Tiri drew a deep breath. The change in the Duke was almost too much for her to adjust to in so short a time. Now his strange green eyes were warm with kindness, and his voice was deeper. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” she managed.
The Duke smiled. “Your mama will know, I am sure, what costume is de rigueur for meeting one's monarch. For yourself, of course, white.” He frowned. “But my mother will advise you.” Somehow he seemed less than certain of that, and Tiri, thinking of her unwilling hostess, began to worry. “Your mama does not really want us,” she said in a very low voice.
“Nonsense,” the Duke rallied her. “Believe me, she would far rather have you with her than with me!” He grinned at some private joke.
Tiri got the feeling that she was in unknown territory; she felt she was being moved like a pawn by forces she did not understand. She peered up into the Duke's handsome countenance, trying to discover what sort of man lived behind that complacent mask. Once or twice tonight it had slipped a little. Tiri shivered involuntarily. Most likely it was better to leave the mask alone, lest she unleash upon herself some new unpleasantness.
The Duke was scrutinizing her face as closely as she scanned his. Suddenly he broke the contact and stared around the somber drawing room with distaste.
“Does she never serve a dinner on time?” he asked of no one in particular.
“I am very hungry,” admitted Tiri.
“The food in this house leaves much to be desired,” warned the Duke.
Before she could comment upon this remarkably frank criticism, the door swung slowly open and Dani stood framed against the gloom of the hall. Tiri could see at once that her mother had chosen tonight's gown with considerable wisdom and restraint. It would not be proper for her to dazzle the dowager or seek to outshine her! Dani wore a black, low-cut gown, to be sure, but it was modestly draped with a shawl of lace so exquisitely sheer as to be almost a silken drift against the white shoulders. Her soft golden hair was dressed simply, yet managed to set off her lovely face in a shimmering frame. Tiri heard the Duke catch his breath, and a strange little thrill of resentment touched her. Why didn't he look at me like that? she wondered, and stared at her maman with critical eyes.
Dani took in the scene quickly. She moved gracefully forward, dropping an elegant small curtsey before the man. “You are the Duke of Lansdale, I am sure,” she said softly. “My daughter Tiri and I are very grateful for your patronage."
The Duke took the white hand she held out to him and bent his head over it, his cheeks flushing a little.
“Madame la Comtesse,” he said. “It is an unexpected pleasure to meet you."
Before another word could be said, a most shocking din broke out in the hall. The Duke spoke above it. “Don't be frightened, mesdames, I beg of you. This is my mother's dinner call. My father brought the gong from India on one of his trips. Mama has used it every day since it entered the house. I think my father came to regret deeply his folly in bringing the accursed thing home—"
The loud clanging suddenly ceased, and his last words were clearly audible to the Duchess as she swept into the room. She glared at her son.
“On the contrary, Daral, he often said it reminded him of me,” she snapped.
Dani's eyes widened, but otherwise she made no comment. The Duke, however, grinned sardonically.
“Just so."
His mama frowned at him. It was clear to the Frenchwomen that their hostess was not quickwitted, nor particularly intelligent. Bestowing a slight nod on her two female guests, she ordered the Duke to escort her into the dining room.
“You may follow us,” she said, at the last moment.
Dani and Tiri exchanged a glance, and the Duke's smile hardened.
The dinner was every bit as poor as the Duke had warned, and the conversation even less interesting. Long before the wretched meal was over, both Dani and Tiri were wondering whether they could, by any means, find another way to meet the King than under Lady Letitia's dubious sponsorship. When their hostess finally gave the signal to withdraw, the Frenchwomen followed her silently back into the drawing room, as exhausted as though they had walked ten miles.
“You may pour, Miss de Granville,” instructed the Duchess as they seated themselves around the small tea table. “It will give me an opportunity to assess your social skills."
Put on her mettle by this sneering comment, Tiri began to dispense the muddy-looking coffee into small cups. She had just finished a very creditable job when the door opened again and the Duke strolled in, carrying a glass partly full of brandy.
“At least your tipple is acceptable,” he said, coming to seat himself beside Dani.
“You sent it to me yourself,” retorted his mother.
“Yes.” Her son agreed with the bitter little half-smile he reserved for her.
As they all drank coffee, Tiri thought she had never tasted so nasty a brew in such hostile company. The Duke obviously disliked his mother, and she, for her part, seemed to dislike everyone. Tiri cast a despairing glance at her mother.
Dani turned at once to her hostess. “I am sure you and your son will have much to discuss,” she began, soft-voiced. “My little one and I have had a long day and are weary. May we be excused, Your Grace?"
The idea of being rid of her unwanted guests seemed to appeal to the Duchess; her manner was almost pleasant as she bid them goodnight. They escaped thankfully.
When Fallow, the butler, had closed the doors carefully after the two Frenchwomen, the Duke faced his mama with his cold half-smile.
“Now we are private,” he said, “you shall tell me exactly how you intend to launch Mademoiselle into the Ton."
The dowager gave him a resentful look. “You well know I cannot afford—” she began in a whining tone.
“You would prefer I asked another lady to be Mademoiselle de Granville's sponsor and my hostess?"
His mama glared at him. He had her, the devil, and he knew it! She must keep a hand on the helm of this debut, in the faint hope that he might indeed decide to offer for Bridget. “The reception will have to be in your new house, Daral. This place would need too much refurbishing—"
“Agreed on both counts,” said her son, glancing around at the shabby gloom with obvious distaste. Then he shocked his mother by adding, “Since the King and Queen may honor us, and Prinny certainly will."
“You will get no one who matters to meet these French adventuresses,” Letitia predicted spitefully.
The Duke grinned. “A girl received at Court? Sponsored by a reigning monarch? With a title older than that of the current House? You must be jesting!” He regarded her frustration genially. “I have let slip a few tantalizing hints of the Romantic Escape from France into the right ears—Prinny's and Lady Sally Jersey's. Both are agog. Oh, there'll be no refusals of this invitation, Mama! And it will be a Grand Ball, not a reception. Too paltry!” His patronizing smile set his angry mother's teeth on edge.
“Who is to pay for all this? The food, extra servants, the wines? And of course,” she added viciously, “new finery and accouterments for your female hangers-on!"
The Duke exhaled a breath of disgust. “So very common, my dear Mama, this eternal absorption in pounds, shillings, and pence! One would think the Malls had been in trade. No,” he snapped, when she would have protested, “spare me your bile! I shall have Ian Campbell supply you with enough of the ready to deck both our guests and yourself in new finery."
He took his leave very formally, and so quickly that his mama was denied the opportunity to bicker with him over his shortcomings.
CHAPTER 4
Unfortunately for them, Dani and Tiri had not heard the Duke's rather cynical offer to supply them with suitable costumes for their Presentation at Court and for the Great Ball which was to honor Mademoiselle de Granville. Since, for her own reasons, the Duchess made no effort to acquaint them with His Grace's generosity, Dani was left with the challenge of providing four elegant costumes from their meager resou
rces.
Tiri was appalled at the penny-pinching behavior of their English host.
"Ma pauvre petite," her mother soothed her, “you must see we are less than nothing to this Duke and his unpleasant mama! They have been forced to receive us into their household, yes; but no one has commanded that they supply us with clothing."
“If only you had not spurned Uncle Louis's offer of money, Maman!" Tiri fretted. “Not for gowns to impress our new associates, for I am sure we have prettier dresses in our trunks, and of greater style than anything this benighted town has seen! But for your own protection and security, dearest Dani. I am sure Uncle Louis would not wish to see us destitute in this foreign land! Quel dommage!"
Dani was not prepared to agree that the situation was quite as injurious or detrimental as Tiri alleged. “We have two trunks full of modish costumes beautiful enough to dazzle our rivals at Versailles,” she reminded Tiri. “I am sure we can contrive to present an appearance that will charm and impress these rather less soignée English ladies."
“One hopes you have reason,” Tiri said gloomily.
Her maman hastened to reassure her. “Hilary was telling me about the Court of English George. They are not excessively à la mode, he says. In fact, they are dowdy.” Dani giggled naughtily. “Hilary says we shall create a sensation!"
Hilary says. Tiri frowned. “When did Sir Hilary impart all this information to you, Maman?"
Dani smiled self-consciously. “He called at our hotel to consult with me—after you had retired."
Tiri regarded her delightful, exasperating little mother with deep foreboding. “I wondered why he had been so generous as to obtain separate rooms for us,” she said. “Next he will be offering to lend us money."
Dani chuckled. “He already has, my little doll.” She met Tiri's shocked stare coolly. “Hilary was afraid we would be embarrassed without a few pounds for veils and—emergencies in a strange city.” Her lovely face hardened. “Since I intend becoming Lady Conray as soon as you are settled, I had no reluctance in accepting his kindness."
“But you refused to take a sou from Uncle Louis!” protested Tiri.
“I did not expect to marry him."
Since this seemed unanswerable, Tiri went over to the massive wardrobe, opened it, and examined their slender store of costumes. “For the Presentation, will you wear the gold satin and your topazes?"
Dani pursed her rosy lips, immediately diverted by the challenge of deciding upon a suitable gown for the occasion. “No, that is my most effective costume. I shall save it for the Duke's ball. Every grande dame in the Ton will be present, eager to criticize the French interlopers, and equally eager to discover what is the latest fashion—le dernier cri!-from Paris! So, for the ball, the gold, the topazes, and I shall leave my hair unpowdered. At my age, it's my best feature. Who knows, I may even start a new style!"
Dani preened in the mirror as she carefully brushed the golden luxuriance of her hair. “Such a pity to hide it with white dust!” She handed the brush to Tiri, who began a soothing stroking of her mother's crowning glory.
“For Their Majesties’ Drawing Room,” Dani was musing, “I think something very restrained, no? The black velvet gown, the diamonds Louis gave me long ago. My hair? Poudrée, I think. En grand tenue, yes, but discreet."
“You will look beautiful, as you always do,” Tiri said sincerely. “Now what have you planned for me?"
“For the Presentation, white, of course. Very ingénue, yet exquisite. Your hair powdered. A single white rose at your corsage. Or should it be pink?"
Alas, it was discovered that Tiri's only white dress was too small. Dani quirked a teasing eyebrow. “La, la! The little golden doll is growing up!"
Tiri was happy to see that there was no trace of jealousy in her mother's laughter. It was one of the most disarming things about Dani: her complete lack of envy or resentment at another woman's beauty or charm. But the problem could become a disaster. It was de rigueur that a youthful débutante wear white. Mother and daughter stared at one another.
Then a mischievous sparkle appeared in Dani's fine large eyes. “I brought with me—for old time's sake—that negligée which Louis bought me soon after we met."
Tiri's eyes went wide. "Maman! You didn't bring that?"
Dani's chiming laugh rang out. “I couldn't resist it! If anything would reconcile me to leaving him, it is that ... creation!"
She was busily burrowing among the delicate lace and silk undergarments which filled two deep drawers in the massive low-boy. “Ah! here it is!” She shook out a robe of a silk so fine it could pass through a ring. It was exquisite, delicate, pure and shining white. But it had been made into a robe de chambre, a dressing gown of quite startling suggestiveness. Soft lace draped the low-cut décolletage; the material was cut so as to cling closely to Dani's bosom. The enormously full skirt also clung and swayed erotically to its wearer's movements.
Tiri could not repress a laugh. "Maman, if I were foolish enough to wear that to a Royal Presentation, we would both have to leave London before dawn!"
“But you don't yet understand my plan,” coaxed Dani. “When we first came to Paris, I made all our clothing. It is the one talent I possess—well, one of the two,” she amended naughtily. “I propose to make this absurd bit of frivolity serve a useful purpose at last. Put it on, petite!" She proceeded to drape the too-large garment upon the reluctant Tiri.
To the girl's surprise, the bodice of the gown, too tight on Dani, draped her own more youthful figure with a soft innocence. Dani nodded decisively. “This lace—there is so much of it, and it is as fine as gossamer! I shall remove it and make a demure fichu—very charming and ingénue. Then this voluminous skirt can easily be doubled to make the thickness we need, and still be roomy enough to fall softly."
“With a heavy underskirt, I trust,” said Tiri primly. The lush femininity of the garment was making her a little self-conscious.
Dani cast her a questioning look. “You sounded exactly like your father as you said that,” she remarked.
Tiri colored. “I'm sorry, Maman! I do not mean to be pompous or crabbed, I assure you!"
Dani sent a forgiving smile. “Nor are you, ma chérie. It is a time of strain for both of us. But we shall contrive, I promise you! There is so much of this exquisite lace in the train that I can cover the whole gown with an overlay of it. Delicious!"
Tiri was relieved to find her mother facing the challenges so creatively. It had been this optimistic, cheerful attitude which had so captivated King Louis. Nothing depressed Dani for very long.
“Now you have only to contrive another gown for me for the Grand Ball, and we shall be—"
“As fine as fivepence,” finished her mother.
Then the two women looked smilingly at one another, and in a chorus they repeated, “As Hilary says!"
CHAPTER 5
The presentation of Madame la Comtesse de Granville and her daughter Therese was a most successful fire-off. King George, looking benevolently at the charming picture made by the two elegant Frenchwomen, was pleased to welcome them and even mentioned his fellow monarch in glowing, if stilted, terms. Queen Charlotte's doubts were assuaged by the widow's somber gown and the powder which suitably dimmed the lustrous gold of the Countess's hair. No fault could be found, even by the highest sticklers, with either the appearance or the demeanor of the daughter. Mademoiselle de Granville, enchanting in soft white silk and lace, a single pure white rosebud holding together her demure fichu, kept her eyelids lowered for the most part, and her long eyelashes gently shadowed her cheeks. She was introduced to sixteen-year-old Princess Mary whose doting papa thought she might enjoy meeting the French child. Mary was so charmed that she went out of her way to talk to Tiri and make her welcome to England. There was something so wistful about the little Princess that Tiri's warm heart went out to her, and they enjoyed a very comfortable coze, the Royal Parents looking on complaisantly at the new friendship.
The Duke was pleas
antly surprised at both the appearance and the behavior of his unwelcome guests. In fact, he thought ruefully, they make my poor mama look ridiculous! It was true the Duchess was not at her best. Her chagrin at the success of the hangers-on had quite spoiled for her this chance to hobnob with Royalty at no expense to herself. She was not included in the Royal Circle, nor even among the regular frequenters of the Court. She was making the most of this occasion by preening in the gown for which she had spent every penny of the money Daral had given her for all three costumes. It had not been a wise choice. In fact, several ladies had already shared their amusement at the style and colors the Duchess had chosen.
The instant success of her unwanted house-guests was irking Lady Letitia. She longed to whisper just a hint or two of scandal about the ridiculously youthful-looking widow, and indeed was even scanning the chattering groups to find an ear when she caught sight of the Duke's austere and warning expression.
He knows what I intended, the thought stabbed at her. In fact, her son now strolled over to her side, and said, smiling, “I think not, dear Mama. The consequences to yourself and to our family honor would be too devastating. And I should never forgive you such a public embarrassment."
The Presentation was concluded within a few more minutes, and the Duke, resplendent in a gold satin coat which exactly matched his eyebrows—for his hair, of course, was powdered-led his mama and their two guests from the room as soon as the Royal Party had withdrawn. When they were safely in his new, luxurious coach, he gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“That was a close-run thing,” he remarked, smiling coldly at his mother. “I was sure you intended opening your budget to Lady Jersey."
Dani did not understand this reference, but she was pleased at the way they had been received, and wanted to soften a strangely tense moment. “May Tiri and I thank you for your most generous and gracious sponsorship?” she asked, in her soft voice.
The King's Doll Page 4
