  ‘My dear fellow, you surely do not mean you wish to marry her?’

  ‘I think perhaps I do.’

  ‘The Duke will never countenance it, you know that.’

  ‘Madeleine is a lady, you have only to look at her to see that. Her grandfather was a French aristocrat. Her father, his son, died in England’s cause in the late wars. She should be perfectly acceptable.’

  ‘If such were the case, it might make a difference, but she would still be an actress. She has not lived like a lady.’

  ‘She has not been in a position to, that is not to say she could not. She has had to use what talents she has to make a living.’

  ‘And prodigious talents they are. She is a fine actress, but think of this: if she can make you believe fantasy when she is on stage, who is to say she could not make you believe anything she liked off it?’

  ‘She would not lie. It is not in her nature.’

  Sir Percy smiled. His young friend was certainly in the throes of a great emotion and belittling it would only hurt him. ‘Perhaps she is not lying,’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps she believes what she says to be true because someone in the past has told her so, but that does not make it fact.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Duncan said dubiously.

  ‘I believe your best course would be to try and find out the real truth. Do it before you make a cake of yourself.’

  ‘I have already done that,’ Duncan said wryly. ‘She despises me for being an aristocrat and if she ever hears about that shameful wager, she will despise me even more. I am tempted to renounce my inheritance and run away with her.’

  ‘My dear boy, you must do nothing of the sort. The scandal would only serve to make everyone miserable, your father and the Duchess, your sister and little stepbrother, who all love you dearly. And there are others apart from your family to consider. You have wider responsibilities you cannot shirk.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you would not be happy, you know. What you had done would always prey on your mind and would come between you and your wife. It is better to put honour and duty first. I am sure you do not need me to tell you thi
s.’

  ‘No. I have been over and over it in my mind and told myself again and again I must give her up.’

  ‘Does she know what is in your mind?’

  ‘No, I have not spoken of it.’

  ‘Then, I pray you, do not.’

  ‘But if it is true that she is of noble birth?’

  ‘If it is true.’ He paused, watching his young friend, aware that he was on the brink of indiscretion, if not something worse. ‘Would you like to find out?’

  ‘Is that possible? Could you?’

  ‘Not me, but perhaps Major Greenaway can.’

  Major Donald Greenaway had, since he had been retired on half-pay at the end of the war, supplemented his income by what he called investigation. He looked for lost relatives, tracked down criminals, recovered stolen goods, and he had connections everywhere, high and low. He had helped the Duke in the past and was a good friend of the Stanmore family and Sir Percy.

  ‘Then ask him, Sir Percy. Arrange for me to see him and then I can tell him as much as I know, though it is very little.’

  ‘Very well. But promise me one thing. Promise me you will do nothing foolish in the meantime.’ He smiled encouragingly and beckoned to the waiter to refill their glasses. ‘We will drink to success, eh?’

  The brandy was drunk and they prepared to leave. Duncan was feeling a little more cheerful now he thought there might be a happy outcome after all. Oh, he knew he still had to convince Madeleine, but when she realised how earnest he was and that he meant nothing short of marriage, she would come round. She had to.

  ‘One other thing,’ Sir Percy said, as they parted in the street. ‘Try not to be too downpin at home; it will only distress her ladyship. Try and please her.’

  Duncan laughed, suddenly light-hearted. ‘You know, I do believe you are doing this entirely to protect the Duchess.’

  Sir Percy smiled. ‘Naturally I am. What else did you expect? Now run along, I will let you know when I have spoken to Major Greenaway.’

  He had been dismissed like a schoolboy, but he did not care. There was something to be done and he would throw himself wholeheartedly into the investigation. He would not let himself consider what he would do if it proved fruitless. He would also attend his stepmother’s soirée and stay the whole time, not only to please her, but in order to see and speak to Madeleine again.

  Two days later, he was riding alone in Hyde Park when he saw Sir Percy and Major Greenaway coming towards him. He smiled to himself when he saw them. The Major had been involved in so many secret assignments that he had developed a disinclination to hold important conversations indoors and nearly always chose the open air for consulting with clients and informers.

  He and Sir Percy were riding slowly, apparently deep in conversation, but then Sir Percy appeared suddenly to see Duncan. ‘Risley, good day to you,’ he said.

  ‘Sir Percy. Major Greenaway.’

  ‘Lord Risley.’ The Major acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head.

  All three drew rein and then dismounted to stand in the shade of an oak tree, while their horses cropped the grass. ‘Devilish hot today,’ Sir Percy said, loosening his cravat. ‘I’d as lief be indoors in the cool with a cold drink at my elbow.’

  ‘You may leave us if you wish,’ Duncan said.

  ‘No, I want to hear what’s said. Interested, don’t you know?’

  ‘Has Sir Percy told you anything of the matter?’ Duncan asked the Major.

  ‘He has said the lady’s name is Madeleine Charron, that she claims to have a French count for a grandfather and that her father was killed in the service of the crown in the last war.’

  ‘That’s it in a nutshell.’

  ‘Then let us see if we can crack it open. The comte’s name was presumably Charron?’

  ‘I assume so. She has never said anything to the contrary.’

  ‘And her father was an officer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Regiment and rank?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Where was she born? Who was her mother? Where were they living when her mother died?’

  ‘I don’t know that either. She told me she was put into an orphanage for officers’ children when her mother was killed. She was nine years old at the time.’

  ‘And how old is she now?’

  Duncan shrugged. ‘Three and twenty, perhaps four and twenty. I never asked.’

  ‘It’s not much to go on, is it?’ He was looking at Duncan quizzically, as if he could not quite believe what he was being asked to do.

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Perhaps you could endeavour to find out more from the lady herself and let me know.’

  ‘I’ll try, but I do not want to alert her to what I am doing.’

  ‘Why not? Does she not wish to know her own history?’

  ‘She will think it an impertinence.’

  ‘Perhaps Marianne can throw some light on the subject,’ Sir Percy said.

  ‘Ah, the redoubtable Miss Doubleday,’ Donald said, smiling at the memory. ‘I collect she was the one who pretended to be Lady Rattenshaw and brought that rakehell Wincote to book. A formidable lady. If you think she can help, then ask her.’

  ‘But she must not breathe a word to Madeleine,’ Duncan said. ‘I will tell her myself when we have something to report.’

  ‘And do you think she will thank you?’ Sir Percy asked.

  ‘If it means she can take her place in Society where she belongs, then of course she will,’ he said, unaware of the lack of conviction in his voice.

  They drew a little apart and remounted. He bade the two men goodbye and turned his horse to gallop across the grass away from the formal ride. He had had little exercise just recently and he needed to feel the wind on his face. Riding was an exercise he enjoyed above all other and he wondered if Madeleine rode. Somehow he doubted it, but when she had taken her place in Society he would enjoy teaching her. In the meantime he could look forward to seeing her again at his stepmother’s soirée. He would see how she managed in the company of the Duchess’s friends. He had no doubt she would acquit herself commendably.

  Chapter Five

  The long line of vehicles waiting to deposit their occupants at the door of Stanmore House was enough to make Madeleine want to turn tail and run. She had never felt so nervous in her life. It was all very well for Marianne to tell her it was no different from giving a performance on stage and she had done that thousands of times but she could not quite believe her.

  For a start, she would not be separated from the audience by footlights, so that she could not see them properly; she would be almost face to face with them, her costume, her every gesture scrutinised and commented on. Secondly, and that concerned her most, Duncan Stanmore would be in the audience, in his own home, on his own territory, so to speak, and that gave him a tremendous advantage.

  ‘It is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ Marianne demanded, as their cab waited in line with all the others. ‘You asked to come, prodded me in the back and as good as forced me to have you included in the invitation. You wanted to study the haut monde, to see if you could act the lady and now’s your chance. When the performance is over, we shall be invited to mingle with the guests. The Duchess is like that, very gracious.’

  ‘And if she asks about my family?’

  ‘Oh, well, that is up to you,’ Marianne said. ‘You have your story off by heart, haven’t you? Or you could tell the truth for once.’

  Madeleine did not answer. What answer could she give? She knew her friend was right. A play lasted a few weeks, no more, but she had contemplated playing the part of a comte’s granddaughter for the rest of her life. If she had not fallen in love with the Marquis of Risley, it would have been easy; she could have stuck with her plan to use him as an entry to Society, a way of meeting others of the ton, to be accepted as one of their number. Now she was not interested in any others. He believed she came from a good family, a pretence it would be impossible to keep
up for any length of time.

  The truth would come out and then whatever good opinion he might have had of her would be blown away on the storm of his anger. But she was angry too, angry to think that it was so important to him that she should be well born. The granddaughter of a French nobleman might be acceptable but little Miss Charron, a lowly dressmaker’s daughter, meant nothing at all to him. He was as bad as Count Roussillon in All’s Well That Ends Well, too full of his own importance.

  ‘Hoist on my own petard,’ she murmured, as they drew up at the door.

  There was no time for Marianne to comment, which was as well, for Maddy knew her friend would probably have something pithy to say to the effect that she had warned her. They stepped from the cab and followed the long line of other guests up to the front door. On giving their names, the footman beckoned another servant and directed him to conduct them to an anteroom on the first floor where they could prepare for their performance.

  They could hear music playing and the sound of conversation and laughter coming from a room nearby, and every now and again the stentorian voice of a footman announcing newcomers; judging by his booming voice, most of them came from the ranks of the titled. It did nothing to calm Madeleine’s nerves.

  Madeleine was delving in the hamper that contained their costumes and props when the Duchess arrived. She smiled with genuine warmth. ‘Oh, good, your things have arrived.’

  Madeleine hurriedly straightened up and curtsied. ‘Your Grace.’

  Marianne, who was standing in her drawers and chemise, tried to follow suit but she looked so incongruous the Duchess laughed. ‘Oh, do not mind me, Miss Doubleday. I only came to ask if there is anything else you need? I have had a plain backcloth set up as you requested.’

  ‘Thank you. I think we have all we need.’

  ‘Word has gone out that you are going to perform for us,’ the Duchess went on. ‘I do not think we could squeeze another body in if we tried. And so many gentlemen! That is good, for they will be generous and the orphanage will benefit. There will be a little music first, to set the mood, and then I will announce you. Is there anything special I should say?’