The Dowager's Daughter

by Mona Prevel

  Mama and I are going to have a talk before we retire this evening, and neither of us is going to bed until I am satisfied with her answers.

  Chapter 7

  Confronting her mother proved not to be easy. But then, Althea had not expected it to be. At first, Celeste adopted the stance of a mother dealing with an impudent child, her four-inch advantage over Althea serving her well. This ploy might have worked, but as head of the family, Althea knew it was up to her to protect their interests.

  Althea also knew that her mother might skirt the truth by omission, but was certain that she was too honorable to tell her a deliberate falsehood. Althea gritted her teeth and prepared for a sleepless night.

  Finally Celeste capitulated—to a degree. “Darling, this is all my fault Had I been a little better at this sort of thing, you would never have found out, but having done so, it is only natural that you would want to know what is going on.”

  “Then you will tell me?”

  “Alas, I do not have that authority.”

  “Then who does, pray? Lord Ridley?”

  Celeste shrugged. “It is possible. I cannot say for sure.”

  Althea put her hand to her mouth. “Mama, in what sort of situation have you put yourself?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, child, do not exaggerate the matter. I shall summon Marcus to attend us later in the afternoon, and I am sure he will enlighten you.”

  “It cannot be put off in such a manner. I wish to see him as soon as possible—directly after breakfast, if it can be arranged.”

  Celeste frowned. “Now you are being tiresome, child. It is almost dawn, and I do not intend to break my fast until well past noon. Now be a good little cabbage and kindly leave my chamber. I wish to go to bed.”

  “I am sorry, Mama. But first, I am afraid I must prevail upon you to write your letter. I shall leave it with the footman on duty with instructions that it is to be delivered to Lord Ridley at the earliest hour you deem proper. Ten o’clock should suit, do you not agree?”

  “No, I do not. And you may be sure that his lordship would not, either.”

  Althea sighed. “Very well. Make it eleven o’clock. Not a moment later. Where should it be directed?”

  “To the pavilion, of course. He is always a guest of the prince’s when visiting Brighton.”

  “Of course,” Althea echoed, then covered a yawn with her hand.

  “For goodness’ sake, Althea, go to bed at once. Be assured that I will take care of the letter.”

  “It hardly seems fair. You must be every bit as tired as I.”

  Celeste made a shooing gesture. “To bed with you. I am not in the least bit tired. One can get past it, you know.”

  Althea kissed her on the cheek and returned to her own room. As she pulled the coverlet up to her chin, she heard the distant sound of a rooster crowing. With a groan, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow.

  Lord Ridley was ushered into the drawing room that afternoon promptly at four o’clock. While the housekeeper was present, they exchange pleasantries during which their visitor politely refused Althea’s offer of refreshments.

  As soon as the servant withdrew from the room, Marcus Ridley stood up. “It is quite pleasant outdoors. I suggest we conduct this matter in your garden where there is less chance of being overheard. It has been my experience that for the lack of anything better to do, the staff of seldom-used establishments develops an inordinate interest in the affairs of their betters.”

  The thought crossed Althea’s mind that the servants of any establishment of the viscount’s, seldom-used or otherwise, would have little opportunity to be bored, given the constant stream of love-struck females purported to pass through those portals. Althea immediately regretted the lack of charity that prompted such a thought. Lord Ridley had always shown her every kindness and consideration.

  “A wise decision, to be sure, Lord Ridley.”

  “I am glad you agree. Now if I can prevail upon you to consider me a friend, I should like us to be on a first-name basis.”

  “Very well, Lord Ridley.”

  “Marcus.”

  “Marcus,” Althea echoed. “Forgive me. It might take me a while to get used to calling you that”

  He responded with a slight nod.

  As the trio walked through the garden, stopping every few steps to make a show of inspecting a shrub or sniffing a flower, Marcus gave Althea a concise reprise of what was taking place.

  Afterwards, Althea sat down on a garden bench, numb with shock. Finally she turned to Celeste. “It was not possible for you to have visited Paris last year. All your time is accounted for.”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “Althea, how can you be so naive? All it took was careful planning, a modicum of deceit, and a good friend who is far too romantic for her own good, and there you have it.”

  “I do?”

  “But of course. Remember the fortnight I spent in Surrey with Elspeth James while her husband went haring off to attend to something or other at their estate in Scotland?”

  Althea’s eyes widened. “But Huggins took you and Colette there in the landau.”

  “And as soon as he departed, Marcus drove me to Dover, where he placed me in the capable hands of his associate, a Mr. John Soames, who saw to it that I got to Paris not too much the worse for wear. Elspeth is still under the illusion that Marcus and I are lovers.”

  “As is the rest of Society,” Althea responded bitterly. “Mama, how could you sully your reputation for such a vain dream? Talleyrand would not risk so much as a broken fingernail to further your cause.”

  Althea was taken aback by the fierceness of her mother’s response. “Pah! What do I care for the opinion of hypocrites? I would gladly give my life for the merest chance to bring about the downfall of Napoleon Buonaparte.”

  “But why, Mama? Why? Surely that is a task better left to our armies?”

  “Because I do not wish you, or any grandchildren you might give me, to suffer the horrors I experienced as a young girl.”

  Celeste looked inexpressibly sad.

  Althea touched her arm. “I have never heard you mention it, but your flight to Calais with Uncle Jean-Claude must have been absolutely terrifying.”

  Celeste shrugged. “Oh, that? By then, I was too numb to feel anything. No. It was seeing my mother and father and my two brothers dragged away to their deaths by an angry mob.”

  Althea could not hold back her tears. “Mama, I had no idea.”

  “Nor did I intend that you should, but perhaps it is your right to know what can befall those in our position if we are not diligent”

  “It is fortunate that our uncle was able to save you.”

  Celeste gave a dry laugh. “Come now, Althea, you should know better. It was my old nurse, Simone Boulanger, who saved me. She had long since been pensioned off, but when the angry peasants stormed our chateau in the middle of the night, she came directly to my chamber, stripped off a smock she was wearing, and put it on me.”

  Celeste was silent for a moment, then continued. “I could not even cry out when I heard my mother screaming as the mob dragged her away. Madame Boulanger held her hand over my face until I thought I should die of suffocation. Her hands smelled of garlic and the smock she put on me made my skin itch.”

  She stared at a bed of pansies as if lost in thought; then, to Althea’s surprise, she looked up and smiled at her. “It is strange, is it not that of all the dreadful things that took place that night, the ones that stand out the clearest should be the smell of garlic and that itchy smock?”

  Celeste wrinkled her nose. “To this day, I consider it a blessing that the English do not consider garlic to be quite the thing to put into their food.”

  “Mama, it is all so terribly sad. How was Uncle Jean-Claude able to find you?”

  “That was not too difficult. The surprising thing was that he even took the trouble. His wife, our Aunt Marie, had recently
died, and he came to visit us with the intention of leaving Cousin Gaston in our care.”

  Celeste plucked a blue Canterbury bell and without bothering to smell its fragrance, cast it to the ground. “When the peasants arrived, screaming for our blood, he grabbed Gaston and a small valise holding his valuables—I have no idea in which order—and escaped through a window on the ground floor and hid in the shrubbery.”

  “But how did he know where to find you—or even know that you had been spared, for that matter?”

  “He saw Madame Boulanger and me leave. Uncle would not have recognized me if the shawl she gave me to cover my telltale red hair had not slipped. My head was exposed for but a moment, but a moment was all it took. He followed us to her cottage. Fortunately, the peasants were too busy robbing and vandalizing the chateau to notice.”

  “But bringing you to England was an added risk. Having a young girl along must have impeded his progress.”

  Celeste nodded. “Yes, it must have. But so did the valise full of valuables he carted with him, and in each case he considered it to be well worth the risk.”

  “Mama, what are you implying?”

  “I am not implying anything, Althea. I thought I was making it perfectly clear. Uncle Jean-Claude brought me to England because he considered my looks sufficient to ensure me an advantageous match, thereby securing his own future.”

  Althea could not believe what she was hearing. “Mama, that is a dreadful thing to say. How could you malign him so?”

  Celeste laughed. “Malign the Marquis de Maligny? Impossible!” Her mouth tightened. “I say it because it is true. When I refused to marry a dreadful old roué with whom he had negotiated for my hand, Uncle Jean-Claude berated me for not living up to my obligations.”

  Mortified, Althea cast a glance in Marcus’s direction.

  “Do not concern yourself with what I think, Althea,” he inserted. “I consider your mother to be one of my closest friends, and as such, would never betray her confidence.”

  He gave her a wicked little smile. “Besides, it is not unusual for people of our class to enter into marriages of convenience.”

  “I think it is perfectly horrid.”

  “So do I.”

  Althea decided it was time to change the subject. “This Mr. Soames. Is he the same gentleman whom Mama sees fit to meet on the riverbank whenever the moon is full?”

  “That is a slight exaggeration. Since your mother’s meeting with Talleyrand, Mr. Soames has delivered but one package to Paris for her.”

  “And yet you see fit to have her embroiled in your intrigues?”

  “Please, Althea,” Celeste interjected. “Marcus allowed my participation only at my insistence. It has happened but twice, and on each occasion you managed to catch me.” She shot Marcus a rueful look. “I doubt you will wish to continue with our arrangement.”

  Althea thought that Marcus responded with more amusement than displeasure. “Nonsense. At that time of night, most servants are sound asleep. If one of them should happen to see you haring off to the riverbank at such an ungodly hour, they would no doubt think you were trysting with a lover.”

  He turned to Althea. “I am sure that thought crossed your mind.”

  Althea felt her face flame. How dare he presume such a thing. “My mother has never given me reason to doubt her virtue,” she replied coldly.

  Marcus inclined his head. “My apologies, Althea. That was most indelicate of me. I did not mean to put your mother’s honor to question. It is only that given the scene in question, my jaded view on life would lead me to jump to all sorts of reprehensible conclusions that probably would never occur to a virtuous young lady of your sensibility.”

  Althea had the grace to feel guilty. Had she not viewed her mother’s meeting with Mr. Soames with the same degree of cynicism as one of Society’s biggest philanderers? Her claims to virtue and sensibility might be in doubt, but of one thing she was certain: no one could question the regrettable streak of hypocrisy she seemed to have acquired.

  Althea addressed her next question to her mother. “How does this Mr. Soames know when to meet with you?”

  “That is not too difficult. When Marcus is unable to keep their appointment at The Boar’s Head, he knows to meet me at the river that night”

  “I saw him signal you with a lantern the last time.”

  “That had nothing to do with Marcus. The previous month I had arranged for Mr. Soames to pick up a package from me on his return. His boat arrived a day early, that is all.”

  Althea was still not satisfied. “But Mama, surely you do not stay up every night on the off-chance that this Mr. Soames might show up.”

  Celeste laughed. “No, darling, I do not. With the aid of a spyglass, each boat can be clearly seen in the harbor at Camberly.”

  “Yes, I remember the spyglass. Papa and I used to watch the harbor with it. He would tell me what sort of boats were moored there, and what they were used for.”

  “The boat Mr. Soames sails on is called The Seafoam and is not very large, but carries sail on two masts and is a very graceful craft. It is designed for speed, not heavy cargo.”

  “My goodness, Mama. I have never known you to take an interest in such things.”

  Celeste wrinkled her nose. “Nor do I. On the trip across the channel, Mr. Soames conversed with me on a number of aspects of life at sea in a vain attempt to keep my mind off a dreadful attack of mal-de-mer.”

  Althea patted her arm. “Poor Mama. You subject yourself to such indignities with so little return.” She turned to Marcus. “Why, for instance, do you deem it necessary for my mother to ‘hare’ to the river, as you put it, in the middle of the night? Cannot this Mr. Soames call on Mama in a civilized manner to collect and deliver these messages that pass between you?”

  Marcus nodded in Celeste’s direction. “Because your mother wishes it”

  Althea was perplexed. “Why, Mama? It does not make any sense.”

  Celeste set her jaw. “It makes perfectly good sense to me. I did not want Mr. Soames to be seen at the house. One cannot vouchsafe the loyalty of everyone under one’s roof.”

  “But Mama, that is ridiculous. All the servants have been with us for years, most of them from families that have served at the Hall for many generations.”

  “Both our uncle and our cousin have valets who are French, as is my maid, Colette.”

  “But so are you, Mama, so how does that signify?”

  “You should know better than to ask. England became my country the moment you were placed in my arms, chérie. Have you any idea how precious you were to me after losing my family to those bloodthirsty beasts? In any case, that is how I feel and Mr. Soames will just have to put up with it.”

  Althea stared at her mother in admiration. “Forgive me, darling, but all this time I have seen you as a frivolous creature with no more than the latest fashions on your mind, and now I have to adjust to you being a latter-day Boadicea, all girded to do battle with the enemy. It is a lot for me to take in all at once.”

  Chapter 8

  It seemed to Althea that summer, with twilight lasting long after most people take to their beds, would never end. The restlessness of spirit that tormented her in the spring intensified as all of nature ripened, promising a bountiful harvest.

  Each time she ventured into the village, whether to visit sick parishioners, call on the Swanns, or buy materials and trimmings at Hansford’s, she always glanced in the direction of the pier, half hoping to see the young man again.

  Althea acknowledged the foolishness of the exercise. Even if by some chance their paths did happen to cross once more, and that, wonder of wonders, he professed a tendre for her, nothing could come of it. Her duty to her family demanded that she marry a member of the ton, not a penniless adventurer who saw beauty in a dowdy governess.

  One afternoon early in September, as Althea came in from the garden, she encountered her uncle at the foot of th
e grand staircase, making his final farewells to a pair of male visitors.

  The taller of the two she recognized as a man he had presented to her and her mother the previous week as Monsieur Joubert. The man had dark, saturnine features and had subjected both ladies to a penetrating stare that Celeste had later confessed had sent a shiver down her spine. His companion, a Monsieur Delon, was, on the other hand, a plump and jovial individual with a receding thatch of straw-colored hair.

  Both of them looked disheveled; their clothes, although of good quality, were sorely in need of a sponging and pressing, their linen long overdue for a change. Althea’s nose also told her that it had been quite some time since either of them had seen fit to take a bath. In other words, not the sort of persons one would expect her uncle to honor with his gracious condescension, much less present to his niece as if they were her equals.

  She took her leave of them as quickly as possible, seeking sanctuary in a small reception room. A cursory glance in a looking glass proved, as she had feared, her bonnet had not prevented the afternoon breeze from transforming the demure curls that framed her face into unruly disarray.

  “It is all very well for Mama to say that such a style is becoming,” she muttered. “The minute the wind rises, I look as though I have been dragged through the bushes.”

  She removed her bonnet and ran her fingers through the offending curls. They seemed to have a will of their own and would not be tamed. With a hopeless shrug, she cast her bonnet on a settee and slumped into a chair in a most unladylike manner.

  She sat up straight immediately at the sound of a discreet knock on the door. It was her butler, Jarvis, a tall, portly individual whose pure white hair fringed his head like a monk’s tonsure.

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but there is a Mr. Soames here to see you. He did not seem to be the sort of person you would wish to see, but he insists that he is here at your request.”

  Althea looked him squarely in the eye. “That is correct, Jarvis. Be so kind as to show the gentleman in.”