He really looked so handsome, standing in the light of the many-candled chandelier, his golden head gleaming, his dark green velvet coat almost the exact color of his remarkable eyes, that his mama felt a strong emotion to ... do what? She had never practiced either love or gentleness with her family, and she did not even recognize the tenderer emotions when they tried to struggle through the hard shell that years of selfish, insensitive behavior had built. She shrugged her bony shoulders and changed her direction.
“Well, as Duke you must receive the message, and it is for you to act upon it as you wish. I do not wish these foreign females to stay in my house!"
“How did you know the letter concerned two female protégées of King Louis?” the Duke asked idly, making a business of seating himself in a chair opposite his mother's.
His mama fell into the trap. “I read—” she began, and then paused as she observed his bitter smile. “It was addressed to your father,” she tried to excuse herself.
“But my father has been dead for over a year. Is the envelope inscribed to George, Duke of Lansdale? Perhaps you should let me see this so-urgent communication."
Silently she handed the heavy vellum to him. The Duke scanned the superscription carefully. As he had expected, it was addressed only to His Grace, the Duke of Lansdale. Without glancing at his mother, Daral opened the missive and extracted the note within. It was evidently written by Louis himself, a wretched scrawl. Probably did not wish to trust the incriminating contents to the eyes of any secretary, however loyal, thought the Duke cynically. The note was brief. It stated that Danielle, Comtesse de Granville, and her daughter, Tiri, were valued friends of Louis, who requested that his old friend George, Duke of Lansdale would accept the two ladies into his household and present them to their Britannic Majesties at a suitable opportunity. In addition, he would be pleased to have the Duchess sponsor Mademoiselle Tiri into English Society—"so little Tiri may make a good marriage. I have known la petite poupée dorée since she was nine years old,” the note continued with considerably more warmth than the first half had evinced. “She is a charming child and should do well. It should be a pleasure for you to have her in your house,” added the King; he then expressed brief thanks and signed the note “Louis” in an almost indecipherable scrawl.
The Duke stared thoughtfully at the hastily written message. “I wonder how she forced him to write this,” he mused.
“I should think it would be easy enough to guess,” snapped his mother. “That kind of woman!—"
“But the daughter?"
“Louis's, of course!"
“When he expressly informs us he met her when she was nine years old?” mocked her son, his fine eyes glinting like emeralds.
“All lies,” the Duchess sniffed. "Men!" This last was uttered in a tone of such loathing that the Duke gave his mother an assessing stare.
“I hardly think the King of France would wish to force an illegitimate daughter upon the King and Queen of England,” he said, his mildness a rebuke to her venom, “much less propose that she be introduced as a débutante by you, my dear Mama. No, we shall probably find that she really is the child of some petty nobleman. And you do not have to introduce the mother,” he added, with a false kindliness which set his mama's teeth on edge.
“I shall accept neither of the females into my house,” she said coldly. “Since you have so much admiration for your papa, you may take over his responsibilities.” And then she presented the ultimatum which had occurred to her as a solution of her greatest problem. “Unless, of course, you wish to return to live here as you should do. In such case, I would agree to chaperone these—women."
The Duke, still smiling, dropped his own bomb. “I am to move into my new home this afternoon,” he informed her. “It is in Grosvenor Square, and I think you will agree it is much more beautiful and impressive than this house. It will, of course, be known as Lansdale House, the official London residence of the Duke.” He gave her the small smile she so detested. “You will have to retitle this place Mall House, will you not? Since it was your father's home, or his father's? Or perhaps you will choose to call it the Dower House?"
He watched the changing expressions which moved over her features—shock, chagrin, rage. Perhaps it was unworthy of him to use her so? Then, remembering the years of his father's martyrdom, he hardened his heart.
Lady Letitia surprised him again with her strength. “Whatever I call it, my house will not be open to entertain a pair of soiled women,” she said harshly. “You had better make arrangements to receive them in your fine new home at once. I have just had a note from the older female, who urges that I permit them to call upon me without delay. I'll send them off to you."
The Duke acknowledged the hit. “You know that without a suitable chaperone I cannot house such ladies in a bachelor's establishment,” he said; then, shrewdly, “What would dear Lady Bridget say?"
This was a telling blow. For three years Lady Letitia had tried to force his distant cousin, Lady Bridget Mall, down her son's throat. The girl was presentable, but there was something about her eyes which reminded him too much of his mother. The very thought of marrying Bridget sent a cold chill through Daral's body. Better, as he had perhaps inadvisably retorted, to marry a bronze griffin than that hard-eyed, cold-hearted girl. Perhaps he could use his mother's matchmaking plans to fight off this latest challenge. “You know our dear little cousin would never agree to marry me if I had two dazzling French courtesans in residence!"
This brilliant riposte quite halted Lady Letitia's attack. She glared at her son, disbelief warring with hope, anger warring with dismay.
“Are you telling me you are considering offering marriage to your cousin?” she managed at length.
The Duke shrugged airily. “I should be wasting my time even considering such a course if I am compelled to house two ladies of questionable virtue in a bachelor's ménage,” he said, “and no, do not tell me again that I must return to live in your house. I shall not do so."
The Duchess tightened her lips. He had bested her again! He knew—the devil!—that she wanted above all things to marry him off to the daughter of her childhood crony and cousin. Once safely tied to the formidable Lady Bridget Mall, Daral would soon become amenable to, if not enthusiastic about, her demands. She acknowledged defeat in characteristic fashion.
“When is the engagement to be announced?"
“When I am satisfied that King Louis's two protégées are well and truly launched into London's Beau Monde,” said the Duke crisply. “If there is any trouble, any spreading of scurrilous rumor, even if your hand is not obvious in the canard, I shall of course offer for some other lady.” At her gasp of surprise, he continued, smoothly, “Oh, I have listened to your tirades over the last year, Mama, and I begin to think there is much in what you say. The Line needs an heir. If not Bridget, perhaps some other well-born female will suit my requirements. There are two beautiful girls of even better lineage than Bridget among the débutantes this season, had you noticed? Perhaps Lansdale would benefit from an infusion of nobler blood than the Malls'."
The Duchess set her teeth. He had her there, as well! She was an ambitious woman, but she had not let her obsession with controlling her son blind her to the larger opportunities that his title, his wealth, and his personal beauty could provide. And yet! It had been her dream for so long that her son should marry the daughter of her cousin and best friend! She nodded her head, conceding yet another victory to this unnatural child.
“I shall receive the King's—protégées here tomorrow,” she agreed. “You will of course be here?"
The victor had no intention of conceding an inch. “I shall try to, Mama, I shall try!” he sighed theatrically. “Moving one's household to a new home is so demanding!—"
He rose, bowed in correct form, and departed, leaving his enraged mama to pace her dingy drawing room in a fury of envy and frustration.
CHAPTER 2
Tiri de Granville scowled at the im
posing mansion before which the hired carriage had stopped. It seemed to the girl that she had been traveling a great deal of late, arriving at temporary stopping places where she was neither known nor particularly welcome. It was too much to hope, the thought came despairingly, that this gloomy chateau in dank, rainy London would be any different. Why should an English Duke and Duchess make welcome two unknown foreigners? And more especially, a Frenchwoman whose maman had been singled out by the King of France for special favor? Though she was only seventeen, Tiri was bright and alert and knowledgeable beyond her years. She had heard and understood only too well the sniggering hints and innuendoes which had been bandied about the inner circles at Versailles. She lifted her chin proudly. Her own lineage was flawless. Her papa had been the Sieur de Granville, a crabbed but fiercely proud Breton whose line could be traced back to the thirteenth century. And it was not Tiri's fault that her beautiful maman had left Brittany the day he died, taking her child with her, and never returned to the estate that was now the property of a distant cousin of the ‘Sieur. Dani de Granville had been under the patronage of a charming Marquis when King Louis beheld her, and had been the monarch's special friend since that day; she was cheerful, undemanding, reassuring. Probably one of his few real friends, thought Tiri crossly, recalling the lonely, austere monarch whose irresolution and lack of political shrewdness was costing him his throne.
The girl shrugged. Her maman had a letter from the King to this Duke, requesting him to give a home to his great friend and her daughter until they could find suitable quarters for themselves. Then last night, in the small but clean hotel that Sir Hilary had found for them, Dani admitted that the King had not bestowed upon her the largesse which the Englishman, and indeed, Tiri herself, had supposed he would do.
“I could not take it,” Dani had pleaded. “While I was honored by his friendship, yes! But now, dismissed like a kitchen maid!—I refused the purse he offered me."
“Good God!” breathed Sir Hilary, and viewed Dani very thoughtfully.
Tiri was less restrained. "Maman!" she half wailed, “you did not set off to a foreign country with only a few francs in your reticule? What are we to do?"
“The Duke of Lansdale will provide,” said Dani a trifle austerely. “We have Louis's word on it."
“But for how long?” demanded Tiri. “And with what lack of enthusiasm? We cannot even offer vails to his servants! Nor, for that matter, can we pay the bill at this—inn!” And she glared at the blameless Sir Hilary as though he were the villain of the piece.
Hilary found himself grinning. “I admit that the Bull and Crown is not Versailles,” he teased, “but you are my guests here, and I shall see you safely to your ducal mansion.” He gave Dani a particularly warm smile. And when this tetchy little daughter of yours is safely shackled, that smile seemed to promise, perhaps you and I?...
Dani's answering smile set his heart to pounding.
Even Tiri was caught by the gentle sweetness and promise in her mother's countenance.
But that had been last night, at the Bull and Crown. Today the two women faced a difficult interview. “Foisting ourselves upon complete strangers,” Tiri had muttered crossly.
Dani had not attempted to soothe her daughter's fears. “Yes, in a sense I suppose that is exactly what we shall be doing in a few minutes,” she admitted coolly. “But our sponsor is unexceptionable, and if we behave as women of breeding, we shall be accepted. You, at least, will be accepted. I shall make it clear that I do not wish to be introduced into the Haut Ton. My association with Louis will no doubt leak out, and I have no desire to encounter snubs and cold shoulders from haughty dames who could not lure even their own husbands into their beds!"
Tiri stared wide-eyed at her maman. It was the first time she had heard a note of bitterness in her mother's voice. “But what will you do?—” she faltered.
“I shall behave very much as the elderly chaperone, refuse to attend most parties; I shall sit along the wall with the dowagers if compelled to go. I shall play least-in-sight,” she added with relish.
Sir Hilary! thought Tiri. He has been teaching her his English patois—cant, it was called in London. She frowned. “And after I am suitably betrothed—if indeed such a feat is not beyond even a Duke's power—what will you do then?"
“I shall marry Sir Hilary,” announced Dani happily.
This was worse than Tiri had feared. Her maman had succumbed to the persuasions of the raffish Sir Hilary! Her mother, reading her expression correctly, gave her charming gurgle of laughter.
"Tiri Your expression! Is it that you do not wish Maman to make un manage de convenance?"
“An arranged marriage, yes! That would give you security in this cold, unfriendly land. But Sir Hilary! Maman, is it true he has offered to marry you?"
Dani looked delightfully wicked. “Not yet, poor man! But he will think of it soon enough, I promise you. I shall see to that!"
Tiri found herself quite unable to respond to such lighthearted folly. If Dani had succumbed to Sir Hilary's undoubted charm, he would no doubt lose little time in setting up a ménage à deux in his small but luxurious lodgings, which he had given them a glimpse of yesterday evening. It was obvious this limited accommodation did not provide room for a young girl. Tiri's only hope was that Dani would remain with her until she was safely launched as King Louis had originally planned. She glanced at her mother as the coach, hired by Sir Hilary, trundled along the road. Thank goodness that volatile little lady had agreed to come with her! It would have been too embarrassing to approach a stiff English nobleman and his lady by herself and request that they give her shelter.
The coachman was down off the box and holding the door open. Dani accepted his hand to descend to the flagstones before the massive, gloomy residence Tiri, hopping down lightly, felt herself shiver. To be forced to live in this mausoleum would be bad enough. To live there without Maman's cheerful insouciance would be disaster! Sir Hilary must be discouraged! She turned to her mother with the intention of urging one final plea—
Too late. The heavy doors were swinging open, a butler and two footmen in somber liveries ushered the visitors into a barnlike hall which smelt, to Tiri's sensitive nostrils, both musty and damp. Then the butler was ushering the ladies into a cavernous drawing room filled too full of ancient, heavy furniture.
“Your Grace!” he announced. “The Comtesse de Granville and Mademoiselle de Granville!"
He didn't do that too badly, considered the girl. He got his tongue around the French quite competently. Perhaps he's been practicing. Dani had written her note to the Duke two days ago, explaining the situation in detail. Yesterday the reply had come, inviting them to call today at three. So here they were.
The gaunt female who stood staring at them was enough to daunt the stoutest heart, Tiri decided. She was very plain-looking, and although she was dressed formally, it was not, to the French girl's knowledgeable gaze, in high style. It was in fact a conservative rendering of a fashion several years out of date at the French Court. The lady appeared to be scrutinizing her two visitors with less than enthusiasm. After too long a wait she moved forward a step and indicated two chairs.
“Will you be seated? Then perhaps we can discuss this—this matter."
All three ladies seated themselves. For once Dani's lighthearted aplomb seemed to have deserted her. After a pause, she dipped into her charming reticule and drew out a lace handkerchief scented with a ravishing perfume. The Duchess's nostrils flared.
“Did the Duke have time to read the letter from King Louis, Your Grace?” Dani asked in her prettily accented English. “I had hoped to speak to him today—but since he seems not to be here...” she ended upon a soft note of inquiry.
The Englishwoman stared down her long nose at the delicately painted, tastefully gowned females. She dared not permit the creatures to worm their way into Daral's good graces. To have them as his guests would do irreparable harm to Letitia's plans. She must appear to accept their presence
in her own home with equanimity—but must try to make them so uncomfortable that they would return to France—or at least go elsewhere in London to stay! Armed with this resolve, she said nastily,
“My husband has been dead for over a year. I am scarcely out of black gloves and cannot guarantee that you and the young miss will find my activities sufficiently amusing to entertain you. My son, the present Duke, may attend us—hopes to attend us later this afternoon. Unavoidable business has prevented his being here to greet you.” She frowned heavily. “Since I am to be involved in this visit, perhaps you will tell me just what is your purpose in coming to this house.” Perhaps that will get rid of them before Daral sets eyes upon them, she thought spitefully.
Tiri caught her breath at the crude challenge in the Duchess's remarks. Either the woman was completely insensitive, a boor, or else she was angry at the arrival of the Frenchwomen. The girl stared hard and tried to read the pinched, narrow features beneath the unfashionable wig.
Dani had recovered her composure. “I shall be happy to explain the situation to you, Your Grace,” she said, in that soft voice that men found so pleasing. “King Louis has requested asylum for me and my daughter in London until the current unrest in Paris has settled. The King had some knowledge of your husband?” She interrupted herself and glanced with inquiry at the older woman.
“Yes,” that dame said grudgingly, “my husband did visit the French Court some years ago, and he was presented to your monarch. He sometimes spoke of his—of his experiences in Paris. King Louis was graciously pleased to include my husband in several of his entertainments."
“That is what I was given to understand by His Majesty,” Dani went on pleasantly. “When it became apparent that difficult times loomed ahead, many of the nobility decided to seek new homes in other countries, where the system of monarchy was still respected. Some of them chose the hospitable shores of England for this retreat,” she added. “King Louis most kindly assisted us to reach this haven."
The King's Doll Page 2
