The King's Doll

by Elizabeth Chater

  “Miss Therese!” he said, as sternly as though she had been the one at fault.

  Her small face took on a worried expression. She answered his earlier question a little hesitantly. “I have not been ignorant of the trouble to which you and your mother have been put as a result of King Louis's high-handed request that you give us sanctuary,” she faltered. “Nor have I been unmindful of your continuing kindness. My reluctance to believe in your offer of friendship springs, I think, from my own embarrassment at being a cause of distress to you—and from my inability to repay your benevolence."

  This did not please His Grace. It seemed to lock their association into a bounty giving-charity receiving framework that seriously inhibited the kind of relationship he wanted to establish. He was not a green lad, however, and began to understand how to deal with the problem. He smiled disarmingly.

  “I accept your thanks, and must hasten to assure you that entertaining your charming mother and yourself has been an unalloyed pleasure. Your style, your beauty, your winning ways quite enhance my own reputation in the Ton."

  Tiri's eyes opened wider, if that was possible. He liked her! He was not bored, disgruntled, annoyed! She returned his smile with a curiously sweet softening of her own expression. “Thank you, Your Grace."

  The Duke mimed gentle exasperation. "Daral, if you please, Tiri! How often must I ask it of you?"

  “Thank you, Daral,” murmured Tiri, blushing adorably.

  “You know,” said the fascinated nobleman, “your cheeks become peach-colored, rather than red. Blushing does not conflict with your—auburn hair."

  Tiri chuckled. “I know I should powder it, but it's such a bother!"

  “Never seek to hide it,” urged the Duke. “I believe you might have started a new trend, except for the fact that few women have hair whose color is so beautiful!"

  In perfect charity with one another, The Duke and his mother's guest seated themselves together upon a loveseat. This cozy proximity so delighted the Duke that he launched happily into a recital of his plan for the next few days.

  “We must be seen together,” he told the wide-eyed girl. “With adequate chaperonage, of course!” he added sternly. The girl nodded.

  Pleased with this acquiescence, Daral went on, “Tomorrow we shall invite your mama to accompany us upon a picnic—une fête champêtre, you would say? It has seemed to me that our London reek has stolen the roses from her cheeks. Then, the following day, you both must come to my home for a lesson.” He paused, eyebrows provocatively raised, for her inevitable question.

  Tiri did not disappoint him. “A lesson, Daral?” she challenged. “In what—or dare I ask?"

  “Waltzing,” replied the naughty creature. “When next we appear at Almacks', I cannot have it said we are awkward with our steps!"

  Tiri was the victim of an irresistible urge to laugh aloud, to sing, to waltz. Whatever the devious gentleman had in mind, Tiri was ready to try it. She felt herself unfolding to his charm like a flower in strong sunlight. In spite of this surge of emotion, she was able to restrict her response to a simple, “Oh, yes, Daral!"

  It seemed to satisfy His Grace. “That will occupy two days—” he began judiciously.

  “Could we not ... practice the waltz more than once?” suggested Tiri, greatly daring. “We may find that I am a slow learner, and I would not wish to embarrass you at Almacks'."

  The idea of holding the delectable little armful close to his manly frame upon several occasions and to music, at that, which would involve a deal of swaying and providing directional pressures-was so intoxicating to the Duke that he was forced to cough to relieve a tightness in his throat. “We must indeed practice more than once,” he agreed, already regretting the involvement in the picnic the following day.

  “Time must also be set aside for the choosing of a suitable costume for the Prince's musical evening,” added the girl practically.

  “Surely that will not take up too much time,” objected Daral, already begrudging every minute not given to practice of the waltz.

  Terri was forced to smile gently at such naiveté. “Quite a bit, I should say,” she informed him. "Maman and I will wish to make you proud of us—or at least,” she amended, “not ashamed."

  The Duke took her hand. “That would be impossible!” he averred so positively that the girl's heart accelerated with a stronger beat.

  Only the entrance of Lady Letitia, avid to know what was the subject that was keeping her son closeted with the little French girl for so long, prevented him from translating speech into action. At his mother's, “Ah! There you are, Daral!” he rose with what civility he could dredge up and bowed slightly.

  “I have finished outlining the program I intend to follow in the days preceding the Prince's soirêe," he said, rather less composedly than he would have wished.

  His mama peered suspiciously at Tiri and the Duke.

  The girl was cool enough remarkably collected considering the waves of alternating delight and alarm that were battering at her poise. She now rose and sketched a pretty curtsey at the Duchess. “I shall rejoin my maman now,” she said. “There is much to be done to prepare for the Prince's entertainment."

  She found Dani in their room, considering their costumes. She looked up as her daughter entered and smiled a greeting. Tiri was so pleased to see her maman free of the listlessness that had so alarmed her that she ran forward and hugged Dani.

  “Where shall we go for our dresses, Maman?" she asked eagerly.

  Dani pursed her lips. “We scarcely know the city, pet, and we can hardly rely upon our hostess to guide us to the most modish dressmaker in London!” They shared a speaking look.

  Then Tiri offered hesitantly, “I had wondered if we might not help the Duchess with her choice—"

  Dani nodded resolutely. “Exactly my own idea. But it must be done so carefully! She is as prickly as a thornbush!” They considered the idea in silence, and then Dani said quietly, “I shall probably get my head bitten off, but I think I shall make the attempt—for the Duke's sake, if nothing else."

  Tiri agreed wholeheartedly with that reasoning.

  Giving herself a critical glance in the mirror, Dani set her shoulders. “Wish me well, ma petite." Her smile was steady.

  "Bonne chance, Maman!" the girl replied with equal courage.

  A few minutes later, Dani was tapping lightly at the door of the Duchess's suite. A harsh voice from within bade her enter. When she did so, she was met by a rather surprising sight. Lady Letitia was alone, and she had several dresses spread out on her heavy fourposter bed.

  Pleased that the subject was, in a sense, already introduced, Dani came directly to the point. “Ah, madame, I see that we both have the same problem. I had wondered if you might be so gracious as to introduce me to your dressmaker."

  “Why should you wish that, when it is obvious that you do not at all admire my appearance?” demanded the Duchess with logic.

  This was going to take more than courage or good luck, Dani decided. Perhaps the key was honesty. She looked serenely into the older woman's face and proceeded.

  “Your son wishes us all to do him proud at the Prince's soirée. I know that I can help you to appear well. Will you let me try?” There, it was out! Complete honesty; complete willingness to help. Dani waited for the other woman's response.

  There was a longish pause, and then the Duchess said harshly, “Why should you bother? We have not been on friendly terms, madame."

  “I bother because Tiri and I wish you to please your son. You have given us shelter in a strange country. We are in your debt for that."

  Lady Letitia went down with flags flying. “I did not want you here, and I have not tried to make your stay pleasant—for various reasons. Still, I would be—grateful if you could give me some of your alamodality."

  Dani's shoulders relaxed. “A pleasure, madame! Now, we have five days. If you know of a good little seamstress, I can help her to design and cut out something that will please y
ou. The color, I think, should be soft, possibly a green but not emerald. That is too harsh.” She rattled on to prevent the Duchess from changing her mind. “Tonight we will sketch some flattering styles. Tomorrow, we buy the cloth—velvet, I think. It is soft, yet it has dignity."

  “Why green?” asked the Duchess warily.

  “Because your eyes have a fascinating green tint to them. Your son must inherit them from you! It would be a charming tribute to emphasize their color, don't you think?"

  Lady Letitia looked as though she had never in her life had such a thought. Still, the wariness was gradually leaving her expression and was replaced by a wakening interest in the project at hand. “Green velvet?” she murmured. “I do not think I have had a gown of that material before."

  “And now the sketches,” Dani encouraged her. “Have you pens and paper we may use?"

  While these were being sent for, Dani took a penetrating, if guarded look at Lady Letitia's figure. The result pleased her. “We are indeed fortunate in your figure,” she announced.

  At once her hostess resumed her suspicious look.

  Dani hastened to explain. “If you were one of those obese creatures whom we saw waddling about at Almacks', it would be hard to create the elegantly simple effect I have in mind. You have slenderness and good bones. Also you carry yourself with pride—if perhaps a little stiffly. Yes, we shall do very well!"

  The pad and pen were delivered and Dani drew out a small table and seated herself at it. She looked from the Duchess to her sketching and back again. The older woman seemed rooted to the spot; hope and suspicion warred in her countenance. Shortly Dani held her head back, cast a final look at her hostess and said, “Voila! Tell me what you think, madame!"

  Almost reluctantly the Duchess stepped forward and took up the sketch. She stared at it in silence. Then she scowled at Dani.

  “I do not look like this! You are making a fool of me!"

  “On the contrary,” said Dani positively, “you will look better than that when I have finished with you. I intend to apply your maquillage also, madame! We Frenchwomen have some secrets I shall share with you."

  Looking both scandalized and fascinated, Lady Letitia said slowly, “I have no maqu—no paints, madame."

  “I have enough for us both,” Dani assured her, and for the first time in the consultation, she smiled.

  The Duchess stared hard at the lovely little Frenchwoman. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded, all her doubts and fears clearly revealed.

  Because my foolish daughter loves your son, Dani was tempted to say, but the secret was not hers to reveal. So she met the other woman's gaze openly and replied, “Because I cannot bear to see any woman looking so much less than her best."

  Lady Letitia accepted the truth of that remark.

  The Duke's plans for a picnic had to be postponed for the day, as he discovered when he arrived, unfashionably early, at Mall House. He was informed by a curious Fallow that all three ladies had gone out to scour the shops for bolts of cloth, ribbands, and slippers—and Heaven only knew what other fripperies. When challenged by the irate Duke, he confessed that he had had his information from Her Grace's dresser, who was even more agog than her mistress. At first His Grace was inclined to be sullen at the betrayal of his plans for the day, but oddly enough, Fallow's excited interest in the acquiring of alamodality by his mistress soothed Daral's ruffled feelings.

  “So they are seeking to bring Mama into style,” he grinned. “I can hardly wait to see the results!"

  This treat was denied him for the moment, however. After two hours of kicking his heels in the morning room and drinking his mama's indifferent coffee, the Duke left Mall House in rather a huff, stopping only long enough to deliver the message that when—or if!—the ladies had need of him, he might be found at his home, or he might not!

  And that will teach them a lesson! grinned Fallow behind the Duke's back, as he closed the front door softly. The whole staff were much interested in the changes that seemed to be taking place since the Frenchwomen arrived. The consensus was that it had been A Good Thing: invitations to the Palace, and Almacks', and now to Carlton House! New clothes for the mistress! Perhaps there might even be more money spent on food, ventured an under-housemaid. This gullibility was laughed at, but even the gloomiest member of the staff was forced to admit that things had changed for the better at Mall House.

  The Duke heard no more from the wayward ladies until later that evening, when one of milady's footmen arrived with a note from Tiri. In it she explained that the ladies were working very hard to do His Grace justice at Carlton House, and that he must have patience with them, since it was all being done for his sake.

  “I beg leave to doubt that!" muttered Daral cynically. He was a little mollified by a hastily scribbled footnote: “Dear Daral, I was so very sorry to miss our picnic, but perhaps I can slip away tomorrow for my waltz lesson while your mama and mine and the seamstress are busily engaged."

  This thought so soothed His Grace's ruffled feelings that he was quite in charity with his mama and Dani, and he resolved to place the violinist whom he had hired to play for the waltz lessons behind a handsome Chinese screen—just so his presence in the ballroom would not cause Tiri to feel constraint or embarrassment. In fact the thought of the morrow's exercise so pleased the Duke that he ate his supper with excellent appetite, and he behaved with special kindness toward all the staff who came into contact with him.

  He was ready betimes the following day, although his valet had acquired a nasty headache at his master's vacillations.

  “Made me change his coat three times, he did,” the valet complained to Hull later in the day. “And a full bath this morning, as well as the new scent he puts on his face after I shave him!"

  “Be thankful that's all he made you do,” said Hull repressively. “We've had to change the flowers twice in the ballroom, and Chef is beside himself with the contradictory orders he's been getting. You'd think we were entertaining Royalty!"

  In spite of all the grumbling, the staff at Lansdale House were almost as excited as their master when the closed carriage drew up in front of the house just before noon. A small veiled figure, accompanied by a grim-looking maid-servant, descended and hurried up into the front hall.

  “His Nibs won't like that," said Hull, as he watched the maid follow her mistress into the house. Inspired to an almost fanatic loyalty, he required the woman to accompany one of the footmen to the kitchen for a cup of tea while she waited.

  The Duke observed this skillful maneuver from the first landing, where he had found reason to linger for the last quarter of an hour. Resolving to give Hull an increase in salary that very day, he sauntered down with every appearance of arrogant calmness to greet his little veiled visitor. Taking her small cold hand warmly in his large one, he led her to a cheerful morning room where a tempting collation was set out.

  This sight so reassured the girl that she removed her shrouding veil quickly and beamed upon the Duke and the well-laden table with impartial pleasure. The Duke seated her and took his place at her side.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” he said, with startling originality.

  “Oh, yes, Daral!” was the brilliant reply.

  Both began to eat; they found it a good excuse to avoid talking for the moment. Very soon, Tiri was aware of the excellence of the repast. “This is delicious!” she exclaimed. “You must have a French chef!” Then, feeling perhaps that this artless comment might be offensive to an English nobleman, she said “Oh!” and blushed.

  The Duke was enchanted by her perceptivity and wit.

  When the delightful meal was at last finished, the two rose and smiled into one another's eyes. Then the Duke led his guest into the vast, empty ballroom. They had no sooner entered than the sweet notes of a violin sounded, playing a sprightly tune.

  Tiri looked up shyly at the Duke. “It is like magic,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” agreed the Duke, and he took her into his a
rms.

  The lesson, while rather lengthy, was much enjoyed by both teacher and pupil. Eventually, however, Tiri recollected her obligations.

  “I must go,” she breathed, staring up into the handsome face.

  The man's green eyes darkened into emerald. “No,” he begged.

  “Yes,” the girl said. “Our mamans will be wondering where I have got to."

  “They do not know you are with me?” Tiri smiled. “They are very busy indeed with the seamstress and your mama's dresser. If I am lucky, they will not yet have missed me. I am supposed,” she admitted, blushing, “to be taking a refreshing drive in the park."

  The Duke escorted her reluctantly back to the hall and sent a footman for her maid. This dazzled creature accepted a huge present for her forbearance—and her silence—and Hull himself assisted the ladies into their carriage.

  “Well done, Hull,” his master told him when the front door was closed again.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” answered the butler. “A most successful visit."

  Tiri's absence may have been noted, but nothing was said to the girl by either of the older ladies. Instead, they regaled her with a fleeting glimpse of the two garments they were constructing. They had been fortunate enough to find exactly the shade of soft green velvet that Dani had envisioned for the Duchess, while for herself the Frenchwoman had chosen deep purple satin, grape with the bloom of silver. When Tiri wondered at the unusual color with her mother's golden hair, Dani said that she intended wearing it poudrée from now on. Noting the sadness which lurked behind her maman's lighthearted smile, Tiri forbore to comment, but she wished very hard indeed that they had never met the dashing and enigmatic Sir Hilary at the Golden Swan in Calais!

  The Duchess continued to surprise Tiri. When Dani asked that additional seamstresses be brought in, so that all three gowns might be completed by the day of Prinny's soirée, Lady Letitia demanded snappishly who was expected to pay for the extra service? Dani kept her poise and contented herself with remarking that of course each lady would pay for her own share from the funds His Grace had so generously provided. This mollified the older woman, although she still seemed to feel suspicious of her unwelcome guests. Her mood was tempered by the really charming appearance of her new gown, which, thanks to Dani's unerring eye for style and line, was the most attractive garment anyone had ever seen her wear. As the Duchess realized that Dani's help was effective in presenting her hostess in better mode, her suspicions began to vanish.