by Mary Nichols
‘No, my dear, not even then.’
Duncan, listening to Madeleine laugh so easily, as if she did not have a care in the world, was filled with a kind of fury, that made him want to go over and turn her round and shake her until her eyes popped out. How could she be happy when he was sunk in the depths of despair? He was obliged to make stiff, boring conversation with his guests, who were determined to peg him out on the matrimonial line, when all he wanted was Madeleine. In his arms, in his bed, by his side as his marchioness.
‘I heard a rumour that Mr Willoughby had challenged you to a duel,’ Hortense said. ‘Is it true?’
‘Oh, it was nothing but a jest,’ he replied, wondering where she had heard it. ‘We are the best of friends and have been since our schooldays. And duelling is against the law.’
‘It still goes on.’
‘Not by me,’ he said coldly.
‘Why did he challenge you?’ Annabel asked.
‘Oh, something and nothing. I pray you, forget it.’
‘I heard it was over the actress,’ Hortense persisted. ‘But you are right, she is something and nothing.’
‘I wish I could remember where I had seen her before,’ Annabel said, while Duncan fumed. He ought to jump up and publicly defend Madeleine, but a glance in her direction told him she had heard what had been said and his intervention would be no more welcome now than it had been when Benedict had been objectionable.
‘Of course you have seen her before,’ Hortense said impatiently. ‘You are always going to the theatre. I told Henry it was not seemly for you to go so often, but he seemed to think it would do no harm. Fancy wanting to go into that smelly, airless dressing room. And to find two of them there half dressed and Sir Percival Ponsonby taking his ease, quite at home. Does he get a perverse pleasure from watching them change their clothes?’
‘Sir Percival is a gentleman,’ Duncan said, looking towards the other table. ‘And a close friend of my family.’
‘Don’t worry about me, m’boy,’ Percy said, loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘I can defend myself if the need arises.’
‘I did not mean at the theatre,’ Annabel put in quickly. ‘Somewhere else. Some time ago. It is a memory in the back of my mind and, tease as I might, I cannot bring it to the fore.’
‘Duncan, do you remember when we put on a play for Mama’s charity?’ Lavinia said, in an effort to change the subject. She turned to the Misses Bulford. ‘It was A Midsummer Night’s Dream. We put it on in the ballroom of Stanmore House. Everyone took part, even Duncan and Mr Willoughby.’
‘Oh, did you?’ Annabel asked Duncan. ‘I did not know you were talented in that direction.’
‘I am not. I was bullied into it by Lavinia,’ he said, blessing his sister for the diversion. ‘She was the leading light. And she painted all the scenery.’
‘How clever of you!’ Annabel said, eyes shining. ‘I should so like to do that. It must be great fun.’
‘Oh, it is,’ Lavinia said. ‘But hard work too. We were fortunate to have Mr Greatorex and Miss Doubleday to help us. It was a great success and made several hundred pounds for the charity.’
‘When was this?’ Hortense asked. ‘I do not remember hearing about it.’
‘Oh, it was about seven years ago, the year the King tried to divorce the Queen. I do not suppose it was known to anyone except our close circle of friends and the people from the orphanage.’
‘Oh, then Annabel would still have been in the schoolroom, too young to know of such things,’ Hortense said. ‘And amateur theatricals never interested me.’
The conversation continued along the same lines while the next course was brought to the table. They were still sitting there when Sir Percy and his two companions rose to leave. Duncan made a point of bidding them goodnight, wishing he could get up and go too. He desperately wanted to speak to Madeleine.
‘Goodnight, ladies,’ Sir Percy said, beaming round at them and then nodded to the men. ‘Corringham. Stanmore.’
‘I wish we could have asked them to join us for the last course,’ Annabel said.
‘Good gracious, sister, whatever are you thinking of?’ Hortense said. ‘You cannot be seen with actresses, however devious they are.’
‘Devious?’
‘Yes. I have just realised where we have seen that one before, the young one. It was in our own kitchen.’ Her voice was triumphant. ‘Don’t you remember Maddy, the skivvy? She was with us three years before Papa threw her out.’ She laughed harshly. ‘She always was a liar.’
Duncan looked from one to the other and then at Lavinia. His sister was slowly shaking her head, as if to tell him to remain silent. He did not need to be told—he had been struck dumb.
Chapter Seven
How Duncan managed to get through the rest of the evening he did not know. Miss Bulford was gloating and Miss Annabel was innocently excited by the thought that an acclaimed actress had actually spent three years under the same roof as she had, had even talked to her when she went to the kitchen begging sweetmeats from the cook. ‘Who would ever have believed she would go on to be so famous?’ she said in wonder.
Lavinia had quickly struck up a different topic of conversation and no one noticed that Duncan had become silent. He smiled and agreed to whatever was said and when the party broke up, bade goodbye to his sister and her husband and escorted the Misses Bulford home in his carriage before going home himself. His head was in a whirl. The words, always was a liar, went round and round in his head. Miss Madeleine Charron had made a complete cake of him.
The next morning he rose bleary-eyed, put on a dressing gown and went down to find his stepmother, always an early riser, at the breakfast table reading her correspondence which had just been delivered. She looked up. ‘Good morning, Duncan,’ she said. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘And went on to your club afterwards by the look of you.’
‘No, Mama, I did not. We had supper at Reid’s and afterwards I took the ladies home and came straight back here.’
‘Then there is something serious troubling you. Is it Miss Bulford?’
‘No. Annabel is a sweet girl, too sweet for me.’ He sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. There were dishes of food on the sideboard but he did not feel like eating.
‘Duncan, my dear boy, you must be very careful if you do not intend to offer for her. You have been seen about with her several times and I know Lady Bulford has expectations. If you should encourage that without perhaps meaning to…’ She paused to study his face.
‘It was you and Lavinia insisted I should go to Almack’s, Mama, and Lady Bulford herself who asked me to escort Miss Annabel to the Tremayne ball. I could not refuse without being uncivil and it was Miss Charron who invited Annabel backstage and Annabel who asked me to accompany her. I felt bound to agree, but I did make a larger party of it, so that she would not find it too intimate. I do not see how I could have acted differently. And last night…’ He paused. ‘Last night I felt I was being driven into a corner.’
‘Is it the idea of marriage you cannot face, or simply marriage to Miss Annabel? She is, after all, entirely suitable.’
‘Mama, Miss Annabel Bulford is not for me.’
‘Then in all conscience you must make that plain before it goes any further. Take someone else out. There are others…’
‘I have been in the company of others and though they are agreeable enough, there is not one with whom I would want to spend the rest of my life.’
Frances looked closely at him. ‘No one at all?’
He thought of Lavinia’s advice to confide in their stepmother, but that had been given before they heard about Madeleine being a servant in the Bulford household, before she had been uncovered as the liar she was. There was no need to tell the Duchess anything now, no need to keep torturing himself about how to make her acceptable to his father. She never would be. ‘No,’ he said emphatically. ‘Ther
e is no one.’
They were interrupted by a footman who came to announce the Countess of Corringham. Almost before he had finished speaking, Lavinia came in, holding Jamie by the hand and carrying the two-year-old Caroline on her hip. In no time at all Jamie had scrambled on to Duncan’s lap to show him his new sailing boat and Caroline was nestling in the Duchess’s arms.
‘We are on our way to the park to sail Jamie’s boat on the lake,’ Lavinia said. ‘I thought perhaps you might like to accompany us, Duncan.’
He agreed to go; the fresh air of the park might help to clear his head. He went up to his room, dressed in dove grey pantaloons and a frockcoat of dark blue superfine, picked up his tall hat and kid gloves and made his way out to the Corringham carriage where Lavinia, the children and their nursemaid waited for him.
Not until the children were toddling ahead of them along the path in the park, clinging to the hands of the nursemaid, did Lavinia speak to him about Madeleine. ‘Did you talk to Mama about Miss Charron?’ she asked.
‘What, that it turns out she was a kitchen maid, after all? Why do that? Everything has changed. There was never a French comte and it only goes to show what a corkbrain I was to believe her lies.’
‘And the existence of the comte was important, was it? He was the key to the whole? You cannot love someone who is not of gentle birth?’
‘I cannot love a liar, Vinny.’
‘But perhaps she is not lying. If all her family were dead, what else could anyone do with a motherless child but put her in an orphanage? It is a short step from there to a life in service, you should know that from listening to Mama. She has to try and find employment for all her orphans when they are old enough to leave and what else is there? It does not disprove Miss Charron’s story. If anything, she should be admired for rising above her misfortunes.’
‘I did not think I should find you on her side.’
‘I am only playing the devil’s advocate, Duncan. And Hortense Bulford could be mistaken.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘Is that why you came over today, Vinny, simply to play the devil’s advocate?’
‘Yes, why not? I could see how Miss Bulford’s revelation had hit you. You went pale as a ghost and you were grinding your teeth like you used to do when you were little and could not have your own way. I was afraid you might do something foolish.’
‘I wanted to bundle the interfering witch out of the door.’
‘It is as well you did not. It would have caused a dreadful scandal.’ She paused. ‘Duncan, I do believe that, in spite of what Miss Bulford said, you are still enamoured of Miss Charron.’
‘No, it is over. It was over before last night. She holds me in aversion and now it is mutual.’
She sighed. ‘I am sorry for you, Duncan, truly sorry, but you will get over it.’
It was easy for Lavinia to say that. James, Earl of Corringham, had never been unacceptable; Frances had been his stepmother before she had been theirs and James and the Duke dealt very well with each other. But this was different. He was not one to treat love lightly; once his heart was given, it stayed that way and if he said anything to the contrary, he was lying.
Unwilling to endure any more quizzing, he dashed away from her and caught up with the children who had drawn ahead of them. ‘Come on, Jamie,’ he cried. ‘Let us see what this vessel of yours is made of.’
They spent an hour sailing the boat, at the end of which Duncan’s cuffs were soaked and his knees green from kneeling on the grass. He sat back on his heels beside the water and looked at the children, laughing at the antics of the ducks who came in search of food. Jamie would carry on the Corringham name but who was there to continue the Stanmore line? Who, after he had gone, would take over the Risley estate and all the other properties which provided a home and livelihood for so many people? He had a duty to marry and, at twenty-five years old, he could not leave it much longer.
He looked up when Lavinia’s shadow fell over him. ‘I think what you need, Duncan, is a family,’ she said. ‘You are so good with my little ones.’
He smiled and got to his feet. ‘Before I can do that, I have to find a wife.’
‘There I cannot help you. But I do think you could do with a change of scene and some different company. I am going to hold a little supper party next Thursday and then, if the weather is still fine, we will all go on to Vauxhall Gardens. There is to be a concert of Handel’s Water Music and fireworks.’
Now that it had been scourged of its rowdy reputation, Vauxhall Gardens, a vast pleasure ground situated on the south side of the river, was a favourite meeting place for the citizens of London from the lowest to the highest. Even the King, when he had been Prince of Wales, had been a frequent visitor. ‘I am not sure…’
‘There will be no Misses Bulford, I promise. It will do you good to be with other young people, put a stop to the gabblegrinders. What do you say?’
‘Always the big sister looking after me,’ he said, with a laugh, as he hoisted Jamie on to his shoulder to take him back to the carriage. ‘Very well, if you insist.’
They set him down at Stanmore House and he went indoors to change into his old drab coat and stuff trousers before setting off on foot to visit Bow Street and Newgate. If anything could bring him down to earth, that could.
He was on his way out when he was met on the step by a figure in a green riding coat and blue breeches tucked into black tasselled knee boots. ‘Morning, Sir Percy,’ he said. ‘You are up betimes. Did someone set your bed afire?’
‘No laughing matter, Stanmore. I ain’t at me best in the morning, but needs must.’
‘Have you come to see Stepmama?’
‘No, came to see you. Promised.’
‘That sounds ominous. Walk with me.’
‘Where are you going dressed like that?’ Sir Percy demanded. ‘You look as though you are off to dig up the roads.’
Duncan laughed. ‘No, I am going to prison.’
‘Prison? My boy, what have you done?’ Percy asked in alarm, as he fell in beside his young friend.
‘Nothing. I visit occasionally.’
‘Rum sort of thing for a fellow to do when he don’t have to, don’t you think?’
‘I like to do what I can to help the poor fellows there.’
‘But they’re criminals!’ Sir Percy was aghast.
‘There but for the grace of God…’
‘Now, you are being perverse. You would never land up there, whatever you had done, your papa would see to that.’
‘That’s just why I go. Wealth and privilege are all very well, Sir Percy, but they bring responsibilities, you know.’
‘Talking of that, reminds me why I came to see you.’ Sir Percy, unused to walking anywhere, was almost running to keep up with Duncan. ‘Do slow down, me boy, I’m not as young as I was.’
Duncan moderated his pace. ‘Go on.’
‘Is it true Willoughby has challenged you to a duel?’
‘Yes, but he was in his cups at the time and I doubt he’ll insist on it.’
‘I hope you’re right, but if he does, what will you do?’
‘Choose pistols and miss.’
‘But can you be sure he will miss you?’
That crazy duel was the last thing on his mind and he did not see why Sir Percy was quizzing him about it. ‘No, but what else do you suggest I do?’
‘It’s illegal. If you tell me where and when, then I can make sure the law is on hand to stop it.’
Duncan laughed. ‘And that really would put me behind bars.’
‘You know very well it would not. Young gentlemen will have their little fallings out. No harm done. That’s what I’d say if I were the beak you came before.’ He paused. ‘The lady concerned is very anxious you should not put yourself at risk.’
‘The lady being Miss Madeleine Charron, I suppose. You may tell Miss Charron I am not fighting a duel over her, she is not worth the expenditure of energy.’
‘I say, Stanmore, that’s a
bit brown, ain’t it? Thought you were sweet on her.’
‘I do not like liars and she is a master.’ He gave a cracked laugh. ‘Or should I say mistress.’
‘Have you never told a white lie? Never twisted the truth to suit yourself?’
‘That’s different.’
‘No, it isn’t. She is a lonely young lady whom Society discarded, threw out to fend for herself when she should have been in the bosom of a loving family. You talk of visiting prisoners and helping them, she has been a prisoner of a kind herself, a prisoner of the way Society works.’ It was a very long and articulate speech for Sir Percy.
‘She was a kitchen maid, of all things, and worse, it was in the Bulford household.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Didn’t know till last night. An’ I ain’t one to betray a confidence. If she did not tell you about it, you may be sure she had a very good reason.’
‘What reason?’
‘I think you should ask her that yourself.’ He looked around him; they had left the Strand behind and were halfway down Fleet Street. ‘Boy, where are you taking me?’
Duncan stopped. ‘I am sorry, I am so used to coming this way, I did not think. Come, I will escort you back to civilisation.’
They turned to retrace their steps and were approaching St James’s when they came face to face with Benedict Willoughby. It was obvious from his scowling countenance he did not mean to acknowledge his erstwhile friend, but Sir Percy stopped right in front of him, obliging him to halt.
‘Good morning, Mr Willoughby,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We are well met.’
‘Good morning, Sir Percy. I would stop and pass the time of day, but I do not like the company you keep.’ Benedict looked pointedly at Duncan who stood a few steps away, silently awaiting developments.
‘Stanmore is my friend.’
‘Then has he asked you to represent him?’
‘No, wouldn’t if he had. Contrary to law, don’t you know.’
‘What’s that to the point? He knocked me down and I demand satisfaction.’
