Regency Innocents

by Annie Burrows

  She picked up her spoon again, her mind so fully locked in the tussle with Robert she didn’t notice that she spattered droplets of consommé across the snowy damask tablecloth.

  ‘I just meant that there might not need to be another war. There has not been any fighting in France …’

  ‘Only because anyone who might have opposed Bonaparte’s return has turned tail and fled. Why do you think he’s amassing an army, you silly goose? Do you think he means to march them up and down the Champs-Elysées to entertain the tourists?’

  ‘There are no tourists left in Paris,’ Charles pointed out pedantically. ‘They have all run for their lives.’

  Heloise and Robert turned to stare at him, his wife’s face creased with frustration, his brother’s lip curling in contempt.

  Flicking his finger to Giddings, Charles indicated it was time to remove the cooling soup and bring on the next course.

  To all intents and purposes things could not be progressing better. He had wanted Heloise to make her own way in society. He had wanted Robert to get well.

  He had not imagined the two events, taken in tandem, would make him feel like an intruder in his own home.

  ‘There was no need for the tourists to flee,’ Heloise said to him carefully. ‘Your Whig politicians are pressing to make the treaty with Bonaparte …’

  ‘While the allies gathered in Vienna have just declared him an outlaw!’ scoffed Robert.

  Charles frequently heard them bickering like this when they returned home of an evening. He was growing increasingly resentful that it was Robert with whom she felt easy enough to speak her mind. But that was nothing to what he felt when he heard them laughing together.

  What kind of fool resented hearing his wife enjoying herself? Or watched his own brother’s return to health and vigour with a sense of dread?

  His lips twisted in self-mockery as he dug into a dish of lamb fricassee.

  Heloise took only a small portion of the stew, which was on tonight’s menu so that Robert would have at least one dish from each course that he could manage for himself. She glowered at him as Linney spooned onion sauce onto his plate. She wished Charles would not invite Robert to dine with them quite so often. He ruined all her attempts to impress her husband with her increasing grasp of British politics. She had spent hours poring over the newspapers and questioning Cummings, to no avail. Robert took her up on every point, arguing with her until she became hopelessly enmired and tripped herself up. Confirming her husband’s opinion she was the greatest idiot he had ever met. She only had to see the mocking way he was smiling now to know what he thought of her intellectual capabilities.

  Well, she would soon wipe that smirk off his face!

  ‘So—this masquerade you take me to at the Opera House this evening. Will it be very disgraceful?’

  She had the satisfaction of causing Robert to choke on his wine. He had lectured her at length upon the importance of not telling her husband where they were headed tonight. Charles would strongly disapprove of his wife disporting herself at a venue where ladies of quality simply did not venture, he had warned her.

  ‘Of course it would be,’ he said hastily, ‘if anyone was to find out you had gone there. But I’ve taken all the precautions necessary to protect your reputation. We will both be wearing masks and cloaks, and travelling in a plain carriage.’

  Though he addressed the last part of this to his half-brother, Charles’ face remained impassive.

  ‘I say, you don’t mind me taking Heloise there, do you?’ Robert put in uneasily.

  ‘If it amuses her to go to such places—’ he shrugged ‘—who am I to deny her? I have told her she may enjoy herself exactly as she pleases.’

  She felt as if he had slapped her. Robert was always saying how generous it was of her husband to leave the Walton coach and driver at her disposal, but she knew better. He didn’t care how many servants he had to pay to keep her out of his hair. Oh, he went through the motions of squiring her to at least one event ‘every se’en night or so’, as he’d put it, ‘for form’s sake’. But she knew, from the very way he carried himself on those occasions, that he was not enjoying her company.

  ‘Well, then,’ she said, rising to her feet and tossing the napkin to the table, ‘I shall go and fetch my cloak. Tonight, Robert, you will get the proof that all I have been saying is correct.’

  Charles went cold inside. Had he just inadvertently given his wife the go-ahead to commence an affair with Robert by saying she could do as she pleased?

  He heard Robert’s chair scrape back, heard him mutter that he would wait for Heloise in the hall, but all he could see was her face—the defiant look in her eyes as she said, ‘Tonight, Robert.’

  Sweat broke out on his brow.

  Tonight.

  Around him the footmen were clearing away the dishes, removing the cloth, pouring the port.

  He had instinctively known they couldn’t be lovers. Not yet. Apart from the fact Robert was scarcely fit enough, Heloise was not the kind of woman to break her marriage vows so quickly.

  She had never been able to deal in deceit. Her father had said it was because she was too stupid, but he liked to think it was because she was too honest.

  But if he didn’t do something to put a spoke in Robert’s wheel it would happen. How could Robert not desire her when she turned those flashing eyes up at him, or laughed at one of his sarcasms? She was so full of life. It was all any man could do to keep his hands off her. And she was clearly growing increasingly fond of him. It was only natural. They were far closer in age, their tastes seemed to mesh …

  He was damned if he was going to sit at home and let his brother seduce his wife out from under him!

  Leaving his port untouched, he rose from the table and, like a man on a mission, made his way up to his rooms. He had purchased a domino and mask for a private masquerade himself, the previous autumn. If his valet knew where to lay his hands on the outfit, he would track his wife and brother down at the masquerade and observe them undetected. The grotesque devil’s mask that would cover his upper face was of red satin, matching the lining of the black velvet domino. He would look nothing like his usual civilised, conventional self in that disguise. Hell, he scarcely recognised himself any more. What kind of jealous fool stalked his wife and spied on his half-brother?

  After the dire warnings Robert had given her, Heloise was surprised to discover the Opera House was not the shabby, ill-lit lair of her imagination, but a rather elegantly appointed theatre. Four tiers of boxes, decorated in white and gold, surrounded a stage upon which people in a variety of disguises were dancing.

  ‘It’s still not too late to turn back,’ Robert urged her. ‘So far you have not stepped over that invisible line which separates you from scandal. But if you set so much as a toe across it, I warn you, you will unleash consequences so dire …’

  She tossed her head. ‘I am no coward, to cringe at the threat of these vague consequences! But if you are afraid …’

  Robert drew himself up. ‘If I am wary, it is not on my own account, I assure you.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ she taunted. ‘Isn’t it truly the prospect of the rejection of females that has you quaking like a blancmange tonight? For I cannot believe you are suddenly afraid of what Charles might do—not after some of the places you have been taking me to …’

  ‘Only because you asked me to!’ he protested, twitching her simple black domino over her evening gown. ‘For God’s sake, if we are going to stay, keep yourself covered up,’ he urged, taking her arm and tugging her towards one of the boxes on the lowest tier. ‘And don’t do anything or say anything that might give anyone a clue as to who you are. If you think you can shock Walton into taking more notice of you, you need your head examining!’

  She almost laughed aloud at Robert’s misapprehension. She had long since given up any hope of making Charles regard her with anything more than bored indifference.

  But Mrs Kenton was a different matter.


  She was not going to permit That Woman to sneer at her and pity her and crow over her for being the one who had Charles in her bed every night!

  It had been Nell, Lord Lensborough’s plump blonde mistress, who had introduced the two women one evening, when Heloise had gone unaccompanied to a small party being held by one of Robert’s friends. At the last minute he had confessed he was not feeling up to it, but, at the look of disappointment on her face, had told her there was nothing to stop her going alone.

  From the outside, the house had looked completely respectable. It had only been once she had stepped inside she’d realised she ought not to have gone. The guests had nearly all been young, single military gentlemen, who had already been growing rather boisterous. She had intended to say hello to her host, a Mr Farrar, and slip away, when Nell had come bounding up to her. The dear silly creature had noticed her looking a little flustered upon coming into a room of virtual strangers without a male escort, and decided to look after her. Being slightly foxed, she had seen nothing untoward in introducing her to the statuesque brunette who’d stood at her side. For a split second neither lady had been sure how to react.

  It had been Heloise who had recovered first. Later, when she had gone over the evening’s events, she had been proud of the way she had behaved.

  She had smiled gaily, holding out her hand to Mrs Kenton, who had been looking as if she wished to strangle poor Nell.

  ‘Is it not fortunate for us both that Charles is not here? This is exactly the sort of scene which he would dislike above anything!’

  ‘Indeed he would,’ Mrs Kenton had replied faintly, taking Heloise’s hand in a limp grasp.

  Seeing Nell’s brow finally pleating with concern, Heloise went on, with false bravado, ‘I assure you, I do not in the least mind meeting the lover of my husband. It is only what I expected when I married an Englishman. It would be silly of me to pretend I do not know he has a mistress.’

  And now that she had seen her she could understand exactly what drew Charles to this woman. Although she was a good deal older than Felice, she had the same dark hair, the same graceful carriage, even a sultry set to her lips that put her strongly in mind of her sister when she was not in the best of moods.

  ‘At least he does not have two, like Lord Wellington,’ she prattled on. ‘Or parade them about in public while shunning his poor little wife. Why he brought her to Paris at all nobody could in the least guess, if he meant to humiliate her in that fashion!’ Finally she paused to breathe, desperately hoping the bright façade she had adopted was successfully hiding her despondency.

  For Mrs Kenton was wearing the ruby necklace. The stones were magnificent, gleaming like fire against the woman’s milk-white skin, the large, central stone dipping provocatively into a cleavage that made Heloise fully conscious of her total inadequacy to compete in the bedroom stakes.

  ‘Although I suspect, myself, that he wished to prove he had beaten Bonaparte upon all suits, and probably had no idea he had hurt her. Men!’ she finished on a false laugh, fluttering her fan before her flushed cheeks.

  ‘It is very … open-minded of you to say so,’ Mrs Kenton said, with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Oh, no—I am a realist, me. And it seems silly to pretend not to know how the world works.’

  A knowing expression flickered across Mrs Kenton’s face. She purred, ‘Or to pretend that you don’t mind?’

  Heloise responded with a shrug. ‘Why should I mind?’

  The older woman’s eyes narrowed on the parure Heloise was wearing, her expression growing positively feline.

  ‘Why, indeed? He is such a generous man that any woman with an ounce of sense would always forgive his little … lapses.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘You are wise to pretend not to mind about me, my dear, just as I shall pretend not to mind about you. The one thing he cannot abide is a woman making a fuss. He hates to feel he might be losing control of a situation.’ She chuckled— a low, throaty sound. ‘Well, you know how far he takes his desire for mastery.’ She fanned herself, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. ‘My, I grow heated just thinking about his skill between the sheets. It more than compensates for the coldness of his public manners, as I am sure you would be the first to agree.’

  Heloise turned and stalked away. Round one had definitely gone to the courtesan. Though she wanted nothing more than to leave the party at once, she refused to let it look as though Mrs Kenton had driven her away.

  The second bout was fought with rather more subtlety. Mrs Kenton followed Heloise to the lady’s retiring room, where she had been trying to hide until a sufficient amount of time had passed to make it look as though she was not running away.

  Pretending she did not know anyone else was in the room, Mrs Kenton remarked to Nell, who was with her, ‘Isn’t it a good thing that Walton’s poor little wife is able to look after herself?’

  Nell blinked owlishly, hiccupped, and subsided onto a sofa.

  ‘Otherwise, who knows what would become of her? Everyone knows he is bored with her already.’

  ‘Well, I like her,’ Nell protested.

  ‘As do I!’ Mrs Kenton quickly put in. ‘Which is why I feel so sorry for her. He never goes anywhere with her if he can avoid it. One can only wonder why he married her in the first place!’

  That remark had struck her to the core. Charles had only married her to save face, and at her own suggestion. But it had been to no avail. The whole of London could already see that it was a mismatch!

  Well, one thing they would not see. And that was a bride who was not completely content with her lot. Heloise had determined there and then to prove to the whole world that nobody need feel in the least sorry for her. Particularly the patronising Mrs Kenton. From that moment she had taken pains to attend the sorts of places she was most likely to run into the woman, and demonstrate that not only did she know exactly what she was to her husband, but that it didn’t affect her in the least. She would show them all she was a sophisticated Parisienne, well acquainted with, and impervious to, the base nature of men.

  This bravado had carried her, over the next few days, to all sorts of places she had not enjoyed visiting in the least. But she would not back down. Not while that woman flaunted the rubies her husband had given her, while all she had to show for the marriage were some antiquated crystals he’d got out of a cupboard and dusted down so she would not look as though she had nothing! And if she could face down her husband’s mistress at every turn, Robert could learn to deal with his own demons.

  ‘Robert,’ she said now, more gently, laying a gloved hand on his arm, ‘your limp will not deter a woman who has a good heart.’

  ‘Nor my face?’ he scoffed.

  ‘Ah, but tonight it is covered.’ She reached up to adjust the set of his white velvet mask, which matched her own. ‘Any woman you approach will see only your eyes, burning with admiration for her. She will see how determined you are to approach her, and she will think, My, how he must want me. You will not give her commonplace flatteries about the colour of her hair, or the magnificence of her figure—non! You will tell her that no other woman has such beauty of spirit. You will see beneath the trappings to the very heart of her. And her heart, it will be in your hands before the end of the very first dance.’

  ‘I shall sound like a complete coxcomb if I dish out that kind of cant,’ Robert grumbled. ‘Then I’ll probably catch my false leg in her skirts and trip her over.’

  ‘Ah, no! The coxcomb is the one who pays tribute too prettily, not meaning half of what he says. You will let your lady see that you need her. Every woman wants to feel she is the only one who can answer the needs of her lover’s heart.’

  ‘Sounds like a load of hokum to me,’ huffed Robert from the dark corner of the box where he was hunched. ‘Shall I prove it? Shall I do as you have suggested, and make a complete fool of myself?’

  ‘That,’ replied Heloise with some asperity, ‘was the whole reason for coming to a masked ball. So that you coul
d try out the technique on some girl who does not in the least matter to you, rather than make the cake of yourself before your friends. There!’ Heloise took his arm and indicated a female in a pink domino, who was casting them an occasional look from a box directly across the stage from where they sat. ‘She is looking your way again. Go and ask her to dance!’

  The masked damsel shot him a coy look, before turning away and fanning herself with vigour.

  ‘Hell, what have I got to lose?’ Robert finally said, pushing himself out of the chair.

  It was not until he had left her alone in her box that Heloise realised just how vulnerable she was to the attentions of the masked revellers who leered at her over its edge. This was not the first time since embarking on her private little battle with Mrs Kenton that Heloise had felt completely out of her depth. But it was the first time she had sensed she could be in real danger. Even in private gaming hells there was a code of conduct which ensured her personal safety. But here the drunken bucks who made free with the females clearly felt they had the right to do so. For the type of females who came to such a place did not expect the same consideration as would a lady of quality. Indeed, she had not seen any woman here display reluctance towards any advances made upon her.

  It was quite terrifying when a large male, clad in a black silk domino topped with a red devil’s mask, stepped over the edge of the box without so much as a by-your-leave.

  The domino parted as he took the chair beside her, revealing the stuff knee breeches of a tradesman.

  ‘All alone, my pretty?’ he slurred. ‘How about a kiss?’ He lurched forward, assailing her nostrils with gin fumes.

  ‘Non!’ she gasped, shrinking back into her chair.

  ‘French, hey?’ the stranger responded, cocking his head to one side. ‘Not a good time to be a Frenchwoman in London, is it? Though you are the prettiest one I’ve ever seen. Let me see you better,’ he said, reaching for the strings of her mask.

  ‘You must not!’ she cried, rapping him over the knuckles with her fan. It was imperative that her mask remain in place. Charles would be furious if he ever found out she had revealed her face at such a place as this!