London Interlude

by Tracy Grant

  In London Malcolm would be assisting Lord Castlereagh, the foreign secretary, with the negotiations in advance of the Congress. But there would be a break between those negotiations and the start of the Congress. A break in the pattern, a sort of neutral ground in which, if they weren't on the same side, at least they weren't actively working against each other. Yet that neutral ground was set with mines.

  "It's a strange world," Malcolm said. "But there's nothing to fear."

  Suzanne smiled because there was nothing else she could do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Hold still. We have half your hair to do." Blanca coaxed a ringlet to hang down Suzanne's neck. She'd never trained as a ladies' maid, but she'd grown quite adept in the years since she and Suzanne had entered into this masquerade.

  "It's only a family dinner." Suzanne forced herself to sit still, gaze on her own reflection in the giltwood-framed dressing-table looking glass. "I've dined with the Duke of Wellington and the Prince of Orange."

  "This is London. They have their own rules." Blanca paused, the curling tongs in one hand, and studied the ringlets that tumbled from a high knot to lie against Suzanne's neck. "I'm not sure I understand those rules, but I know they have them."

  "Lady Frances doesn't seem like what Malcolm would call a high stickler."

  "Her father is a duke. She doesn't have to be a high stickler. She absorbed the rules from the cradle."

  Blanca, whom Suzanne and her spymaster, Raoul O'Roarke, had rescued from her uncle's tavern, could be remarkably shrewd about social distinctions. They were alone in the yellow bedchamber. Malcolm had dressed and gone downstairs to give Suzanne space and leisure for her toilet, saying carelessly that he would see her when she was ready. He couldn't possibly realize that the simple act of walking downstairs to her first dinner in London felt akin to walking into battle.

  Suzanne's gaze moved to the hearthrug, where Colin sat building a tower out of the blocks Lady Frances had sent from the nursery, then back to Blanca's reflection in the looking glass. "You've come a long way with me. I appreciate it."

  Blanca plunged the curling tongs into the chimney of the lamp on the dressing table. "I like traveling. And the Channel crossing was easier than we were warned."

  "I didn't just mean geography."

  Blanca pulled the reheated curling tongs from the lamp. "You aren't the only one with a taste for adventure." She wrapped another length of Suzanne's hair round the curling tongs. "I won't deny I was worried when you married Mr. Rannoch. I won't deny that I'm worried sometimes now. But if it weren't for that, I'd never have met Addison."

  Suzanne swung her head round to look at her friend. The attraction between Miles Addison, Malcolm's valet, and Blanca had been clear from the first, but Addison, more conscious of the rules of his world than Malcolm, had been slow to act on it, as prey to scruples as Malcolm was. Even though the relationship had now progressed, Suzanne couldn't imagine Addison voicing it to Malcolm. Blanca had no such scruples. Even Suzanne wasn't sure how far things had gone. "Have—"

  "Not yet. But he held my hand on the crossing. And he kissed me the last night before we sailed. Well, to be accurate, I kissed him. But he definitely returned it. Turn your head or I'll never have you ready before the footman announces dinner."

  As Blanca completed the coiffure, Suzanne studied herself in the mirror. Her gown of silver-gray crêpe had been ordered in Lisbon but she was full well aware of what was in the British fashion plates. The neckline, edged with lace, was low but not too low, the long sheer sleeves of ruched net, at once demure and revealing. She had pearls round her throat and at her ears. She was used to suiting her toilet to the mission, but this was the first time the mission had been solely personal. Impressing her husband's family. Save of course that her marriage itself was a mission.

  At last, Blanca arranged the last ringlet, adjusted the last pin, set the curling tongs down on their quilted holder, and pronounced that Suzanne would do. Suzanne got to her feet and took the white gloves, beaded reticule, and spider-gauze shawl Blanca was holding out to her.

  "I'd give you a hug," Blanca said, "but I don't want to crease your gown."

  Suzanne bent to kiss her friend's cheek. "You've seen me go into far worse."

  "But nothing quite like this."

  "Nothing like a new adventure." She moved to the hearthrug and bent down to scoop up Colin. "Come on, darling. Let's meet your father's friends."

  ***

  As she stepped into the passage, voices drifted up the stairwell from the first floor landing, followed by the click of a door closing. The family gathered in the drawing room before dinner, Malcolm had told her, then went downstairs to the dining room. Suzanne made her way down the stairs, holding Colin on her hip, gripping the mahogany railing with her other hand, perhaps a bit more tightly than necessary. Colin pointed at the candle sconces on the stairs. The light of the tapers glittered in the crystal girandoles. "La," he said.

  Simple joy of the moment. She should try to muster that.

  A door on the first floor landing was ajar. She caught the tones of her husband's voice, and laughter she didn't recognize. She pushed open the door to see Malcolm standing in front of the unlit fireplace with two men of about his age. Both were dark-haired and both wore dark evening coats, but there the resemblance ended. One man had smooth, straight hair with the gleam of ebony, and angular features. He was tall and stood with one hand resting on the mantel and his feet crossed at the ankle, with a kind of careless, loose-limbed grace. The other man had wavy hair of a chestnut brown and was of medium height. He was startlingly good looking in the mold of a classic hero, but what stood out more was the way he held himself, back straight, arms close to his sides, as though his role in life penned him in.

  Even before Malcolm glanced at the door and said, "Oh, good, Suzette, come and meet two of my oldest friends," Suzanne was sure that the taller man was Simon Tanner, a playwright known for Radical views that frequently got him in trouble with the Government censor, and that the man with the wavy hair was David Mallinson, Viscount Worsley. Malcolm had met David at Harrow and then both men had befriended Simon at Oxford, where they had all been in a production of Henry IV, Part I. Simon and David had shared rooms in the Albany since leaving university. Malcolm had told her all of this with a readiness that spoke of his ease with both men. What he had not told her, at least explicitly, but what she was quite sure of reading between the lines, was that David and Simon's relationship was far deeper than that of two friends.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you at last," Simon said with an easy smile. "Though I confess I feel I already know you. And this must be Colin. Handsome chap. He has the look of a reader."

  Both Simon and David had written with felicitations upon Malcolm and Suzanne's marriage, but Suzanne and Simon had later corresponded further when he sent Malcolm a draft of his new play and Suzanne wrote to tell him how much she had enjoyed it.

  Suzanne gave him her hand. She had the sense that his instinct was to lean in and kiss her cheek, as he would have done in more bohemian circles, but though he had not been born to the beau monde, he had absorbed enough to do as the Romans did. He then reached for Colin's small hand and shook it solemnly. Colin turned his head into her shoulder, then peeped out at Simon and grinned.

  David also took her hand, with a smile that was as warm, if more fleeting. "I can't thank you enough for how happy you have made my friend, Mrs. Rannoch."

  Suzanne returned the pressure of his hand. "You're very kind, Lord Worsley. I'm sure you know happiness in a relationship is a mutual thing." She nearly glanced at Simon as she said it but she was afraid of embarrassing David. How odd to call him Lord Worsley when she was used to Malcolm referring to him as David. "And I hope you will call me Suzanne. Like Mr. Tanner, I feel I know you both already."

  It was, she sensed, a daring offer to have made. Even as the words left her mouth, she wondered if she had made a mistake. David's politics were liberal, like Malcolm's, but he to
ok the rules of his world seriously, and her offer, as simple as it seemed, flew in the face of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of uncertainty on Malcolm's face. But after a moment, David's smile deepened. "I'm honored. In truth, I find it difficult to refer to Malcolm's wife as Mrs. Rannoch. Or to hear her call me Lord Worsley."

  "Good for you." Simon clapped David on the shoulder.

  David glanced at Simon with a crooked grin that told volumes about their relationship. "I'm not as stuffy as all that."

  "Not stuffy. Just careful of the forms. No matter how absurd."

  "Don't listen to him, Suzanne," David said. "He'd say the sky was blue at midnight to flout convention." He touched his fingers to Colin's hair with an ease that reminded her he had numerous nieces and nephews. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Master Colin. We were so pleased to hear of your arrival."

  Colin grinned and made a grab for David's immaculate cravat. Suzanne pulled her son's hand back.

  "It's all right," David said. "I'm flattered."

  Colin looked round the adults. "Da."

  "That was clearly Daddy," David said to Malcolm.

  "Perhaps," Malcolm said, taking his son from Suzanne. "It could just as easily have been an attempt at David. Deciphering his sounds is a bit like breaking a code. And we still haven't discovered the key."

  "Perhaps he has the makings of a spymaster," Simon said.

  "Perish the thought." Malcolm unhooked his watch chain and put the watch Suzanne had given him last Christmas in Colin's eager hand.

  David turned to Suzanne. "I hope you find your new home to your taste."

  For a few seconds, just a fraction too long to be a normal pause in conversation, Suzanne felt the tension that ran through her husband. "Not precisely home, David. We'll be in Vienna before long. But I hope she finds a great deal to enjoy in Britain."

  David turned to his friend. "It's still your home, Malcolm. You can hardly claim Lisbon or Vienna is."

  Malcolm flipped open the watch case, his gaze on Colin. "My dear David. I never claimed I had a home, did I? We aren't all wedded to this sceptered isle."

  "You just can't admit to sentimentality," David said. "But I know what Britain means to you. You wouldn't spend your life serving your country otherwise."

  Malcolm detached Colin's hand from the watch case before he could snap it closed over his fingers. "On the contrary. I can name you lots of other reasons. Escape. The lure of a challenge. Boredom. Fighting off despair. For example. Not to mention the fact that your father can be very persuasive."

  David gave a wry smile. "Have you seen Father?"

  "Not yet. I've only been in London half a day. Though I fully expect him to summon me before four and twenty hours have elapsed."

  David's father, Suzanne knew, was Lord Carfax, who also happened to be the unofficial chief of British intelligence and Malcolm's spymaster. Suzanne had never met Carfax, but she had known him by reputation long before she met Malcolm.

  "I know a passel of European royals are about to descend on London, but surely with Bonaparte on Elba things have calmed down a bit," David said.

  "Don't you believe it for a minute," Malcolm said. "At least not in your father's eyes."

  "Carfax is the sort who sees Bonapartists hiding behind the bed curtains," Simon said. "Or in my case, I sometimes think across the dinner table."

  David cast a glance at him. "Father knows you aren't a Bonapartist."

  "I think he's astute enough to realize it. But Carfax does tend to lump Bonapartists and Republicans together."

  "A lot of Republicans see Bonaparte as preferable to the monarchy," Malcolm said. "One could argue they have a point."

  Suzanne, who would make just that argument, summoned up a smile.

  David frowned. "A real Englishman—"

  "Might think we should leave France to the French," Simon said.

  Simon Tanner was remarkably astute. Suzanne made haste to change the subject for everyone's sake, including her own. "I hear we're going to a party tomorrow night."

  "Emily Cowper's," David said. "Simon and I will be there and my sister Bel and her husband and perhaps my eldest sister Mary."

  "But not the rest of your family?" Suzanne asked. "It's a Whig party?"

  "Not precisely," David said. "That is, the Cowpers are Whigs but their guest list crosses party lines. Mary's husband is as Tory as they come. But Mother and Father were already engaged with the Castlereaghs."

  "So you won't have to deal with Carfax just yet," Malcolm said.

  David cast a mock frown at his friend. "Don't worry, Suzanne, Father's very pleased Malcolm is so happy. He's sure to find you charming."

  Suzanne gave another smile. It seemed the only possible answer. Because of course if Carfax ever learned the truth about her he would find her anything but charming.

  ***

  A year and a half in British society had accustomed Suzanne to the practice of the ladies removing from the dinner table to the drawing room before the gentlemen. She thought it a very silly custom, and she and Malcolm never adhered to it when they dined alone, but in this case it seemed a good idea for Malcolm to have time alone to talk to his friends.

  Dinner had been surprisingly easy. Duke's daughter or no, with a small family group Lady Frances encouraged general conversation round the table instead of sticking to the convention of each guest only talking to the person seated on either side, turning at prescribed times. Simon regaled them with amusing anecdotes about rehearsals for his latest play, Lady Frances relayed the latest gossip about the visit of Tsar Alexander's sister, the Grand Duchess Catherine, with Judith interjecting some outlandish details her mother made sure to point out were pure conjecture. Even Aline, at Malcolm's urging, described the mathematical formula she was working on. Only Gisèle was quiet and picked at her food.

  At the end of the meal, Lady Frances conducted Suzanne, Aline, Gisèle, and Judith back upstairs to the drawing room, where she poured Madeira for Suzanne and Aline and herself and lemonade for the younger girls.

  Judith plopped down amid the fringed cushions on the lilac watered silk of the sofa. "Thank goodness Mama isn't stuffy. In some families girls aren't allowed at table until they've made their début." She glanced at Suzanne. "That means—"

  "I do know about making débuts," Suzanne said gravely.

  "Don't be silly, Ju," Gisèle said, straightening the folds of her shawl. "Girls come out in society in other countries."

  "But it doesn't mean being presented at court, at one of the queen's drawing rooms." Judith turned back to Suzanne. "Then we get presented again after we're married. Grand Duchess Catherine was presented to the queen. It doesn't seem to have gone at all well." She frowned. "I suppose Mama will need to present you while you're here—"

  "I've already made arrangements," Lady Frances said.

  "How splendid." Judith bounced on the sofa cushions. "I wish I could be there. I'd love to see the looks on the faces of all the matchmaking mamas who tried to snare Malcolm for their daughters."

  "Not a very edifying line of conversation, Judith." Lady Frances took a sip of Madeira. Her lips twitched. "Not but what I shan't be interested in Letitia Harrington's reaction. She did overreach shockingly. As if Malcolm would ever have been tempted by someone as insipid as Marianne." Lady Frances turned her gaze to Suzanne. "It's something you'll have to accustom yourself to, my dear. Malcolm is the grandson of a duke, with a handsome fortune. That's like nectar to mothers with hopeful daughters to marry off."

  "Even if he is hopelessly unromantic," Gisèle said.

  Aline glanced up from her notebook. "He's not bad looking."

  Gisèle and Judith stared at her. "I'm not interested in getting married," Aline said. "But I'm not blind. In a theoretical way. I don't think I could be more than theoretical about someone who used to carry me about on his shoulders."

  Judith curled her feet up on the sofa and rested her elbow on the carved arm and her chin on her hand. "All tha
t distant, unattainable bit is quite attractive. Did you find it so, Suzanne?"

  "The point," said Lady Frances, before Suzanne was obliged to answer, "is that I fear some of the more uncharitable of these matchmaking mamas may not be best pleased—" Lady Frances, who seemed to be rarely at a loss for words, hesitated.

  "That Malcolm married a foreign adventuress?" Suzanne asked.

  "My dear." Lady Frances regarded her for a moment, her sharp-featured face softened by kindness. "Have the officers' wives been quite appalling?"

  "Oh, not in the least. They've been faultlessly polite and some of them genuinely kind. But I couldn't but be aware of the whispered comments behind the fans." Especially as it was her trade to be aware of whispered comments. "I can quite understand it. Outsiders have difficulty in many societies."

  "And in ours especially, I fear. You're a tolerant woman, Suzanne, which will serve you well. And you have beauty and originality, which do much to win over the beau monde. More Madeira?"

  CHAPTER THREE

  David sat back in his chair as the dining room door clicked shut behind footman who had served the port. "All right. Talk."

  Malcolm reached for his glass. "I was under the impression I'd been talking all night."

  Simon leaned back in his chair as well. "Doing it much too brown. We haven't seen you in two years, and two years ago you were still swearing off marriage."

  Malcolm took a swallow of port. It was a long time since he'd been with people who could read him so well. It was both a comfort and a curse. "I wrote. I quoted Benedick, as I recall. It seemed appropriate."

  "This may sound off, coming from a writer," Simon said, "but there are some things one doesn't commit to paper."