“I wish you would call me Daral,” the Duke heard himself saying.
Tiri was willing to do more than that to placate this dazzling, difficult man; she would be willing to do anything that would help him—and solve their problem. So she said, rather shyly, “Of course, Daral, and you must call me Tiri."
The Duke was staring at her with an odd, intent look upon his face. “Why did they call you Tiri? It is a ridiculous name!"
Still trying to conciliate, Tiri explained, “It is the way I tried to say my name, Therese, when I was very small."
“I thought it might be another of Louis’ pet names for you—like poupée dorée, golden doll,” said Daral, quite unable to resist the barb from long habit in talking with his mama.
Tiri looked at him sternly. “We shall never resolve our difficulties if you persist in these sneers and taunts,” she told him.
The Duke had the grace to look ashamed—probably for the first time in his life.
Waiting a moment to see if he had anything to say, Tiri went on firmly, “Now what are we to do about breaking the engagement without harm to either of us?"
“A good question,” said the Duke, who was staring at her soft mouth. “I wish I had a good answer to it."
Regarding him for a long moment, and finding herself quite unable to read anything in that handsome mask, the girl proposed slowly, “Could we put it about that maman and I had been called back to France?—"
“After just fleeing from Paris in a panic?” interpolated the Duke with a sneer.
“You know we did not flee! We were despatched!"
“I hope that does not become general knowledge!"
Deep color infused the girl's cheeks. The Duke cursed himself for an inept and cruel bungler. Why did he keep hurting the child, when his real feelings were so different? Was it because he feared the strength of these new, too powerful desires?
The girl was going on. “We could say that Dani was recalled to Brittany to deal with family matters—the estate?"
“That would be an acceptable excuse,” admitted the Duke. “My mother and I wondered why you had not gone there in the first place."
“Because,” said Tiri bitterly, “it is quite impossible—the last place we could go! The present Comte de Granville hates and despises my mother, although she did not go to Paris until after my father died. He expected her to remain at Granville and act as an unpaid housekeeper for himself and his wife. He would never permit us to take refuge there."
“I did not know,” muttered the Duke. The girl seemed to put him in the wrong whenever she spoke. “Not Brittany, then. Still, the idea is a good one. Perhaps you could go elsewhere, and we could put it about that you had returned to the family estates. With the political situation as explosive as it is in France, it is almost impossible that anyone would be likely to prove us wrong."
“That would do,” agreed the girl. “There remains the question of our true destination."
“Have you no relatives, no friends anywhere?” probed the Duke, feeling like a murderer.
“None,” said Tiri. “We have each other, Maman and I. We shall survive.” She squared her shoulders. “Now as to details. Will you circulate the news of our—our sudden recall to France? When would it be best for us to go?"
“You have forgotten one very important matter,” said the Duke. “If you disappear from Polite Society, how will you make this advantageous marriage you so eagerly seek?"
The girl stared at him. “From what I have already seen of the Polite World, I shall not at all miss marrying into it. My mother and I have already discussed alternatives,” she said haughtily, to end the discussion.
His Grace was not to be put off so easily. “Such as?"
The starkness of the question caught her off guard. She began to stammer, “Companion ... governess...” At his smiling incredulity, she snapped, “Housemaid, if need be! It is honest work!"
“But not work to which you are accustomed,” Daral put in.
“I can learn! I am not stupid, Your Grace!"
“Daral,” he reminded her.
The girl gazed resentfully at him. He seemed much relaxed, cheerful even, as the forecast for her own future grew darker. She began to feel the stirring of that temper which so often betrayed her. With an effort of will she subdued it, and spoke in a consciously brighter voice.
“My mother has a—a possible situation in view. When she is—established, she will no doubt be able to place me."
“No,” said His Grace firmly.
The girl's eyes widened. “No?” she faltered.
“No. If you think I am going to have it known throughout London that my fiancée is the protégée of a ne'er-do-well like Hilary Conray!—"
“How dare you!” gasped the girl. “I would not be your fiancée by that time!"
The Duke ignored this. “I do not know what sort of agreement Dani has come to with that middle-aged adventurer, but you, my dear Therese, are not going to be any part of a ménage à trois-even as their housemaid! No,” halting her furious attempt to reply with an uplifted hand and an equally furious countenance, “you will be quiet, Tiri, and allow those older and wiser than yourself to get us out of this imbroglio!” He glared at the angry girl until he was satisfied that she was silenced. Then he said, more gently, “I shall order a small, closed carriage to take you back to Mall House. Tell your mama I shall wait upon you both, late this afternoon, to avoid the press of your callers.” He rose and gave her a quizzical smile. "Damn Prinny!” he said, with laughter in his voice. “As usual, rushing in with his romantic notions, when a more satisfactory solution might have worked itself out if he'd left us to our own devices!"
What was that supposed to mean? wondered Tiri, at once confused and excited by the warmth of the smile he was giving her.
Hull had the small, closed hackney waiting at the side door, on the drive that led to the Duke's stables. Daral helped Tiri in, and before he closed the door, he gave her a final warning.
“The coachman has orders to take you to the mews at the rear of Mall House, so you can slip in through the kitchen. Tell Dani I'll see you both this afternoon. And please, Tiri! No desperate decisions until we meet?” He bent over and pressed a hard kiss on her lips. “Agreed?"
“Yes, Daral,” said the girl, amazed at how easy and pleasant submission to the arrogant Duke could be.
CHAPTER 11
The invitation from Carlton House arrived that morning. Fallow took it at once to his mistress's door and gave it to her dresser with a speaking look.
Lady Letitia had never aspired to hobnob with the Royal Family. She was also aware that Their Majesties heartily disapproved of Carlton House, the private establishment of the Prince of Wales. The Duchess had certainly never expected to be invited to a mansion that was the talk of England. Yet here was the invitation, delivered by hand, writ fair upon heavy paper, requesting the presence of the Duchess of Lansdale and her house guests to dinner and an evening of music! Wild horses could not have kept her away.
Commanding her dresser to finish with her hair quickly, she sent a maid to inform the Frenchwomen of the honor to be done them. Rather to her surprise, both ladies waited upon her at once. In spite of her pleasure in the royal invitation, Lady Letitia could not resist a waspish remark. Noting their bandbox neatness and their modish gowns, she said, “You are early up, ladies! Or are you just getting to bed?"
“I have just returned from a conference with the Duke,” said Tiri quietly. “He is coming here late this afternoon to consult with us all—"
The Duchess interrupted. “You have called upon my son already this morning?” she stared censoriously at Dani. “Did you know your daughter was making such an unconventional call, madame?"
“She did not,” Tiri answered. “I believed you were as anxious as I am to have this false engagement ended."
Since this was undeniable, Lady Letitia's guns were spiked. There was now, however, the matter of the invitation to Carlton House. The Duc
hess had to admit that she owed it to the Frenchwomen. If she got rid of them too soon, there might be awkward questions asked by the Prince. She forced an amiable expression onto her features.
“Oh, I have been thinking about that,” she said airily. “I am quite sure we should do nothing to stir up conjecture until the end of the Season.” Ignoring their expressions of surprise, she went on hastily, “Did you say my son was coming today to discuss the subject? I shall try to persuade him not to do anything disruptive until the engagement has ceased to be a matter of gossip."
There seemed little to say in response to this, although Tiri was privately of the opinion that, much as she might wish the pseudo contract to continue, His Grace was not one to be lightly persuaded. Dani and Tiri went down to the morning room, where breakfast was being served. While they were eating, Fallow entered; he looked very conscious of the message he brought.
“A gentleman to see the Countess. It is Sir Hilary Conray."
Dani debated whether to ask him to join them for coffee, but reluctantly decided against it. This was not her own home; she did not feel that Lady Letitia would welcome “the adventurer.” She rose gracefully and, with a smile of reassurance for Tiri, followed Fallow to the drawing room.
Sir Hilary was striding impatiently up and down among the heavy furniture. He came to her at once and seized both her hands in his almost before Fallow had closed the door.
“Sweetheart!” breathed Sir Hilary.
Loosing her hands, he took the full, soft, fragrant body into his arms and kissed Dani's lips.
The blue eyes widened and then closed languorously. After a timeless time, she released herself gently.
The man stood back a pace. His strong lean face was tired and lined. “I have missed you,” he said simply.
“Your roses were beautiful,” Dani murmured.
“I have been—away,” he told her. “Otherwise I would have been with you every day, despite your resident dragon!"
Dani's soft throaty laughter seemed to please him. He caught her close again. "When, Dani? When can we be together?"
The woman moved a little in his embrace. Sir Hilary released her at once, but he stood staring intently down into her beautiful face.
“Do you understand at all how much I want you?” he muttered.
“Is it as much as I want you?” ventured Dani.
He caught her to him again. "Dani!"
She gazed up at him, her expression was serious. “Matters resolve themselves,” she said slowly, “but not quite as I had hoped.” She told him in a few sentences exactly the state of affairs. “The Duke is to come here late today to give us his final instructions. It appears Tiri and I shall be taking flight to Brittany—"
“No!" protested Sir Hilary. “The situation in Paris is white hot! You must not return to France!"
“We shall not,” Dani replied quietly. “No one there would welcome us. It is—how do you say?—a trick? No, a ruse, to save face for the Duke and for ourselves, too, after the Prince's interference."
“Then where do you go?” demanded Sir Hilary.
Dani shrugged. “If His Grace has no special plan for us, we shall probably go to another, smaller town—Brighton, or Bath. I shall set up as a modiste, with Tiri's help.” She smiled wryly. "Le bon Dieu knows there is room and to spare in this England for a clever needlewoman who is au courant with high style."
Sir Hilary wore a horrendous frown. “Brighton? Bath? But which—and when—and how will you get there? To say nothing of the cost of setting up a salon and keeping yourselves until your business is established! I cannot permit it!"
“No?” Dani's clear blue eyes looked straight into his worried brown ones.
Sir Hilary moved away to pace restlessly up and down the gloomy room. “Dani—” he began.
“Do not concern yourself, Hilary,” the woman said gently. “I will get in touch with you when we are settled. I have your address."
“Damn!” said Sir Hilary, and strode from the room.
Dani stared for a long time at the door through which he had vanished; her wide eyes were curiously blank.
The Duke faced a subdued trio of ladies in the drawing room late that afternoon. Under his imperturbable front seethed a deep excitement, but the time was not yet arrived to disclose his real intent. At the moment, he had instructions for them all. Speaking in a firm, almost harsh voice, he explained the roles he wanted them to play.
“We shall all go to Carlton House to Prinny's soirée. That is five days from today.” He took three packets of bank notes from one pocket of his black superfine coat and handed one to each of the women. “You will buy the most striking gowns you can acquire in the time you have,” he commanded. “I wish to see you all garbed in a style befitting my consequence."
This arrogant order was received with varying degrees of annoyance by his companions. Only his mama, however, had the courage—or the foolhardiness—to challenge him.
“This gift of money is insulting!” she fumed. “As though we were all women of easy virtue!” She glared at Dani. “Would it not be more befitting your consequence if the gowns were to be charged to your account at the dressmaker's?"
His Grace shrugged. “So long as you each get one with all the accessories."
“I have a costume,” persisted his mother.
“You have nothing that will do for Carlton House,” snapped her son. “I have no wish to be embarrassed before the Ton."
Dani, now watching them closely, almost prayed that the Duke would not suggest that his mama consult the Frenchwomen. That would indeed put paid to a scheme of her own—to coax and lure the Duchess into accepting her advice. It is little enough to do, to repay her for having us, Dani thought. Reluctant, crabbed, cheese-paring she undoubtedly is, but she gave us a roof and food and her sponsorship. It might have worked out...
The Duchess had abandoned her small rebellion and was folding the money neatly into her capacious reticule.
“As for you, Countess, and your daughter, I wish you to present your most impressive appearance. There is a gentleman who may be persuaded to offer for Therese. Oh, he is aware of the equivocal nature of our contract and does not too much regard it."
“He will be attending the Prince's soirée?" asked Tiri.
“He will. A word in your ear, Madame la Comtesse. The Prince has spoken of you frequently. He is much épris. I must advise you to be on your guard!"
Although this was lightly rather than seriously spoken, Dani failed to meet the comment with her usual sparkle of humor. Instead, she bent her golden head submissively. The other three stared at her in surprise. Tiri particularly had an anxious expression on her lovely face. What had happened to Maman? After the visit with Sir Hilary, Tiri had expected Dani to be in high gig. Instead there was almost a stunned look deep in her mother's eyes. Had she quarreled with her adventurer, who was, if Dani spoke truly, the only man she had ever wanted to marry? Poor Dani! Tiri shook her head. The foray into England was not at all working out as they had envisioned it! But perhaps it would be better, in this new land, to work out an independent life for themselves. Tiri squared her small shoulders. We shall contrive! she told herself. She did not have much faith in the mysterious gentleman who was willing to overlook her engagement to a noted peer of the realm.
Of course he could be some country bumpkin who would never get close enough to the Beau Monde again in his life to make his wife's history a drawback. Or he could be a gross nouveau riche, insensitive to slights. Would any such be welcomed at Carlton House? Tiri did not know. Certainly the Unknown would not be the young Earl of Swanden, who would assuredly have guardians to protect him from such a regrettable mésalliance!
Wearily she shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyes—to encounter the probing thrust of His Grace's emerald glance. It seemed to go through her to her very heart, a piercing cold green challenge. What do you want of me? the girl longed to cry out. Can you not let me go quietly?
As though he could r
ead her thoughts, the Duke advanced to stand before her. He extended an imperious hand and drew her to her feet. “I think it is time Therese and I talked privately,” he said in the authoritative tones that set his mama's teeth on edge. Since she was eager to count the sum her son had given her, however, she raised an eyebrow and then rose and left the room. Dani, without a glance at her daughter, followed.
Tiri stared after her. The Duke noted the direction of her gaze. “Something is wrong? Your mama is not well?"
Tiri had no wish to discuss the details of her mother's condition with the Duke. “What did you want to speak to me about?” she asked.
This was not too promising. The Duke, who had never been a womanizer, nor indeed very much interested in the run of silly débutantes who had come in his way, was not quite sure how to proceed with this difficult little filly. He could take a high hand, but that might antagonize the girl, a development to be avoided, if his plan was to succeed. Instead he tried the effect of a coaxing smile.
“Come, Tiri, why that Friday face? Am I not doing my utmost to bring about a happy ending to our little story? Let us be friends!"
Tiri stared up at him with such amazement at his change of front that the Duke was almost betrayed into a chuckle.
“You wish to be my friend?” she asked incredulously.
“Why not?” The Duke scrutinized the lovely little face with interest. He was not quite sure what it was about the girl that drew him so strongly, for she was red-haired, and he had never cared for that color on a woman's head. It denoted bad temper, he'd always thought. She was small, almost tiny, and he'd always liked tall, willowy females. Yet, small, red-haired kitten that she was, spitting fire at the slightest provocation, he couldn't get her out of his mind. She was beginning to fascinate him, so that he found himself seeing her wide blue eyes, her small straight nose, and her soft, vulnerable mouth when he should be attending to the business of his estate with his agent, or a difficult hand of cards at White's or Watier's. He caught himself going off into a foolish vagueness now as he lost himself in her sea-deep blue gaze.
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