“Nonetheless, I shall try on her return. Goodness, what are we to do on our own?”
“I shall be able to visit my sister. We will see to the ordering of our wardrobe like very grand ladies. We will send the footman to the dressmaker first and tell her to come here with designs and samples of cloth. I am sharp enough to know we do not go in person to these tradespeople; they come to us. Oh, think, Honoria. We can please ourselves in a simple way. I mean, once we have had our fittings, we can venture forth and see all the unfashionable sights such as the menagerie at the Tower, and the waxworks, and all sorts of things like that.”
Honoria gave a little shiver. She felt at that moment that her mother and father were standing in the room, looking at her with reproving eyes.
Instead, she said, “I must write to Mama and you to Mr. Perryworth. What are we to tell them of Aunt Clarissa?”
Her eyes dancing, Pamela said, “It would be very wrong of either of us to voice any criticism of our generous hostess or to trouble either Mr. Perryworth or Mr. and Mrs. Goodham with the intelligence that Lady Dacey is not with us. Should we write that, one or all of them might feel it their duty to come to London.”
“We couldn't have that.” Honoria brightened. “Just think. Here we are with plenty of money, a comfortable house, carriages, and an army of servants at our disposal. And no one to criticize us or tell us what to do. Do you ever think of that cavalier who tried to steal your fan?”
“Never!” said Pamela vehemently, and then wondered why she had lied, for she thought of him often.
* * * *
Over a week later, the duke was on the point of leaving for London. He was standing in the hall drawing on his gloves when a servant entered and informed him that a certain Lady Dacey was at the lodge, her carriage having broken down.
The fair Miss Goodham, he thought cynically, must have told her aunt of her visit, and so Lady Dacey, who was hardly the sort of female to be put off by his wicked reputation, had come to hunt him down.
He had no intention of meeting her. “Give me time to get clear. Lady Dacey is at the West Lodge. I shall leave by the South. Tell her I am gone to Paris.” He turned to his butler. “Serve Lady Dacey with refreshment and order the wheelwright to see to her carriage and send her on her way as soon as possible.”
He went outside and climbed up into the box of his traveling carriage, for he liked driving himself. The servant waited until the duke's carriage had disappeared down the other drive toward the South Lodge and then returned to Lady Dacey, who pouted when she heard that the duke had just left for Paris.
With Napoleon incarcerated on Elba, British tourists were flocking to Paris for the first time in years. Lady Dacey thought about that, thought about the advantages of pursuing the duke to a foreign country where he might be glad to meet an attractive Englishwoman. She could not find out where the duke was staying, but high society was a small circle, and so she was confident that when she got to Paris she could easily run him to earth.
So the duke continued on his way to London. His conscience, never very active, gave a slight stab. He should really call on that impossible schoolgirl and warn her of the perils of staying with Lady Dacey and being sponsored by her for the Season. There had been harpies like Lady Dacey on the London scene in his youth. They used fresh young relatives as bait to draw men into their clutches. But he remembered the pigtails and sermon reading and shrewdly judged Lady Dacey would attempt to follow him to Paris and would probably not return before the Season. There was no immediate cause for concern about a young girl who was probably possessed of unshakeable virtue.
In fact, he would no doubt have forgotten about Honoria's existence had he not received a call from Mr. Sean Delaney two weeks after he had taken up residence in London.
After asking after the duke's health and fidgeting about the room and picking up things and putting them down again, Mr. Delaney finally burst out with, “Did you receive my letter?”
“About your odd passion for some vicar's wife, yes.”
“She is in London! I have not seen her. You must help me!”
“If she is in London and resident at Lady Dacey's, then no doubt you will meet her at one of the social functions.”
“The miss she is escorting is not yet out. They do not go anywhere and La Dacey is rumored to be in Paris. What is she doing in Paris when she has guests?”
“She thinks I am there.”
“Explain.”
“Mrs. Perryworth, the love of your present life, and her charge, a Miss Honoria Goodham, arrived on my doorstep in the middle of a snowstorm, seeking shelter. I was ill with the fever at the time. I did not have the pleasure of seeing your Mrs. Perryworth. However, Miss Goodham, who is a dyed-in-the-wool puritan, enlivened my sickbed by reading me sermons.”
“That pretty angel? When I saw her, she was drinking champagne and breaking hearts.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“In any case, I dare to contemplate a rebuff. I am here to beg you to call on them with me. It is even better than I hoped. You entertained them. It would only be polite to pay your respects.”
“Cannot you wait until the start of the Season? You will see them everywhere then.”
“That may be too late.”
“Listen, my friend, think very carefully. What is in your mind? You cannot possibly be setting out to seduce a vicar's wife. And in all charity, I feel that pair will have much to bear in the line of scandal when Lady Dacey returns.”
“You have not yet explained what Lady Dacey's visit to Paris has to do with you or why she thinks you are there.”
“She tried to emulate her niece by staging a breakdown at my gates. I had my servants inform her I had gone to Paris. If that is indeed where she is now, she is hunting me. Everyone knows she seeks another husband.”
Mr. Delaney stopped his nervous pacing and swung round.
“I do not know what I am doing or what I want. I just want to see her again. One visit! One call! Is that too much to ask?”
“Very well.” The duke capitulated. “One call. Any folly that happens afterward is entirely your affair.”
* * * *
“I do not know if I like it. Mama will be furious,” said Honoria, looking nervously in the mirror.
Despite reminders to Pamela that Lady Dacey expected Honoria to wear her hair down, Pamela had summoned one of London's leading hairdressers to give Honoria a fashionable crop. Her hair was a cap of soft curls, framing her face.
“You will become used to it,” said Pamela. “You look like a young lady now. No one could ever mistake you for a schoolgirl.”
“I feel it is all wrong,” complained Honoria. “We have spent a fortune on gowns, hats, pelisses, shoes and gloves.”
“We have not yet spent enough,” said Pamela firmly. She had become very worldly-wise after dealing with tradesmen and scrutinizing fashion magazines. A good eye for dress, hitherto held in check because the vicar preferred to see her attired only in sober clothes, had served Pamela well. She now ran Lady Dacey's mansion with the same competent ease that she ran the vicarage. Lady Dacey's servants, who had never known before such firm but considerate authority, obeyed all her orders cheerfully and privately hoped their mistress would stay in Paris for as long as possible.
Honoria was wearing a new cambric frock of the same blue as her eyes and over it a Spanish vest of blue velvet, as that new fashion in short jackets was called. She stood up and crossed to the window and looked down into the square. “The time for calls,” she said. “At least we do not have to cope with that. We know no one, and nobody knows us.”
“Except my sister,” said Pamela, and then fell silent, thinking of how her sister had changed so much. Amy had become a fashionable invalid, lying in a darkened room, surrounded by bottles of medicines. She could not help remembering what friends they had been in their youth and how merry Amy used to be. And one could not blame Amy's husband for the change. He was all that was kindness and c
oncern. In order to think of something less distressing, she remembered an item of news. “I see from the social column that Ware is in Town,” said Pamela.
Honoria turned away from the window, her eyes widening. Then she laughed. “I wonder if he came to London to escape my aunt. But if he is here, she must surely be expected back soon.”
Pamela stifled a sigh. “I hope we are all going to get on well together. Drop all ideas of reform, Honoria. You will only irritate her and she will think you sadly provincial. Perhaps some people do not have a conscience to reach.”
“That is not true,” said Honoria stubbornly. “There is good in everyone.”
“Does not Clarissa frighten you?”
“My aunt? Good gracious, no.”
“I think she should. Forgive me for speaking so harshly about your relative, who has been very generous, but I think she is selfish and decadent, and I distrust her motive in inviting you here.”
“Fustian. Motive? What motive can she have other than a sort of careless generosity? Yes, I admit she dresses in a scandalous manner, but no one else at that musicale seemed to find anything out of the way.”
“A title and money will open all doors,” said Pamela with newfound London cynicism.
Honoria laughed. “It is the very foreignness of the capital that is giving you fancies. Aunt Clarissa lives on her own now and has possibly no female friend to advise her. This is not like our dear Yorkshire.”
“No, it is not. We have money and freedom for the first time in our lives,” Pamela tartly pointed out. “But I warn you: Clarissa could prove to be a dangerous woman.”
“I assure you, you will find that under all that paint is a certain amount of goodness,” said Honoria firmly.
A servant scratched at the door and entered. “If you please, ladies,” he said, “His Grace, the Duke of Ware, and a Mr. Delaney have called.”
They looked at each other wide-eyed. Then Honoria said, “Tell them we shall be with them presently. Put them in the Green Saloon.”
Chapter Four
“YOU CAN FEEL the wicked lady is not in residence,” murmured the duke, looking around the Green Saloon, which Honoria and Pamela had begun to favor over the drawing room.
Bowls of hothouse flowers scented the air. There was a selection of magazines and books on a table, embroidery on a tambour frame by the window, and music spread open on the piano.
The duke then began to feel a mixture of amusement and slight consternation as Mr. Delaney fussed and fidgeted, jumping up to the mirror to adjust his cravat, sitting down, only to jump up again and tease his curls with a comb.
He had seen his friend in the throes of love, or what appeared to be love, for some fashionable beauty, but had never seen him so reduced to the state of a nervous schoolboy.
The door opened, and the ladies entered. The duke rose to his feet, staring at Honoria as if he could not believe his eyes. The schoolgirl had become a woman and a beautiful one at that. Her face was framed by an aureole of soft curls, and her deep blue eyes were fringed with those long dark lashes, making her look more sensual than innocent. The little Spanish jacket hinted at an excellent bosom, a more seductive way of dressing than any of Lady Dacey's low necklines. She also looked at him as no other woman had ever looked at him since he had come into the dukedom, with open, welcoming friendliness, without flirtation or guile.
With reluctance, he turned to Pamela, who was curtsying to him. He found her very pretty and appealing but could see nothing in her to explain his friend's obsession. The usually gallant ladykiller who was Mr. Delaney was blushing like a girl with delight and saying over and over again that it was wonderful to see her.
But Honoria was not so calm as she appeared. The duke's sinister good looks struck her somewhere in the region of her midriff. Before, she had not looked on him as a man, only as a patient. Now she was aware of the strength of his figure and face and of the attractive brooding quality of his gaze.
Pamela asked the gentlemen to be seated. “Where is Lady Dacey?” asked the duke. He had no intention of telling them that he knew, but wondered if they had been part of the plot.
Pamela looked uneasy but Honoria said quickly, “Lady Dacey has gone to visit a friend in the north.”
“She's in Paris,” said Mr. Delaney, looking around in surprise and catching a warning look from the duke.
“Paris! What is she doing in Paris?” exclaimed Honoria.
“Quite a number of English have gone to Paris,” said the duke smoothly. “It is very fashionable. But how do you go on, Miss Goodham, with no one to sponsor you? Mr. Delaney, who is a reliable authority, assures me you are to be seen nowhere.”
“We have been kept busy arranging our wardrobes and sightseeing. We are most unfashionable,” said Honoria. “There will be time enough for fashion later.”
“Still,” said the duke, “Lady Dacey should be here nursing the ground for you, introducing you to London's hostesses.”
“I am sure we shall manage,” said Pamela quickly, avoiding Mr. Delaney's burning gaze.
The duke felt a sudden pang of sympathy for these correct ladies who had only each other for company. He surprised himself by saying, “You should go out. I am sure Mr. Delaney and I would be delighted to escort you to Drury Lane. Grimaldi is appearing in the pantomime Mother Goose. We need not attend the play, if you wish—just the pantomime, as an introduction to London life.” The pantomime was always put on after the play.
Mr. Delaney was about to object to such unsophisticated entertainment but at the light in Pamela's eyes, he fell silent.
“A pantomime,” breathed Pamela. “I have never seen a real one, only Richardson's wagons at fair time.” She half closed her eyes, remembering one of the rare excitements of her youth when John Richardson's wagons came rumbling into the village. Clutching one of the housemaid's hands, she had stood under a Gothic arch of lamps outside the tent while the maid paid over two ninepences to a stout gentleman. Then the maid indulgently gave the young Pamela the two cardboard checks so that she would have the honor of delivering them into the hands of none other than Harlequin himself, glittering with spangles and dazzling with many colors. But this was nothing to the glories of the inside amid the smell of sawdust and orange peel, where the first play being over, the lovers united, the ghost appeased, the baron killed, and everything happy ever after—the pantomime itself began! She half smiled remembering the opening scene of deep gloom where a crafty magician holding a young lady in bondage was revealed, studying an enchanted book to the sound of a gong. Then what a thrill as the magician transformed the monster into a clown. It did not matter that the stage was three yards wide and four deep, Pamela never saw it; only the fantasy, wrapped up in the joy of laughing at that delicious clown.
And Grimaldi at Drury Lane was the king of clowns!
“I do not think...” began Honoria cautiously, but Pamela said urgently, “I am sure it would be quite correct for us to go, Honoria. It is comme il faut, is it not, gentlemen? I do not wish to lead Honoria into doing anything unconventional. She is not yet out.”
“She has your excellent presence as chaperon, Mrs. Perryworth,” said the duke. “The piece lasts only ninety minutes. We will convey you there and back. The play that precedes it is not very popular. There will not be many fashionables there, but even if there are, there can be nothing to occasion comment.”
“In that case, we will go,” said Pamela, her eyes shining.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Honoria dutifully, but she felt another burden had been added to her conscience. Pamela was a married lady and had no right to look so elated and happy.
The duke rose to take his leave. Mr. Delaney got to his feet as well. They bowed. The ladies curtsied, and then they left.
“Now, Pamela,” said Honoria severely, “I do not think it all the thing for you to be escorted by Mr. Delaney. He is in love with you, and he must not be.”
“Mr. Delaney is the type of gentleman who has to fancy h
imself in love,” said Pamela, although she blushed guiltily. “Oh, Honoria, humor me! At the end of our stay in London, I must return and take up my old life. With any luck, you will be engaged to be married and can look forward to happiness. I am only borrowing happiness. I am not going to have an affair or anything scandalous like that. I am much too respectable and timid. Besides, to be seen out with a duke—that is, if anyone who matters sees us—it will establish our social credentials in a way that I am sure Lady Dacey cannot.”
“Come now,” admonished Honoria. “Remember the duke's reputation.”
“A rake is never considered scandalous,” said Pamela. “You will be safe in his company, my dear. You are guarded by me. I am sure a man of his years and reputation is not interested in a young miss who has not yet made her come-out.”
And Honoria, who really wanted to go to the pantomime, was glad to have her fears put to rest, or rather, to pretend to herself that they had been.
* * * *
It was exciting to prepare for the evening, to put on new theater gowns. Honoria wore a gown of lilac jaconet with a low neckline and six deep flounces at the hem, and Pamela was dressed in blue muslin embroidered at the neck and hem with seed pearls. Pamela wore one of the new Turkish turbans on her head and Honoria a Juliet cap made of gold wire and pearls. Lady Dacey's maid had gone with her to Paris, but Pamela sent for the hairdresser to arrange their hair for the evening.
As they waited nervously in the Green Saloon, each with a magnificent cashmere shawl draped around her shoulders, Pamela tried to remain calm. She was not doing anything wrong, she told herself repeatedly, although the stern and reproving face of her husband was always before her mind's eye.
Honoria, aware of her friend's heightened color and shining eyes, felt the elder of the two. With a wisdom beyond her years, she dreaded the effect of the attractive Mr. Delaney on such a lady as Pamela, who had never had any fun or laughter in her life. Honoria remembered the chill air of the vicarage and the way the vicar crept softly about, always seeking fault. Her preoccupation made her treat the duke rather coolly, and at first he was piqued and then amused at himself for being so put out by the seeming indifference of a chit of a girl.
The Sins of Lady Dacey Page 5
