The King's Doll

by Elizabeth Chater

  “What of your second thoughts?” he inquired silkily. “I am sure you have had them! Are you already reconciled to the match? Have you and your mama discussed the advantages of marriage to a Duke—a wealthy Duke?"

  Dani interrupted icily. “You asked the child for her honest feelings. She began to give them to you. I shall not permit you to patronize or insult my daughter.” She lifted her chin proudly. “Now that we have fulfilled the request of King Louis and presented his note to your own monarch, we shall leave this—this house which has received us so grudgingly. You may make whatever excuses you choose to your Prince and your friends!” She turned to the white-faced girl. “Come, Tiri!"

  “A dramatic gesture!” sneered the Duke. His mother was staring at him intently. Now that he had accomplished the greatly-to-be-desired end of driving the interlopers from Mall House, surely he would not jeopardize his success with further talk? But it seemed that he would. He was saying to the two Frenchwomen, who halted on their way to the door, “Do you intend leaving at once, or will you wait until your trunks can be packed and other accommodations arranged for you?"

  Dani, disconcerted by this new direction, which would seem to imply that their sponsor did not want them to leave his mother's home, scanned his face with a frown. “Other accommodations?” she echoed.

  “You did not intend to spend the night in the park or on the street, I hope?” His sarcasm greatly angered Tiri.

  She sprang to her maman's defense. “Such extreme measures, while they might be preferable to another night in this house, are not necessary! We have a friend who will be glad to give us shelter for as long as we wish!"

  The Duke frowned in his turn. “May I be permitted to know the name of this—friend? Could he by any chance be the sender of that rather ostentatious armful of red roses that was just delivered? Could your friend and savior by any chance be Sir Hilary Conray?"

  “And if he were?” challenged Tiri.

  “Quite ineligible,” snapped the Duke. “It would ruin not only your chance for a suitable marriage, but your mother's. I trust you do have marriage in mind—this time?” he taunted the older woman.

  Dani turned wordlessly to leave the room.

  Tiri was not so quickly routed. She strode toward the Duke and, taking a position in front of him, slapped his face as hard as she could. Then she followed her maman out of the room.

  As the door closed behind them, the Duchess looked at her son. “I should be delighted at what you have just done,” she said slowly. “It is, in fact, what I myself have already tried to do. Yet, Daral"—her somber visage held a kind of distress—"I feel sorry for the child. I think perhaps you went too far."

  The white mark was fading into red on the Duke's cheek. His expression was inscrutable.

  “Did you hope to dislodge them, Daral? Or did you expect such rough-dealing to bend them to your will?” his mother continued.

  “I was testing them—both of them. I must admit,” he touched his cheek ruefully, “I was surprised by their reactions. I had wondered if the woman would rail and scream like a fishwife—or, should I say, like Lady Bridget? I expected the girl would cry or even plead with me. It seems I was mistaken on both counts."

  It did not seem to his mother that he was too distressed by the outcome of his campaign. “You achieved your purpose, however. They will leave today."

  “I think not,” said the Duke. For the first time the smile that he gave his mother was not an icy one. “May I compliment you, Mama, upon your compassion for the girl? You surprise me!” and to her shock and delight he bent, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. Then he walked lightly from the room.

  As he mounted the handsome curving stairway whose side wall was graced by an excellent painting of himself by Lely, the Duke congratulated himself upon the smooth working of his plan, conceived during the dark hours after the last guest had departed from his new residence the night before. Already Step One had been accomplished successfully: to make the French filly angry enough to break off their engagement. She'd done it, the little vixen! He rubbed his cheek wryly. The purpose of the exercise, he reminded himself, was to convince him, by her refusal to wed him, that she was not a cold-hearted, mercenary schemer.

  The second step, envisioned at length in delightful fantasy as the dawn was filtering reluctantly through the smoky skies over London, was to make the fiery little beauty fall in love with him—cap over windmill, head over heels, passionately in love. He had not tried to consider what he would do in such an event. It had been the satisfying details of the fantasy that had lulled him, finally, to sleep.

  The Duke told himself, as he prepared to knock upon their bedroom door, he had only to assure himself that the chit really meant to leave, and was throwing away her chance to hold him to the engagement. Then Step Two could be set in motion. To his surprise, the door stood partly open. The Duke decided quite ruthlessly to eavesdrop.

  Having already despatched a footman to bring their trunks to their room, Dani and Tiri were busily pulling their garments out of the great wardrobe. It gave them both considerable satisfaction to release their emotions in physical exercise. Tiri, particularly, was tossing cloaks and gown onto her maman's bed with such vigor that Dani was forced to request her to proceed more gently, lest she ruin the garments.

  “And if we do?” challenged Tiri.

  “You are saying we will have little use for such costumes when we are acting as servants in someone's house?” asked her mother.

  Tiri halted and stared at her. “You plan to become a servant?"

  Dani shrugged. “I am not really trained to become a governess, and I do not think any sensible female would hire me as a companion,” she said, the mischievous twinkle back in her lovely eyes.

  “But Sir Hilary? I thought—” stammered the girl.

  “You thought I would foist us both onto the poor man? Ah, non, ma petite! When I go to Hilary—if I go,” she corrected herself, “it will be because he begs me, not because I beg him!"

  “I see,” said Tiri slowly. She sat down on the side of the bed, thinking hard. “Then perhaps I should not have been so—so—"

  “So hasty? Or so violent?” Dani chuckled. “You sprang to my defense like a young tigress, my Tiri! I am proud of you!"

  “I lost us our chance to compromise, to stay here until I am wedded,” admitted the girl, sadly.

  Dani wrinkled her pretty nose. “I do not think either of us really wanted that mariage de convenance for you, little doll. Here in this new country we are free at last from the past—its mistakes at least. Do you not agree we might begin to think of this journey from Paris, from France, as an adventure, a beginning, and free ourselves from the trappings of the past?"

  “Very poetic,” came a deep, familiar voice from the half-open doorway, “but a little impractical, don't you think?"

  Both women turned quickly to confront the Duke, but his keen glance noted that Dani did not seem as surprised to see him as did her daughter.

  “Do you have something more practical to suggest?” Dani asked.

  She knew I was testing them, thought the Duke with reluctant admiration. Now I wonder if she also guesses my other plan? He flashed them a smile that told them nothing.

  “I do have a suggestion,” he offered casually. “Accept my deep apologies for my rudeness downstairs. Agree to stay here for one more week. Then we may all go down to my estate near Hastings. Let the interest in our engagement die down—"

  “So we can break it off with no blame attaching itself to you?” said Tiri scornfully.

  “But I thought that was what you wanted,” the Duke reminded her.

  Tiri stared at him with suspicion. “I did—I do!” she agreed, too hastily. Then she turned to Dani as she thought of another objection. "Maman will not wish to leave London just now—"

  “Oh, but I will!” Dani corrected her. “It is an excellent plan!"

  Tiri noted her mother's animated expression doubtfully. “You would wish to remo
ve yourself from a certain person's vicinity?” she prodded.

  "Absence," quoted the Duke lightly, "makes the heart grow fonder." He caught their puzzled glances and grinned. “It's a quotation by a man called Davison of a saying popular about two hundred years ago. We English are always well in the lead in native shrewdness."

  Dani flashed him a naughty smile. “If the saying is true—and who would dare challenge English wisdom?—perhaps you should not come with us to Hastings?"

  The Duke laughed. “So that you can become fond of me?"

  Tiri was surprised to see a charming smile on his well-cut lips and suddenly wished very hard that it had been she, rather than her maman, who had brought that softness to his mouth.

  Dani was quipping back, “So that you may become fonder of us!"

  The Duke was reminded that he had a gift for his mother's guests—vouchers for Almacks', which he now presented. Both ladies were suitably impressed. Then Dani recalled that an invitation had been offered by the Prince of Wales for the Duchess of Lansdale and her guests to attend a soirée at Carlton House, and that the invitation had been accepted. One would not care to leave town before attending such a dazzling event as this was sure to be! So it was decided that the party would journey down to Hastings within two weeks.

  It seemed, at the time, to be a pleasant and sensible course of action, which would unobtrusively prepare for the ultimate breaking off of the engagement between His Grace, the Duke of Lansdale and Mademoiselle de Granville.

  CHAPTER 9

  Less than two weeks later, disaster struck.

  There was little cause to suspect the direction from which the blow would come or the devastating power of it. In fact, affairs were marching well for the de Granvilles, as Dani rather smugly told her daughter. There had been extravagant daily bouquets of roses from Sir Hilary, although he did not show his face at Mall House. Invitations continued to pour in for the Frenchwomen, who were becoming the Pets of Society. Sometimes Dani seemed a little distrait, but when Tiri asked the reason for her pensive mood, her mother at once brightened and told her to try a new coiffure for her drive out with Princess Mary through Hyde Park.

  Tiri wondered if her mother's unease might spring from the behavior of the Duchess. Lady Letitia's momentary softness, displayed on the day of the Duchess's At Home, was not repeated. In fact, as the social star of the de Granvilles rose and glittered over the Beau Monde, the Duchess's attitude became ever more forbidding. Since they must remain for these last few days in the dour mansion, Dani made a laudable effort to help her hostess by suggesting that she go with her to select a new gown for Prinny's soirée.

  This friendly gesture was rejected with every evidence of loathing.

  “I believe, madame,” Her Grace commented, “that I am quite capable of knowing what is in good taste in London—whatever the excesses of the French mode."

  Such a quelling reply could not be met with a civil answer; Dani merely nodded and dropped the subject. The question of her own costume for Almacks’ was exercising the Frenchwoman. She knew—none better!—how quickly the smile of Fashion can turn to bitter rejection. It seemed necessary to Dani that she and Tiri should not put forward a foot wrong in regard to their behavior or their appearance during this vital, final two weeks. There was the eternal and inevitable problem of their clothing. Two trunks were not an inexhaustible well, and since Dani refused, like a good French housewife, to accept any further monetary assistance from the elusive Sir Hilary (believing that he might have need of it all later when he took a wife), there was no money to purchase replacements for their often-worn costumes. They had managed so far by the skillful use of lace and silk shawls, fichus, exchanged petticoats, and the judicious garnish of Dani's few but excellent sets of jewels. When the Wednesday night of Almacks’ Ball and Supper approached, however, Dani knew that she must present no slightest occasion for gossip or criticism.

  She therefore decided upon the black velvet she had worn for her Presentation, with the black lace shawl doubled and draped most discreetly over her shoulders and breast. On top of this she wore the diamond parure—necklace, earrings and bracelet—that Louis had given her. But her bright golden hair! She could powder it; such was the almost universal custom. Still, it had become almost a signature of the de Granvilles, and she hated to abandon it at this point. Such evidence of insecurity would be leaped upon immediately by the gabble mongers. Then Dani's brow cleared, and she giggled softly.

  In full regalia, and with a black silk shawl draped over one arm, she made her way to the apartments of the Duchess. Her quiet knock received permission to enter. The Duchess and her dresser looked up at the somberly elegant figure in the open doorway.

  “I have come to Your Grace for instruction in the proper draping of a turban,” Dani said quietly, offering the shawl as evidence. “Your own turbans are so exactly in the mode that I dared hope you might instruct me."

  Dani waited in the doorway for permission to come further into her hostess's room.

  There was a tricky moment of silence. Then Lady Letitia, quite unable to resist the opportunity of schooling the too-attractive Frenchwoman, beckoned her in. The dresser closed the door and stood ready to implement any of her mistress's commands.

  “You are placing yourself among the dowagers tonight, then?” sniped the Duchess, pushing home the point.

  “What else?” asked Dani lightly. “I am a widow and not a contender in the Marriage Stakes. I shall be taking my place among the chaperones."

  Her salted reference to the chief business of Almacks'—the launching of a daughter or female protégée—did not seem to displease the Duchess. With the slightest lessening of her habitual hauteur, she and her dresser proceeded to drape the Countess's silk shawl into a passable turban. As they formed it, it quite eclipsed the beautiful golden hair, lending a more austere look to the lovely features. Since this was exactly the effect Dani wanted, all three ladies were satisfied with the result of their efforts.

  Tiri's eyebrows rose a few minutes later, when Dani came into her daughter's room to superintend the final touches on Tiri's costume.

  "Maman! What is that thing on your head?” burst from the girl's lips at first sight of the turban.

  Dani's solemn face broke into a grin. Then, miming a formidable hauteur, she said, “I am a Chaperone! Ready to sit among the dowagers and make waspish comments on all the prettiest ladies on the dance floor. Reputations cut up with a whisper! Beware you do not get on the wrong side of me, miss!"

  They both laughed, but Tiri still looked worried.

  “Trust me, little cabbage,” said her mother. “The word is discretion! Circumspection!"

  “That is two words,” Tiri advised, and they laughed again.

  “Now we must see to you, my little golden doll,” murmured her maman. For this most important occasion, they had decided upon a dress in palest sapphire blue, which Tiri liked least of her costumes. It was made in rather too ingenuous style to suit a seventeen-year-old with aspirations to attract masculine attention. The neckline had been high and rounded at the throat, the skirt cut so voluminously as to resemble, said Tiri, a folded tent. This carping had brought about a series of slight alterations; and even Dani, who had made them, was hardly prepared for the delightful effectiveness of the remodeled garment. The neck had been cut not round but square over the softly swelling breasts. The bunchy skirt had been reduced to a softly draped narrow fall, which served to emphasize, without exploiting, the tiny waist, slender hips, and long coltish legs. Dani went to her jewel box and extracted the sapphires that the Duke had given them both. “These are perfect with the costume,” she said firmly, “as well as being a delicate thank-you to His Grace, who is escorting us to Almacks'. You will wear them, if you please, Therese Marie!"

  Tiri, who had her mouth open to protest, closed it and put on the lovely jewels. It was not often that her mother addressed her by her full given name, or in such a voice. She glanced anxiously at herself in the mirror. The e
arrings gleamed delicately from her lobes, partly screened by restrained waves of red gold hair. The golden and sapphire bracelet set off her slender white wrist very effectively. Tiri suddenly felt armored against the hazards of London's most exclusive social club.

  The evening passed smoothly. Dani maintained her resolve to sit by the wall, placing herself unobtrusively near but not crowding the Duchess, who had her own little coterie of gossips. These did, however, include Her Grace's guest in some of the less intimate gossip, to which Dani listened with an air of polite interest. The Duke took his mama out for the first dance, then very correctly offered for Dani. Since it was a short, unexceptionable quadrille, she accepted, and performed it with dignity.

  When the Duke returned her to the line of turbaned chaperones, he asked, clearly enough to be heard by everyone nearby, “May I have the honor to lead out your daughter, ma'am?"

  Dani nodded with all the aplomb of a Lady Cowper or Castlereagh, those two despotic Patronesses. The Duke took Tiri's hand, and escorted her up to a square that was forming. He was greeted pleasantly by the other dancers, and he managed to introduce Tiri to them before the music started.

  The girl, at first nervous that she might put a foot wrong, was soon feeling more at ease. Her natural sparkle soon asserted itself, and many eyes turned to watch the beautiful little dancer. The Duke acknowledged a feeling of satisfaction at partnering the prettiest young woman on the floor. He opened the rather disjointed conversation with a patronizing, “You are looking very attractive tonight, Mam'selle!"

  “As fine as fivepence,” agreed Tiri with a twinkle in her large blue eyes.

  This startled an unexpected laugh out of the Duke, who then regarded his protégée with an admonitory eye. “A little less of the cant, Miss de Granville,” he murmured, in quite a different tone.

  Tiri smiled. “I am so happy to be out upon the floor, where, one hopes, some eligible parti may catch a glimpse of me,” she said, daringly. “Thank you for asking me."